Page 9 of His Lucky Charm

For one breathless moment, I thought he might. Then he covered my hand with his own, lifting it to press a kiss to my palm. “Not tonight. Please.”

I could have pushed. Should have, perhaps, given my professional curiosity. But something in his eyes—a mixture of fear and hope—stopped me.

“Okay,” I conceded. “Not tonight.”

Relief washed over his features. “Thank you.”

“But this conversation isn’t over,” I warned. “When you get back—”

“When I get back,” he agreed, pulling me against his chest. “I promise.”

I allowed myself to melt into his embrace, breathing in his scent—pine, hops, and that wild thing I still couldn’t identify. His arms tightened around me, almost desperately, as if he feared I might disappear.

“Stay tonight?” he murmured against my hair.

“Of course.”

We made our way to the bedroom, the tension between us transforming into something else—something urgent and needy. Rafferty’s kisses were harder tonight, more demanding, with an edge of desperation I hadn’t felt before.

His hands worked at the buttons of my shirt with uncharacteristic impatience. “Too many damn buttons,” he growled, finally giving up and simply ripping the fabric apart, sending buttons scattering across the hardwood floor.

“That was my favorite shirt,” I protested weakly as he pushed the tattered remains down my arms.

“I’ll buy you a dozen more.” His mouth was on my neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin in a way that made me shudder. “Need you. Now.”

There was something different about him tonight—something wild and barely contained. His touches were rougher, more possessive, marking rather than caressing. I should have been alarmed, but instead found myself responding with equal fervor, my nails dragging down his back as he stripped away my remaining clothes.

“On the bed,” he commanded, his voice deeper than usual. “Hands and knees.”

The authority in his tone sent a jolt of arousal through me. I complied, positioning myself on his king-sized bed while he hastily shed his own clothes. When he joined me, his body radiated heat like a furnace, burning against my skin where he pressed against my back.

“Mine,” he growled, one large hand splaying possessively across my lower back. “Say it, Eliot.”

I looked over my shoulder at him, startled by the intensity in his eyes—eyes that definitely flashed gold in the dim bedroom light.

“Yours,” I heard myself say, the word pulled from some primitive part of me that recognized the truth of it.

His response was a sound more animal than human. His hands gripped my hips, positioning me as his mouth traveled down my spine, leaving a trail of biting kisses that would surely mark me come morning.

“Need to taste you,” he muttered, and before I could process his meaning, his hands were spreading me open and his tongue was—oh god.

“Rafferty!” I gasped, fingers clutching desperately at the sheets as he licked into me without preamble. The sensation was overwhelming—wet heat and insistent pressure that had me rocking back against his face shamelessly.

He worked me open with a thoroughness that bordered on worship, his beard scratching deliciously against sensitive skin. When he finally pulled back, I was a trembling mess, cock leaking steadily onto the sheets below.

“Look at you,” he said roughly, one thick finger replacing his tongue, sliding into me with little resistance. “So ready for me.”

A second finger joined the first, stretching and curling to find the spot that made me see stars. I buried my face in the pillow to muffle my cries as he worked me mercilessly, adding a third finger when I began to push back against him.

“No,” he said sharply, his free hand fisting in my hair to pull my head up. “Want to hear you. Every sound.”

The slight pain of his grip sent a shudder of pleasure through me. This domineering side of Rafferty was new, and unexpectedly arousing.

“Please,” I moaned as his fingers continued their relentless assault on my prostate. “Need you. Inside. Now.”

He withdrew his fingers, leaving me empty and aching. I heard the snap of a cap, then felt the blunt head of his cock pressing against me. Despite our numerous encounters over the past week, I still wasn’t entirely used to his size—thick and long, stretching me to the point of sweet pain as he pushed steadily into me.

“Fuck,” he hissed, one hand gripping my hip hard enough to bruise while the other pressed between my shoulder blades, keeping me pinned. “So tight. Every time.”