She swears like she might stab me, but I flip her over and pin her wrists above her head, pressing down until she's spread out beneath me, flushed and wild-eyed and glistening with sweat.
"You look so fucking good like this," I growl, kissing her hard, grinding against her without pushing in, letting her feel how ready I am, how close.
Her legs hook around my waist, pulling me back in, but I hold just out of reach, dragging the head of my cock over her slit, again and again.
"Ruairí," she begs, voice shaking.
I sink into her again, slow and deep, until we both groan.
I don't thrust yet.
I just stay there, buried inside her, letting the weight of it hang between us.
I peel her top over her head and watch her arch beneath me, bare to the waist, the swell of her breasts rising with each breath.
I don't touch her right away.
I look and let her squirm under the heat of it, her skin flushed, nipples peaked, her thighs shifting restlessly as she waits for my hands and gets only my gaze.
When I finally lean in, I take one nipple in my mouth and suck slow, rough, until her back bows and her hips lift offthe mattress, her fingers tangled in my hair, tugging like she wants it harder, faster, rougher.
I bite just enough to make her gasp, then soothe it with my tongue.
I push her skirt up inch by inch, not fast, not sloppy, but slow enough to make her beg.
The fabric pools at her waist. Her thighs part and I groan low as I see the mess I've made of her.
She is soaked, everything hot and swollen and desperate.
I stroke one finger down the damp center and watch her shudder, then do it again, slower this time.
"Ruairí," she breathes.
"What?" I murmur, trailing my mouth down her stomach, licking the curve of her hip. "Tell me."
"Stop teasing."
I settle between her thighs, shoulders braced against her knees as I taste her for the first time.
She cries out, head thrown back, one hand fisting in the sheet, the other clamped over her mouth like she's afraid someone will hear.
I flatten my tongue against her and lick upward in one long stroke, ending with a flick to her clit that makes her twitch.
I do it again, then again, then suck her into my mouth and grind the flat of my tongue in slow circles until her thighs start to shake.
The sounds she makes are the kind of thing that stays with you.
Not pretty, not polite, but raw and cracked open, little half-sobs of pleasure that thicken the air and make my cock throb against the mattress.
I slide two fingers inside her and curl them just right, hitting the spot that makes her choke on my name.
Her hips buck hard, riding my hand, and when I feel her tighten around me, I pull back, lips wet, chin slick with her.
"No," she whines, reaching for me.
"Not yet," I rasp, climbing up her body.
"You'll come on my cock."
