Page 70 of Red Card


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Cillian hovers over me with his lips curved into a lazy, sexy grin that makes my toes curl along the cushions. He could have asked me just about anything and I would probably agree, if it meant “letting him make me feel good.”

Warmth floods my lower stomach as his gaze drops to the hard, pointed peaks of my nipples, which are practically breaking through the fabric of my T-shirt. Hunger flares in his dark irises, and I swallow, feeling the heat of my flush creeping from my cheeks down to my neck and spreading throughout my body.

It can’t possibly be this hot in here, can it?

“Can I?” he rasps, asking for permission, his hand splayed along my stomach, along the edge of the thin fabric.

I nod.

Not trusting myself to speak, I keep my mouth shut, drawing my lip between my teeth as I watch him.

The tips of his fingers slip beneath the T-shirt, ghosting alongmy skin as he trails them higher, past my belly button, the rough pads lightly sweeping along my rib cage.

A featherlight touch that leaves a trail of gooseflesh in its wake.

I’m thanking past me for forgoing the bra.

I’m nearly panting with every languid inch that he caresses. His movements are controlled and unhurried. I’m honestly impressed by how unaffected he seems, determined not to rush things, almost as if he’s committing it all to memory.

The thought of a man like Cillian wanting to save this moment in his head makes my stomach flip.

It feels like an out-of-body experience, being beneath this man, his hungry gaze traveling over me.

Hence the levitate part.

I’m practically crawling out of my skin, needing him to go faster, to touch me where I’ve beenachingfor him since that afternoon on the pitch. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. I could recall every moment in vivid detail, but it is nothing compared to the real thing.

Cillian inches the fabric higher until I feel cool air kiss the sensitive peaks of my nipples, and I hear his breath hitch. A low groan erupts from the back of his throat.

“How are you so fucking perfect?”

The whispered words wash over me, turning my insides molten. I’ve never felt as wanted or beautiful in my life as I do right now. I never knew it was possible to feel so revered.

“Touch me,” I beg.

His throat works, and he nods, never taking his eyes off my chest.

I feel his rough, calloused palms cup my breasts in each hand,squeezing gently as a thumb sweeps across my nipple, causing my back to arch off the couch and a breathy moan to slip from my lips.

“So responsive. I’ve barely touched you, baby,” he drawls, repeating the motion. His thumb and forefinger settle around my nipple and he rolls it, tugging gently, and I swear with each pull, my clit throbs in tandem.

Arousal tears down my spine, and my thighs close on their own accord, slamming shut around his hips.

Cillian continues to give attention to my nipples, tugging, rolling, flicking. I’m breathless, my chest heaving as I fight to keep my eyes open and not succumb to the pleasure.

“Christ, Rory, I think you could come, just like this,” he says. But finally, fucking finally, he lowers his mouth to my chest, planting kisses around my nipple, until he closes his lips over it and sucks it roughly into his mouth. His teeth scrape over the peak, and my hips squirm, attempting to grind my clit against his erection.

I think I’m going to lose my mind. This is the best form of torture, but I’m desperate. Needy. Aching.

“Patience, baby,” he says as my nipple slides out of his mouth with an erotic pop that fills the room.

When I try to slip my hand into the front of my panties for relief, he stops me, capturing my hand just before I make it there.

“That’s not patient.”

I groan, sagging back against the cushions. “Please, Cillian.”

“I fucking love to hear you beg.”