The sounds spilling from his throat made her slicker and hotter. To know how much pleasure he took in her body even as he devastated her…
“God.” He groaned, his eyes going hazy. “You make me come so hard.”
Tensing, Gideon cursed, his head falling back as a wracking tremor shook his powerful frame. His rhythm faltered. His thick penis jerked inside her. Teeth grinding, he shuddered through an intense orgasm.
As ever, the ferocity of his pleasure drove her own, and when he ground his hips against her, massaging her clitoris, Eva shivered into a lovely tingling climax, her sex rippling along the length of his spurting cock.
He gasped as the tension left him, his body going lax over hers, his weight heavy but welcome. His chest heaved with ragged breaths. He finally released her wrists, his hands running down her sides to gentle her. Eva clung to the beautiful, complicated man she’d married as he kissed her so tenderly that she tasted and felt the vastness of his love for her.
“Oh, ace…” she said breathlessly. “I might’ve needed that more than you.”
His mouth curved in a smile against hers. “I’m not done.”
Lifting away from her, Gideon withdrew and thrust again, still hard. She was drenched with his semen, and he slipped all the way in, bottoming out. His breath juddered from his lungs.
“Of course you’re not,” she gasped, looking down at where he claimed her so possessively. The wide root stretched the lips of her sex obscenely, and she loved it. Loved how he crammed her full, as if she’d been custom-made to hold him.
The tight lacing of his abs flexed and released as he stroked into her with slow, powerful drives. She gripped his flexing ass in both hands, urging him on. Her next orgasm was nowhere near as delicate as the second, and Gideon was right there with her, groaning through another climax that shattered them both and put them back together stronger than before.
Ireland winced as her mother gingerly ran a comb through her long, tangled hair. Alina winced too, as if she felt Ireland’s pain. Her best friend had arrived just in time to help Elizabeth wash Ireland’s hair, so she knew about the goose egg and the raw patch of ripped out strands.
“Am I hurting you?” Elizabeth sounded so worried.
“It’s fine, Mom,” Ireland assured her. Causing her mother any further stress bothered her more than her tender scalp did. “Although I’m thinking about getting it cut.”
“That’s an idea,” Elizabeth said absently. “A little pampering never hurt anyone, and it’s such a mood booster. We can go together after you’re healed. Maybe Alina would like to come, too, and we can make a girls’ day of it.”
“I’m always down for pampering.” Alina’s tone was cheery, but she had the same worried, questioning look in her eyes that everyone else did when they looked at Ireland.
Except for Ronan. He’d looked at her with tenderness. Heat. Pride.
Releasing her breath in a rush, Ireland pushed the memory aside. It felt too intimate to revisit in the company of anyone else. Especially because everyone believed Ronan was yet another trainwreck in a long line of them. And she couldn’t really argue against that perception, considering Ronan had pushed her father out of the company that her grandfather established.
“Do you think I could pull off a pixie?” she asked.
It was so nice to be fresh and clean after a shower. And while she was distantly aware of a variety of aches throughout her body, they were manageable. Even better? Her memories of the previous few days remained blessedly misty and surreal. Ireland hoped the painkillers weren’t the only reason she was managing so well, because she wouldn’t be taking them much longer.
The comb paused between her shoulder blades. “A pixie?” her mother repeated.
“You’ve never worn your hair short since I met you.” Alina propped her chin on her hand. While Ireland’s hair was long, straight, and black, Alina’s was a soft brown cloud of airy waves that draped her shoulders.
“She hasn’t worn her hair short since she came out of the womb,” Elizabeth said curtly.
Ireland waved a careless hand. “Maybe it’s time. It could be super cute on me. If I hate it, I can always grow it out again.”
“Hip-length hair to a pixie?” Elizabeth came into view beside her, a small frown between her brows. “That’s drastic, don’t you think?”
“Not necessarily.” The goose egg had gone down significantly but was still sore. The missing patch of her hair alternated between stinging and itching. Both injuries reminded her that her hair was a terrible liability. It was over two feet of leash for someone to grab.
And she’d probably look like a totally different woman. She’d never really minded when she was occasionally recognized while out and about, but the interest then had been the mild fascination of seeing someone in the flesh whom you’d only ever previously seen on television or in an advertisement. But now it sounded like most of the world knew her as Gideon Cross’s kidnapped sister, and that kind of notoriety she could do without.
Ireland was waiting until she was alone with Blizzard to turn on the television. She didn’t want to guard her expressions and hide her reactions from searching gazes. Maybe it was possible she’d watch the reports and feel like they were talking about someone else. But maybe she would remember things she’d forgotten. It might just be better to stream entertainment for a while and avoid anything live.
Elizabeth rounded Ireland’s chair and took a seat at the table where they’d been served a gourmet breakfast. While Ireland had been in surgery to repair her ear, Daniel had brought her mother a change of clothes and toiletries, so now Elizabeth was dressed in a sleeveless green silk dress. Ronan, too, had briefly returned to drop off one of Ireland’s favorite velour lounge sets—wide leg pants and a matching short sleeve top—which she was fairly certain had been in her laundry basket but was now freshly washed.
It was strange imagining the vitally seductive man she’d first seen on stage in Jazzie’s doing her laundry. Ronan was larger than life, such a tremendous force. Thinking of him doing simple everyday chores in her home… God, it was sexy as hell. Was she crazy?
She was sorry he hadn’t come by her room again. With her phone in police custody, Gideon had couriered over a new one with her existing number and all of her data intact, even her wallpaper. If the device weren’t so shiny and scratch-free, she wouldn’t know the difference. Ireland could simply text Ronan or even call him, but she resisted the urge. Her mother was always right beside her, as if she were a wobbling vase on a shelf that might fall and break.
