She instinctively covered her breasts.
Bran sent her a look. “Too far?”
Did he honestly think she’d cave before he did? She’d had the hots for this man formonths. Had decided it was an impossible situation once she’d spent real time around him, and now she was naked and in his arms. Well, partially naked.
Hell to the no she wasn’t caving.
A flash of Cali shoving a condom in her purse crossed her mind. Ireland had insisted things wouldn’t go that far. How the hell had Cali known? Damn her and her psychic love abilities.
Ireland dropped her arms. Whatever. Her boobs were big and went with the rest of her curvy figure. She was sensitive about it, but if Bran didn’t care, why should she? She kissed his toned pecs, darting out her tongue—because yum—and slid her hands down the sides of his toned torso. And found herself on her back once more.
“Clearly, I need to be in control here,” he said. “Someone has to be.”
Ireland’s mouth parted. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shushed her with a kiss. “No talking, remember?”
And then he was rubbing her breasts and kissing them. “I love your skin. So soft.” He feathered one of her nipples with his tongue.
Ignoring the control comment—because this was Bran and stupid shit came out of his mouth from time to time—she ran her hands over his thick shoulders. “You seem to scowl at me and my breasts often. Are you sure you like them?”
He made a choking sound. “Oh, I like them.” He moved over to the other nipple and gave it the same love he’d unleashed on the first, causing Ireland to squirm and squeeze her legs around his waist.
“Your jeans are rough,” she said. “You should consider removing them.”
He lifted his head, his dark blond hair ruffled from her fingers running through it—and okay—pulling on it. “Despite what my brothers claim, I’m not a monk. I remove these jeans, and my control will be severely compromised.”
She twisted her lips. “I’ll risk it.”
He frowned at her, as thoughshe’dthrown down the gauntlet this time.
Which she had.
Bran sat up and started to unbutton his jeans, and Ireland stopped him with her hands.
“Change your mind?” he said.
“Not even close. I want to remove them.”
Ireland ran her hand down the length of his thick erection through his jeans, and he breathed in tensely. He was long and barely covered by the top of his waistband. Which meant she could rub the head of his cock with her thumb, and boy did that get some deep breathing out of him.
And got her hot and bothered at the same time.
Ireland fumbled to get the button on his waistband undone.
“Need help?”
“No,” she said firmly, and unzipped his jeans.
Bran’s waist was trim all the way down, the muscles at his stomach cut and undulating, his hips giving way to indentations on the sides of his firm ass and muscular thighs.
He was even hotter naked. That was all she needed.
What if this was a fling? She really, really didn’t care right now, but she might later.
Though nothing with Bran felt like a fling, not even when he was scowling at her. He was all intense emotion and heat. And tonight felt like he was giving her the best of himself—when his smart mouth wasn’t interrupting the romance.
Ireland suspected his clipped responses were a part of his defense. Why all the walls, she didn’t know, but at least they came down when they were alone.
