I’ve been called a lot of things but never troublesome. It sounds like the best kind of compliment, one I feel viscerally between my legs. My heart rate seems to triple as his big hands come to rest on either side of my face, his warm, firm lips meeting mine in that first delicious brush. It’s not a chaste kiss, but it’s slow and soft, coaxing almost. Tilting his head, he plays his lips against mine. But I don’t want this—for once, I don’t want to be tentative, my need rising like a tide as I move closer and slide my arms around his neck. I return his kiss, raising the stakes as I push my body flush against his. I kiss him hard, bite his lips. Suck on his tongue. And judging by the way his body bows with the rock-hard length of him pressed between us and the way his deep moans reverberate through us both, I’d say he’s enjoying every second of it.
‘The trouble with trouble,’ his deep voice rasps, ‘is that it’s too much fun.’
The man is killing me with compliments. One moment, we’re kissing, and the next, we’re tearing off the other’s clothes. My sweater first, courtesy of his nimble finger work, my own hands finding the hem of his T-shirt as I begin pushing it up his torso. His skin is so warm under my fingers, supple and hard.
How the heck do you get a body like this?
‘You just have to appear in my bedroom in the middle of the night and start feeling me up.’
My resulting laughter sounds so dirty, his own chuckle vibrating against my chest before he helps me with my task. His hand at the back of his neck, he pulls his mouth away from mine only long enough to rip his T-shirt up and over his head. As his mouth returns to mine, he renders me senseless with deep, wet kisses. I’m not sure who started this tidal wave of lust, but there’s no doubt who’s in control as he pulls the elastic from my hair, the length of it tumbling around my shoulders.
We barely come up for air, sharing it instead. I can’t think for the slide of his tongue across my lips and hot press of his fingers against my skin. But as I realise this, it’s almost as though I’ve given permission for those familiar doubts to begin creeping in.
‘You’re so sexy,’ he whispers, his lips travelling along my neck.
‘Hardly.’ The word is free in the air before I’ve a chance to bite it back. I swallow thickly and try for sass to cover my idiocy. ‘Besides, I bet you say that to all the girls. You know, in your line of work.’
‘Nah. I’m not buyin’ you believe that,’ he says, pulling back, his gaze no longer hot but still heated.Fierce.‘It’s the truth. You’ve been a pain in my arse since you appeared out of nowhere like a Christmas sprite. Speaking of lines of work,’ he murmurs, lifting my hair from my ears.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Checkin’ your ears to be sure you’re not one of the wee folk.’
‘Stop that,’ I retort, covering my ears.
‘You’re uncommonly lovely, Isobel. And strange enough to be fae, but I’ve never met a fairy I’ve wanted to fuck.’
‘You don’t have to pay me compliments.’ I move to put a little distance between us, sliding invisible wisps of hair behind my ears, because I’m not absolutely sure those were compliments. And I don’t have ears like an elf, fyi. ‘I’m a lot of things but never sexy.’
‘What?’Whit?Hands on my thighs, he pulls me back to the edge of the countertop, sliding my legs around his hips. ‘That’s utter bullshit.’
‘Okay, so maybe you find me sexy,’ I reply, my voice hysterically high. ‘A-and that’s lovely. But I don’t feel it. Sexy, I mean. Oh, God. Why am I telling you this?’ My hands find my cheeks, but before I have time to dissolve into embarrassed laughter or tears, Greg slides two fingers into the waistband of my jeans, jerking my body until I slide from the counter, my body flush with his.
‘Get out of your head and spread your legs.’
The rough tone of his whisper seems to pound deep inside, doubly so as he slides his thigh between mine, pushing it against my centre.
‘Oh!’ My body seems to get what he’s going for before my brain, moving almost of its own accord, rocking against him as though the motion would somehow push me against the bulge of his pyjamas.Because there’s nothing left to the imagination there.
‘Yeah, because that’s not sexy, watching you ride me.’
‘It’s not... ’It’s not going to workwas what I wasgoingto say, but as his hands slip around my back and my breasts fall out of my loosened bra, I can’t say anything else. Not as he watches them bounce. Not as he takes them in his big hands.
‘I want to fuck these.’ His voice is gravelly and full of possession as he rubs his calloused thumbs over the hardened points of my nipples. ‘Paint them in my cum. Hold them tight in my hands as I bend you over the table and fuck you so hard from behind, your flesh bears the marks of my fingerprints. Don’t tell me you don’t like the sound of that, hen, because I can feel the heat of your pussy through your jeans.’
Oh my God, he’s filthy. Maybe that’s where I’ve been going wrong. Maybe I just needed someone who really knows what they’re doing. But I feel so hot, as though I’m about to burst out of my skin. He shouldn’t be allowed to lick his lips so sinfully. He shouldn’t be allowed—’
‘Oh, dear God...’ As he bends and engulfs my nipple, I swear my whole body becomes pure electricity—like I’ve been lashed by a live line—the effects shooting from the hairs on my head to the tips of my toes.
‘Those noises,’ he growls around my nipple. ‘Sexy as fuck.’ He moves to the other one. ‘D’you like the sound of being covered in my cum, or was it being fucked from behind?’
‘Do I have to choose?’
His resulting laughter? His tongue? I think I might die from the dirty deliciousness of it all. I’ve never experienced anything like this, and I’m not about to let these feelings go. So I block everything else out—my fear, my thoughts, my memories of how sex usually plays out. Instead, I allow the heat of the moment to bleed through me. The sensation of his roughened fingertips against my skin. The aching rise of my breasts and the liquid heat building between my legs.
I allow it to bleed.
To build.
