His laugh distracts me from his hands. They grab my hips, pulling me to the very edge of the mattress, and I suddenly fall to my elbows. He unbuttons my shorts, tugging them off along with my underwear in a fluid motion.
Cillian takes me in and I let him, savoring his slow appreciative gaze. “Gorgeous,” he says.
He goes to his knees, slipping my sneakers off, kissing my ankles, my calves, my knees, all the while keeping his eyes on mine.
With every inch closer to my center, my anticipation ratchets up.
His lips trail the inside of my thighs, the delicious scratch of his beard sending gooseflesh across my body. He nips the lower edge of my belly. “Let me taste you,” he says, breath hot against my skin.
I nod. Myyeshardly audible, even to my own ears.
Cillian wraps an arm around one thigh, fingers teasing before opening me to him. His tongue dips down, moving up slowly to circle my clit, but not quite making contact.
I whimper, need threatening to burn me alive.
His laugh puffs against me, and my hips buck. His free hand presses me down with swift, solid force. “Patience,” he chides.
“Not a virtue of mine,” I manage. “Please,” I sigh. If he asked, I'd happily beg at this stage and probably enjoy it.
The tip of his tongue flits across my clit and my breath catches.
As a less-than-chaste fat girl, I've had my share of disappointing head. Not for lack of trying by my partners, but sometimes they simply don't know how to properly please a body like mine from jump.
This man was not going on that list.
He draws me close to the edge, pulling me back, building and building my pleasure. The moment this divine torture becomes too much, he slides a finger inside me, then another, stretching me slowly, fingers finding my G-spot with ease.
“Cillian,” I rasp. A tremor thrums through me, my whole body beginning to feel staticky and weightless. “Cillian,” more a cry now. “I-I'm?—”
Stars explode across my vision.
He lifts his head, slowly pulling his fingers from me. Moisture glistens on his dark beard, and a satisfied smile rests on his face.
Shaky but determined, I sit up, grabbing his t-shirt and dragging him to me. I want to taste myself on his beautiful mouth, want to burn this moment into my memory.
When we finally pause to breathe, I slide my hands beneath his shirt. Beneath the ink on his left side, the skin is bumpy with a latticework of scar tissue. I don't linger, moving my hands to feel the muscles of his back. I lightly drag my nails down his spine. He shivers.
“It seems unfair that I'm the only one without my clothes on,” I say into the shell of his ear, playfully tugging on the piercing in his lobe with my teeth.
He grabs my chin, kissing me fiercely. “GuessI should fix that.”
Clothed, Cillian was enough to make me more than a little stupid—as my present state made painfully clear—but naked?
I try to tell myself not to openly stare. Surprising no one, I fail, drinking him in.
He's built like a power lifter or rugby player—not sculpted but solid. Every inch of him, from his broad chest to those thighs, screams strength. No wonder the man had carried me to the bed without fuss.
The silver pendant I noticed earlier sparkles against the dark hair curling on his chest and trailing down his abdomen. My gaze follows that path to his cock, hanging hard and so thick I almost moan at the thought of how damn good he’ll feel.
I want to trace the tattoos across his chest and down his legs with my tongue. I want to tell him he's beautiful. Instead, I just watch as he reaches into his nightstand, rips the condom open with his teeth, and rolls it down the length of his cock.
Cillian kisses me, slow and deep, as he pushes me onto the mattress.
I scoot back as he does, taking advantage of the swath of soft space offered by the king-size bed.
His cock twitches against my pussy.
My body rises to meet him. I had been patient enough.
