The Rousing: A Celtic in the Blood Novella (6 page)

He hadn’t just said what I thought he’d said, had he?

Definitely my dirty mind.

“Excuse me?” I ventured warily.

“You heard me, Darcy," he said slowly. "Now how about you show me those skimpy panties you were trying to tease me with earlier?”

“You’re serious?” I laughed tentatively.

I swallowed, hard. Was I going to do this? Was I willing to play along with this man, this stranger?

Wine and lust mixed, a potent cocktail in my bloodstream, made my head light and my skin tingle. I was shy and excited all at once.

Fuck it, I thought. This was one night of reckless freedom, of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. The American dream.

Tomorrow, the gorgeous man sat opposite me would go back to New York and consign whatever happened in this room to what was, no doubt, an impressive
résumé of conquests.

Tomorrow, I could walk shamelessly through the village with no witnesses to spark local gossip. No repercussions, no regrets.

Jack wet his lower lip, watching me, like a chess player, waiting for my next move.

In the end, I took my courage from his eyes, the way they devoured me, like I was some irresistibly exotic delicacy. He was so right, there was power in being the object of a man’s sexual obsession.

I rose up from the floor onto my knees. Bracing them slightly apart, I closed my eyes and slid the skirt up my bare thighs, inching higher, higher, until I knew he had a good eyeful of my white, lace-trimmed hip huggers.

“Very nice,” he rasped, his voice a good octave lower than I remembered.

I dared to peek through my lashes and my eyes were drawn straight to his impressive erection. Tense behind his suit pants, the silky fabric left nothing to the imagination, outlining his cock in rude anatomical detail. Thighs parted, he was utterly unashamed of what my little display had done to his body, and how fucking sexy was that?

“Show me more,” he commanded, stroking his thumb across his lower lip, making me wonder what it would feel like to kiss that mouth.

He was daring me, and the heat of his gaze, sending shivers over my skin, made me bold. With trembling fingers, I reached up to pop the buttons of my blouse, one by one, slowly revealing the lace-covered swells of my breasts.

The appreciative sound that rose from the back of his throat was so guttural, I felt its vibration between my thighs, like a strum of pleasure.

“Sit up there,” he said, motioning behind me with a tilt of his jaw.

“Okay,” I replied softly, turning to see that he meant the solid mahogany dining table.

I rose slowly, holding his gaze, backing up until my thighs hit the edge. If I looked away, I’d have lost my nerve. Hitching my skirt waist-high, I slid my ass up onto the cool, polished wood. Sitting primly, hands braced on the lip of the table I asked coyly, “What now, Jack?”

“Open your legs, Darcy. I want to see you touch yourself.”

“I’ll touch if you will,” I dared him, spreading my thighs to gift him another glimpse of my panties. I was so wet at this point, I was sure the fabric must be see-through, that he could make out every crease and fold of my throbbing flesh.

“Deal,” he replied, letting his hand fall from his face to the straining bulge at his crotch. He ran the heel of his hand down the thick length, once, twice. I watched his thighs tense, the strain of desire hardening his features. I was so entranced by the shape of him through his pants that I didn’t notice he’d opened the zip of his fly until his hand dipped inside and he freed both his erection and the heavy sac beneath. The sight of his bare flesh, thick and gloriously long, lying up his stomach, turgid with veins and pulsing against the dark contrast of his suit, was both obscene and an incredible turn-on.

He looked right at me, green eyes dark and smouldering beneath those heavy lashes, challenging me to cry uncle on this lewd little show and tell we had going on between two virtual strangers.

I bit at the smile forming on my lips, spread my legs wider, leaned back onto the table and snaked my hand down between my legs. I ran the tip of my index finger along the seam of my cleft, all the way from my entrance to the pulsing bud of my clit, once, twice, as he had done, outlining where I ached through the sodden material of my panties.

I heard Jack groan, turned my head to the side and watched him fist the thick girth of his cock. He pumped, slowly, sensuously, and any remaining inhibitions I had unravelled in the puddle of my quaking lust.

Tugging my panties to one side, I gifted him the raw sight of my glistening sex and he rewarded me with a growl that was all male. Arching back on the table, I let my fingers glide through the slippery velvet folds, easing the ache but simultaneously cranking up my need.

Caught up in the sensation, I never heard him move until his hands were shaping my bare knees. I braced myself on my elbows, staring up into his dark, lust-filled eyes as he positioned himself between my thighs. I felt the underside of his erection pressed into my belly and the soft weight of his sac resting against my soaked panties. He took my mouth in a sensual, sucking, wine-flavoured kiss. His tongue flicked against mine, his teeth grazed my lower lip and I felt my hips undulate, desperate to get him closer to where I throbbed. He left my mouth, trailing kisses along my jaw, leaving smouldering imprints of passion in their wake. He rimmed the shell of my ear with his tongue. Soft, wet and deliciously warm, the velvety tip swept inside my ear, amplifying the moist, slippery sensation until all I could think of was how it would feel to have that tongue stroking between my legs. A mewling plea escaped my lips and my head fell back, fanning my hair across the table. This man was nothing like I’d ever had, and I suspected he could make me do anything he wanted, and make me love it.

"If I were a vampire, this is when I'd penetrate your flesh," he said, closing his teeth around the pulsing column of my throat, nipping softly.

“You’re killing me,” I groaned.

“You’re beautiful, Darcy. The most exquisite thing I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he crooned to my ear, slipping the cups of my bra beneath my breasts. My nipples tightened, and with the pads of his thumbs he worked them into hard, deliciously painful peaks. “Will you let me penetrate you?” he murmured, while sucking at the sensitive pulse-point of my throat.

Oh God, at that point he could have asked for anything, and I’d have begged him to take it from me. “Please, Jack,” I breathed.

Keeping us joined as we were at the hips, he reached into his jacket and deftly removed a condom from its foil packet. Thank God one of us was still thinking above the waist. I was so far gone, I'd have taken him bareback.

He was fully dressed. Technically, I was too, yet the moment seemed all the more erotic for that. I watched with hungry eyes as he rolled the latex down to the base of his shaft, the heel of his hand grazing my inner thigh as he did so. I watched, lips parted, breath ragged as he hooked my panties to one side and rubbed the head of his cock against my clit, parting the seam of my slippery flesh, glossing himself in my arousal. I moaned as he gripped himself, guiding his shaft to my threshold. I felt my flesh throb around his, I savoured the thick stretching invasion of him as he thrust slowly, relentlessly, burying himself balls-deep inside me. I cried out in pleasure, and so did he.

Only then did the eye-contact resume, and it was electric, each knowing what the other had just seen, each feeling that beautiful, visceral connection than only full sex
can create.

He gripped my thighs, spreading me wide, and I lay back against the hard, polished mahogany, giving myself up to him. I felt his cock pulse inside me as he began to thrust: hard, slow, almost painfully deep, rhythmically slapping his thighs to my buttocks. He looked drugged, mesmerised by the bounce of my breasts with each stroke that threatened to ride me further up the table. I shaped them in my palms for him, pinching my nipples, arching my back. He rewarded me with a shift in tempo. With mounting urgency, his thrusts quickened, pounding my hypersensitive flesh, punching up into that deep spot inside of me that left me on the verge of screams. His thumb found my clit, circling pressure where I was already set to explode.

“Darcy,” he growled. Teeth gritted, jaw tense, the muscles in his neck were strung into tight cords. I could only imagine how his body moved beneath that suit, but I had a vivid imagination. He threw his head back on a pained cry. Every muscle in my body tensed, just as his did the same. My thighs trembled in his grip, my toes curled and I reached up to fist his jacket, grappling for purchase as an orgasm like none I’d ever felt detonated inside me, clenching his cock through the rhythmic spasms of his release. The waves of ecstasy spread through me like a current, radiating out into my limbs, jolting through my body until I was nothing but a boneless puddle, sprawled across the dining table, speechless.

He withdrew from me carefully, breaking contact only long enough to deal with the condom, and then he was back, resting his cheek on my still-pulsing stomach, stroking his fingers through my hair.

"That was incredible," I laughed huskily, my throat raw from cries of pleasure.

"I'm only getting started," he replied. "So many filthy, depraved acts I want to commit on this beautiful body," he whispered, stroking my flushed skin, the smile curling his lips laden with wicked promise.

"If you're not careful, I might let you," I replied.

And God help me but I did. That night, I discovered the delights and tortures of his tongue between my thighs. I felt those thick inches breach my lips and fill my throat, I felt the power I had over his body, in the sounds he made when he came, in the beautiful flex of his muscular body, which exceeded all my imaginings. And in return I allowed him inside of me, in every intimate way possible between a man and a woman. Things I'd never done with another, things I'd feared as much as I had secretly desired, but he made them beautiful. He was slow and tender, careful when I needed it, hard and passionate at my command, and above all, utterly unashamed. That night, in the middle of a storm, in that isolated house by the sea, my American lover taught me the true meaning of life, liberty and the pursuit of ecstasy.

We fell asleep in the armchair, me curled naked in his lap with my ear to his heartbeat.

I woke, in the dead of night, to the sounds of the house creaking against the buffeting wind outside. Desperate to pee, I eased myself away from the sensual heat of Jack’s sleeping body and pulled on his discarded shirt to go in search of a bathroom. He groaned softly and curled in on himself, but didn’t wake.

Carrying a candle, I padded barefoot down the hall, my body aching in the most delicious ways with every sway of my hips.

I found a downstairs bathroom and rested the candle on the edge of the sink. After taking care of business, I stared at my reflection in the dusty mirror and smoothed my tousled hair. In the yellow light of the flame, smudged mascara made my eyes look wild and abnormally bright. My cheeks glowed and my lips were puffy and swollen from the biting passion of his kisses. God, he was an incredible lover. My core muscles clenched at just the memory of him moving inside me.

It was just one night, I told myself. The man was selling up Bronach and going back to his fancy job in the Big Apple, where he probably had a line of beautiful women queuing up around the block for his bedroom skills.

I wasn’t going to be one of those women: the ones who confused sex-happies with love. However drugged-up on bonding hormones my body might be, I refused to acknowledge any real kind of attachment. Any connection I felt with him was just Mother Nature’s biological trickery. He’d be out of my system before he got back on that plane. He had to be, or I was in very serious danger of getting burned.