“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he murmurs, leaning down to lie next to me on the wide, soft couch. “I was going to fucking come in my jeans like a fucking teenager if I didn’t?—”
“You don’t have to apologize,” I whisper, turning toward him. His chest is bare and hot and hard with muscle, and I reachout to touch him, running my fingers over one of his tattoos—a Celtic cross on his ribs.
Sean shudders, a ripple running through his torso. “I do,leannan,” he murmurs. “I promised it’d be nothing but you.”
Suddenly, I’m exhausted. I let my head fall back on a throw pillow, the desire for sleep so strong that I can’t imagine moving. “Stay here, then,” I murmur sleepily, as I curl against his warmth. “If you want to make it up to me.”
I don’t hear his answer. I’m boneless and drained in the wake of the first orgasm I’ve ever had, the exhaustion immediate and complete. I’m asleep in his arms before he even gets the chance to speak.
22
SEAN
The feeling of Maeve falling asleep in my arms is the both the best and most terrifying thing I’ve ever experienced.
I’ve never fallen asleep with a woman before. Never held anyone afterwards. Every sexual encounter I’ve ever had has been done the moment we both came, with no expectation of anything else afterward. The feeling of her, small and fragile, warm against my bare chest as she sleeps, is so good that I know if I allowed myself to get used to this, to want it, I’d never be able to live without it again.
I’ve never been anyone’s first, either. I’m kept awake by that, too—by the memory of her, slick and hot and wet against my tongue, the taste of her still on my lips, the painfully arousing knowledge that I was the first man to ever taste her, the first to give her that pleasure, the first to make her come. I wanted to do it over and over, but I knew one was all she could take… for tonight, at least.
No. This can’t be a habit, I remind myself. I’ll ruin her if it is, ruin myself. I’ll never be able to let her go. The carefully constructed plan to win her her freedom that I came up with onthe way back will be destroyed, because I’ll do anything to keep her by my side if this goes on for long.
I nearly came just from the taste of her. I was so painfully hard while I went down on her, aching for friction, for pleasure, so close to erupting that I had to free myself and make myself come at the end, or I would have lost control. Despite that, I’m hard in minutes from the feeling of her against me, the lingering taste of her, and the memory of what we did.
The sky is just starting to lighten when I finally drift off, exhausted enough that sleep claims me despite the turmoil in my head. I don't dream, or if I do, I don't remember it. There's just darkness and then?—
Sensation.
Warm. Wet.Perfect.
I surface slowly, groggily, my body responding before my brain catches up. There's pleasure radiating from my groin, building with each passing second, and I'm hard, so fucking hard it almost hurts. For a moment, I think I'm dreaming, that my subconscious has conjured this to torture me further.
Then I hear a soft sound—half hum, half moan—and my eyes fly open.
"Fuck." The word comes out strangled.
Maeve is between my thighs, my fly open, her ginger hair spilling over my legs as her tongue slides up the side of my aching cock. I look huge in her small, delicate hand, and the sight of her lapping at me like a kitten has my shaft pulsing, my balls so tight I’m in danger of erupting on her face at any moment. At some point, she must have undone my jeans, freeing me, and now she's—Christ, now she's?—
"Maeve." I reach for her, my hand tangling in her hair, and I'm not sure if I'm trying to pull her away or hold her there. "What are you doing?"
She pulls off me with a wet sound that goes straight to my balls, looking up at me with those light blue eyes. Her lips are swollen and slick, and the sight of her like this—on her knees between my legs, looking thoroughly debauched—nearly undoes me.
"Returning the favor," she says, her voice slightly hoarse. Then, before I can respond, she leans down, wrapping her lips inexpertly around the swollen tip of my cock, lapping at the pre-cum flowing freely from the tip. It’s clear she has no idea what she’s doing, and I couldn’t care less. The most expert of blowjobs would pale in comparison to the sheer erotic pleasure of seeing my innocent wife lapping at my cock while she waits for me to wake up.
"Jesus Christ." My head falls back against the couch, my body warring with my mind. This is wrong. I should stop this. I should?—
She does something with her tongue against the tip, and rational thought abandons me.
"Maeve, you don't have to—" I try again, but she makes a sound of disagreement, the vibration traveling through me, and my hips jerk involuntarily. "Fuck,leannan, you need to stop."
But I don't pull her away. Even as the words leave my mouth, my hand is still in her hair, and I'm not guiding her off me. If anything, I'm holding her there, and we both know it.
She pulls back again, and this time there's a challenge in her eyes. "Do you want me to stop?"
No. God, no. "Yes."
"Liar." She runs her tongue along the underside of my cock, base to tip, and I groan aloud, the throbbing in my cock so intense that I don’t know how I’ll survive if she actually does stop. "You gave me something last night. Let me give you something back."
"This is different," I manage, though my resolve is crumbling with every passing second.
