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For a second, I realized how on edge I was. How close to losing control I felt. Then, I released a shuddery breath, and in a tone that brooked no argument, I bit off, “Next time.”
Her eyes widened, but she nodded eagerly and held out her arms to me. Quickly sheathing my cock and regretting every shitty second of it, I turned to her, loving how she clung to me as I sank onto her.
“This pussy is mine, isn’t it, Aoife?” I breathed against her mouth as I settled my cock between her spread lips, feeling the molten heat and wanting to sob that bare skin wasn’t touching bare skin.
“It is,” she whimpered. “All yours.”
“Always mine?” I demanded.
“A-Always,” she mewled.
That was music to my fucking ears, so I reared up, and slipped the tip of my cock into her. She clenched around me like she had the first time, and getting inside her was still a fucking back-breaking task, one I was willing to suffer through—the thought made me grin inwardly.
When I was finally inside her, she was panting, and her tits were jiggling all over the place. I eyed them, eyed her, then I grabbed her hands, bridged our fingers, and placed them on either side of her head. Pinning her down, keeping her in place.
As I looked her square in the eye, I began to pump into her. Slow, deep. Thrusting all the way inside before almost pulling all the way out.
Her eyes watered as we watched one another, and it was such an intense moment that I could understand why. Mine burned, too, and I realized I’d never felt this close to anyone,anyone, in my entire fucking life.
What was it with this woman?
Why did she get to me like this?
I’d noticed it from the start, and it had never been a problem. I knew that wouldn’t be the case with anyone else, though. Anyone else, I’d have begrudged this closeness that had appeared like a genie floating from a lamp. But with Aoife? It was right.
It was good.
How it was supposed to be.
How long we stared at each other as I made love to her—yeah, I thought without a wince,this is making love—I couldn’t say. Time could have slipped through our fingers, or it could have raced past us. All I knew was that I was here, in this moment, with her.
When she cried out her release, she broke eye contact. Her head whipped from side to side as though she couldn’t contain all these feelings. I loved seeing her break, loved seeing her fall, and when her cunt clamped around me, intent on milking me dry, I let it. Knowing the next time I was inside her, I’d be feeling the real deal.
Each and every time was like a punch to the face. Not the best way to describe it, but it left me feeling punch drunk, and I slumped against her, loving how she curled her arms and legs around me, hugging me with her whole body.
My head settled against her chest, and I could hear the fast beat of her heart. It reassured me, and crazily enough, it sent me straight back to sleep.
***
Aoife
Something changed that morning.
After I told Finn we didn’t have to use condoms,hechanged. Not in a bad way. But in an ‘I can’t get inside you enough’ way, and hell, I wasn’t about to complain aboutthat.
He’d still fuck me until I sobbed, but those moments were interspersed with passionate kisses, and he’d started holding my hand. I’d never thought that could mean so much, but it did.
He’d brought me here with a purpose. He’d wanted me, had wanted to use me, and yet, each time, each day that passed? It was likehechanged. I felt it. You could call me crazy, but I wasn’t. The way he looked at me, the way he touched me, this wasn’t about business. This was real. I knew it, and no one would or could convince me otherwise.
When he claimed I was his, he wasn’t messing around. He’d meant it, and God, how I wanted him to. I wanted to be his, and I wanted him to be mine.
My eyes drifted over to him. It was late, and he was still working—he worked more than anyone I knew, and I’d owned a tea room and had baked everything on the premises, so I knew what long hours felt like. We were in his office, not the kitchen, and I was sketching ideas of how I wanted the layout of the bakery to look. I was no artist, but I didn’t need to be. I just wanted a rough working idea of where my equipment would go.
As my pencil scratched over the paper, Finn typed away like a demon on his computer.
I liked that he wanted me in here. After we’d eaten the meal I’d cooked for us, when he’d said he needed to work in his office, I’d offered to go to the salon—you know, the room where someone had been shot, gulp—but he’d dragged me in here with him.
Not that I was about to complain.
