“Come for me again,” he growls, leaning forward and letting go of my hair to grab my shoulder, his lips on my neck, my ear as he sinks into me again and rocks his hips against my ass. “Come for me while I fill you up, Saoirse.”
I’m helpless under the onslaught of his lips on my throat, his fingers on my clit, his cock thrusting inside me. And I want to be. I want to give him everything, let him wring every bit of heated pleasure out of me, and make me experience things I never knew I could.
“Connor!” I shriek his name as another orgasm hits, rippling through me, and I feel him grinding against me, hips bucking as he reaches his climax as well, filling me with heat. I feel dizzy, weak with pleasure and exertion, slumping forward as he fucks me harder, pouring himself into me as he drags every bit of pleasure that he can out of me as well.
When we’re both sated, he reaches for me, helping me out of the pool. “I think a cool shower is in order,” Connor says with a wry grin. “And maybe dinner.” He leans down, surprising me with a gentle kiss. “After all, I plan to expend a lot more calories this weekend.”
I feel my heart swell in my chest as he leads me, naked and dripping, back into the room towards our shower.It’s only temporary,I tell myself.
But already, this is the best weekend we’ve ever spent together, and it hasn’t even been a full day.
6
CONNOR
Ithought Saoirse was out of her fucking mind on that plane. Actually, I’ve thought she was out of her mind for days.
First booking the trip at all, then saying she wanted to play pretend for the duration of it like we’re just any old couple on a romantic honeymoon. It’s idiotic and childish, an attempt to ignore the reality of our situation—but part of me had instantly warmed to the idea as she’d said it, even though I’d wanted to seem as if I didn’t.
After all, it could easily have been said that running away to London like I did years ago was idiotic and childish. My father certainly did. But I wanted to find out what life would be like away from all of that, what I could do and be and feel if it was just me, with no outside influences and nothing but my own desires and dreams.
I know Saoirse is feeling something similar on a smaller scale. We’ve been at each other’s throats since the wedding—since before that, even—and I know this isn’t the marriage she probably dreamed of as a girl. I know that we’re like throwing oil on a fire every time we come together, and with the added stress of what’s happening in Boston, even I can admit it’s gone a little too far.
Sometimes I think it all has—my feud with my brother, my prideful and stubborn stalemate with my wife, my insistence on taking back an organization I figured out I didn’t want to lead years ago. I’m beginning to feel trapped, as if I’ve been engineered into this position, and now I can’t back down and lose face. But what would there be to lose if I did? A seat I don’t want? A wife who I thought didn’t want me?
I’d been so convinced Saoirse wouldn’t care that I hadn’t even texted her while I was trapped in the warehouse. But until the day I die, I won’t be able to forget the look on her face when she saw me crossing the street towards her. She’d beengladI was alive. Ecstatic, even. And I’d been too ashamed of my assumption to admit that I’d fucked up, too in pain to work through it, and I’d kept taking it out on her anyway.
So yeah, maybe her idea of a couple of days away from it all isn’t so idiotic. And a smaller part of me thinks that giving in to our desire for a few days isn’t the most childish thing. It could even be good for us. It could help achieve the ultimate goal—getting Saoirse pregnant. And I still believe we’ll tire of each other in time.
Of course, all of that isn’t the only reason I agreed to this trip. But Saoirse doesn’t need to know that.
I can’t deny that I’ve enjoyed it so far. Her showing off for me on the plane was a deeply held fantasy of mine that I’d never gotten to experience, and I still can’t believe it was fuckingSaoirsewho fulfilled it. If anyone had told me a few months ago that I’d be jerking off in Saoirse O’Sullivan’s panties while watching her finger herself for me half-naked out in the open on a private jet, I’d have asked for some of whatever drugs they were taking.
But that’s exactly what had happened. And it was fucking incredible. It made me wonder if maybe I’ve been going about this all wrong. If fighting my desire for her is better than just giving in to it and letting it run its course. The end result will be the same, but why am I trying so hard not to enjoy this? Because Saoirse certainly isn’t fighting it all that hard.
Lately, she doesn’t seem to be fighting it at all. Especially not here.
I’ve come four times since this morning, and they’ve been some of the best orgasms of my entire fucking life. Every orgasm with Saoirse feels that way. It’s as if every deeply buried, repressed urge she’s ever had comes out when she’s with me. She turns into the kind of girl that would do any damn thing I asked of her as long as I was getting her wet while I demanded it.
It’s more than that, too. She’s started to earn my respect. She’s tough. She held it together during the fire and afterward, even though I could see her wavering—she’s not good at hiding things from me. She convinced me of this trip. She’s stuck to what she’s said she was going to accomplish and done it every step of the way since I’ve known her, even this foundation she wants to set up.
Every single thing—except for one.
She promised me no desire. No feelings. That she’d get pregnant, and that would be that. Obligation fulfilled, duty done. But that’s the only promise she hasn’t kept. She’s ravenous for me, as much as I am for her, even though I’ve done a better job of pretending I’m not. She hasn’t gotten pregnant yet, which isn’t exactly her fault, but I wish I knew what was taking so damn long. Luca, Viktor, Liam—they all managed to knock their wives up with not much more than a look. It makes me feel slightly less than, too, that she’s not yet. Like I can’t do either of the things I set out to do.
I know I’ve been taking that out on her, too. But I didn’t even want to be here, and I feel like I’m floundering. The sooner I get it done, the better, so we can move on. So I can stop feeling this inconvenient, frustratingneedthat Saoirse arouses in me. So I can get another woman in my bed to ease the other unfamiliar feeling she’s brought out in me—jealousy.
I’ve never been a jealous man. I’ve never cared what any of the girls I’ve slept with were doing on the side. But the idea of another man making Saoirse cry out the way she does for me, making her respond like that, come like that, makes me feel murderous.Especiallyif it’s that fucking bastard Niall.
The cool shower feels good after the sweltering heat of the onsen. Saoirse comes with me into the glass-walled shower, her fingers skirting the edges of my bruises as she looks at me with concern.
“Do they still hurt?” she asks in a small voice, and I look at her wryly.
“Yeah,” I say finally. “It’s been a little over a week. It still fucking hurts.”
“What about when we—” she breaks off and looks up at me, something almost vulnerable in her green eyes. When she looks at me like that, it’s hard to keep my resolve. It’s hard not to give her anything she could ever fucking want.
“That’s about the only fucking time it doesn’t hurt,” I tell her roughly and reach for her, pulling her in for a kiss.