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The cocktail of his words mixed with the feeling of his hungry lips and rough beard is all it takes to send me over the edge. A powerful orgasm washes over me, and Lorcan is there to steady my trembling thighs and suck all the juice from me as I cum in his mouth. With my head crushed against the ceiling, I can hear the rain hammering on the roof. As I come down from my high, Lorcan slows the tempo of his tongue, dipping into my tender hole and up towards my raw clit in light, sensual strokes. He shifts my weight so that he can hold me with just one hand, while the other returns to his cock. His lips and tongue get greedier with every pump of his fist, and I can feel another wave of ecstasy on the horizon.
This is so fucking hot.
I groan into the roof, my lips pressed against the velvety fabric, my thighs wrapped around his strong jaw. He moans into my clit at the same time as I come again, and only then does he let me slide back down into his lap. Face to face again, he lifts his hand to my mouth. “This is what you do to me, China Doll,” he whispers. Never breaking eye contact, I part my lips and lick his fingers, sucking up every last drop of his sweet, sticky cum. I enjoy how the vein in his temple throbs. How his eyes burn with a new wave of lust. How his eyes never leave me. Possessive and wild.
I wipe my juice from his chin then crush my lips against his. His heart hammers through his wet shirt against me, meeting mine in ferocity and speed. We stay like that, me straddling him with my head in the crook of his neck, and his thumb running circles on the small of my back, until the driver slows to meet the gates of the estate.
Lorcan wraps his hand around my throat and lifts my head up to look at him. “Stay with me tonight.”
I don’t bother telling him that it’s not a question. Instead, I nod, and when the driver opens the passenger door, I let him carry me through the house and up to a room I’ve never been in before.
He lowers me onto a soft bed and disappears through an adjoining door. Mustering just enough energy to prop myself onto my elbows, I drink in the room. Lorcan Quinn’s bedroom. Not the Devil’s lair I expected. No black walls and burning furnace of hell. Instead, there’s a rich mahogany bar snaking around one corner, and in the other, a tan leather armchair and a side table with a Statesmen globe. Other antiques punctuate the space in between, but I’m too high on the events of the evening to bother exploring them.
When I hear taps running, I pull myself off the bed and follow Lorcan into the bathroom. He’s perched on the edge of a freestanding, roll-top bath. We lock eyes and he pats the rim. “Get in.”
I’m getting used to doing what Lorcan Quinn says, not what he asks. I turn around and sweep my hair to the side, letting him tug the zipper down the length of my back. The dress is soaking as he peels it off of me, and it lands on the onyx tiles with a sludgy thud. I’d hate to think how much it costs if it’s ruined, so I don’t think. Instead, I revel in Lorcan’s hypnotized gaze as I slide into the warm bathwater. “Will you join me?”
“In a minute,” he murmurs, his gaze sliding down to my breasts. My nipples instantly stiffen, breaking the surface of the water. “For now, I’d like to enjoy the view.”
Laughing, I reach for the sponge balancing on the rim of the bath, but Lorcan gets there first. He dunks it in the water and begins sliding it up my calf, up to my thigh.
I study him as much as he’s studying me. Wondering what makes him so much more hypnotic than usual tonight.
“You didn’t drink.”
Lorcan turns his attention away from the mound at the top of my thigh to meet my gaze. “Mmm?”
“Tonight. You didn’t drink.”
“No, I didn’t.”
My voice is small, timid. “Why?”
After a moment, a tight smile forms on his lips. “Dancing with you was a memory I didn’t want to drown out.”
I know that’s not the truth, but I’m in too much of a state of bliss to break it with a line of questioning.
Instead, I cock my head and say, “I like it when you don’t drink.”
His body stiffens and he doesn’t reply.
Just when I think I’ve soured the evening, he looks at me from under his thick lashes. “Let’s get you to bed, China Doll.”
He wraps me in a fluffy white towel and picks me up. “I could get used to being carried everywhere,” I say, enjoying the rumble of his chest against my cheek when he laughs.
When he drops me on the bed, I reach up and cup his face, stroking the thick hair of his beard. The air swirls hot and heavy between us.
“Say it, China Doll,” he all but whispers, trailing a light finger over my collarbone. “I can tell you’re thinking something.”
He’s right. The words are burning the back of my throat, desperate to be let loose. Three words. And if I allow them to escape, they’ll be the most insane three words I’ve ever uttered.
So, I settle for a different way to phrase it. “I…don’t hate you.”
It slips out of my mouth in a champagne-fueled jumble. As soon as it reaches Lorcan’s ears and his biceps tense, I know I’ve said the wrong thing.
He breathes in. Out. In again. Then his eyes turn dark.
“Hate me, China Doll,” he eventually says. His voice is ice-cold, a stark contrast to the warm hands that were just on my body. “It’s a hell of a lot easier that way.”
