Someone shook me.
“Nash.”
I jumped awake, surging upright so fast I nearly tumbled Orla off the bed.
She shoved me back. “Say it again.”
“What?”
Orla ripped the covers from the bed and climbed on top of me, the heels of her boots digging into my thighs. “Say itagain.”
I had no holy idea what she was talking about. Just that whatever it was, she was fucking furious, her default defence mechanism when something scared the shit out of her.
My chest was heaving, my skin shiny with sweat, all telltale signs that I’d been rowdy in my sleep.
Loud.
Fuck. I never remembered my dreams. Didn’t need to when real life was traumatic enough to fill my angst quota. But my loose tongue, when the dreams hit hard, had got me in trouble before.
Locke.
The fear I’d gone to sleep with returned like an atom bomb. I whipped my gaze to the window.
Orla gripped my chin and forced it back. “He’s working. I’m not his only job, remember?”
Barely. Most days it was impossible to believe that Orla had spent the past ten years guarded by anyone who wasn’t Locke Halliwell. “What’s he doing?”
“Fire door inspections. Don’t change the subject.”
“What was the subject?”
Orla’s liquid gaze hardened. “Don’t fuck with me.”
“I would never.”
“No?” She lowered her lips to mine. “How about now?”
It was a choice to fuck her instead of telling her the truth, and she knew it. Her kiss was a test. A dare.
And I failed.
I seized her hips and flipped us, throwing her onto her back, claiming her mouth with enough force to tear the words from her throat.
She wore Locke’s T-shirt, sleeves rolled, hem knotted at the waist, the cotton saturated in his scent.
I dragged it up and over her tits, burying my face in the warm cotton for a hot moment before I invaded the lace wrapped around her breasts.
They were beautiful, just like her. I worshipped them with my mouth, letting my hands roam the rest of her body, a groan wedging in my throat as she arched from the bed, her core making contact with the instant wood tenting my sweatpants.
Orla was a force of nature in bed. Or maybe it wasus. But since Locke, even when he wasn’t around, the intensity of being with her like this had exploded. We were wild. Feral. And we clawed at each other, biting and kissing until all our clothes were gone.
I lifted her hips from the bed, unleashing my tongue on her pussy, revelling in the sensation of her silky legs wrapped around my neck. In every dark, throaty moan that fell from her red lips. I lost myself in her. Selfish and weak, because I needed to, her pleasure my fucking therapy.
Orla came hard, like she always did, sweet tension peaking, then receding like a wave.
But the respite was brief. We weren’t done. I needed inside her before I lost my goddamn mind.
I was so fucking hard. I set her down, leaning over her, settling between her spread legs, my dick throbbing as I nudged where my mouth had just been, remembering my manners for the split second it took her to invite me in.
