“I didn’t mind it.”
“You lie,” I accuse.
“Why would I lie? I mean, what girl doesn’t like a hot, naked, inked Irishman, who, by the way, was begging to be inside of her, falling asleep in the middle of the act?”
“No?” I gasp. “We didn’t?” I would surely remember some inkling of that.
Fallon laughs at my expense. “No, we didn’t do it, but you sure were persistent. I almost gave in. But then you passed out, leaving me to my own devices.” She sighs.
“Shame on me.” I turn to her, placing my coffee cup down.
“I agree, shame on you.” Fallon also turns so we are facing each other.
“If I say I’m sorry, would you forgive me?” I take a chance and slide my hands behind her lower back, drawing her closer.
“No.” She places her warm palms on my bare chest.
I lean in. “What can I do to make it up to you?”
Fallon's green eyes flash with something obscene. “Use your tongueto apologize.”
There’s no stopping the smile or the semi. “I think I can do that exceptionally well.”
“If memory serves, I think you can, too.” Fallon skates her fingertips up my skin and wraps her arms around my neck, our lips touching softly for a fraction of a second before the pressure becomes hard and angry. Three weeks’ worth of pent-up frustration pops like a shaken bottle and sprays all over the room.
With animalistic aggression, we tear at each other, knocking all around the small kitchen, causing a mini earthquake. Things fall off the shelves and the top of the flimsy refrigerator before I finally have enough of the foreplay and lift her off the floor. Forcing her legs around my waist with a hound-hungry grunt, I walk us into her bedroom and toss her onto the bed. She lands with a bounce and a carnal look in her sharp, green eyes.
“Take your pants off. Spread your legs.” I shove my sweatpants down, heaving with lust.
Fallon does as I command, slowly and seductively undressing herself like the vixen she is. Once she’s completely bare, she drops her knees, opening the gates of heaven to me.
And, like the good Irish Catholic boy I am, I’m going to fucking worship.
I crawl onto the bed, salivating for a taste. Starving to consume the pleasure of the woman who has both possessed my soul and mind.
Keeping my eyes on hers, I drop my head and deliver a fierce French kiss that causes her to quake. Her reaction is my confirmation. A confirmation she’s wanted this just as much as I have over the last few weeks, despite her short, cold, passive-aggressive protests.
I lick her again, and again, rejoicing in her moans and liberated body language.
“Did you miss the way I taste?” she asks with barely any breath.
“What the fuck do you think?” I zealously slash, and suck, and nip at her flesh, forgetting my name, the date, the year, forgetting exactly who the fuck I am. “Answer your question?” I heave with a ferocity of an overrun cheetah.
“Mmmm,” is her incoherent response.
I continue to eat, both of us ignoring the sudden ringing of the burner phone laying next to us on the bed.
I lap up the sweet juice flowing out of her as it rings again and again.
“Fuck.” Fallon has enough and throws the thing onto the floor as I bring her closer and closer to ecstasy. “Make me come.”
“That’s the whole idea.” I flatten my tongue against her clit, then slip it inside her pussy.
“Oh God.” She tenses, and I do it again, and again, until she’s shaking. “Fuck, Declan.” Fallon yanks on my hair and flexes her hips, attaining the friction she needs. Her breathing climbs and her body writhes as she speeds toward euphoria. My balls ache knowing her climax is near. Knowing as soon as she explodes, I will get to dive into a sea of rapture and drown joyously in her soaking wet pussy.
The phone continuously rings, and we continuously ignore it until the sound isn’t anything more than a haunting echo in the distance of our minds.
“Declan!” Fallon pushes up on her hands and cries before dropping back down and grabbing for a pillow. She smothers her scream as she shatters, a dam of delirium showering all over my face.
