I haven’t texted her back yet, because I’m too afraid that instead ofaye, I’m fine,I’ll sendI’m coming over.And I don’t think she’d tell me not to.
It’s all churning inside of me, a maelstrom of emotion, torn between feeling like I’ll never be able to trust her and wanting her so badly that I want to sayfuck it, let’s try anyway.I’m putting on my boots before I entirely realize what I’m doing, picking up my phone to call an Uber, knowing with every step that I’m sinking deeper into tangling the two of us together, and knowing at the same time that I can’t stop.
I can feel her like a magnet from across the city, calling me to her, and I can’t resist that fucking siren song. I never could, even from the very start.
From the second she slipped her finger into my shirt and pulled me in for that first kiss, she was always going to be mine.
Getting from the Uber up to the apartment is a haze. I find myself in front of her door, knocking instead of slipping the key card out of my wallet, since it’s so late. I don’t want to scare her, and I tell myself that if she doesn’t answer, I’ll resign myself to her having gone to bed, and go home myself.
But I’ve barely rapped on the door twice before I hear the sound of her feet, and the door swings open to a vision.
Her hair is loose, thick and shiny and dark, swirling around her face. Her eyes go wide when she sees me, her lips parting, but no sound comes out. She’s wearing a ruby red silk robe that falls to mid-thigh, and I can’t help but wonder what might be under it as I stand there, staring at her, breathing raggedly.
“Isabella—”
“Niall.”
She whispers my name, and I’m fucking gone. I stagger into the apartment as she steps back, and there’s not time for another word to come out of her mouth. She doesn’t move far enough for me to not nearly collide with her, and as my hands brush red satin one rises to bury itself in her hair, dragging her to me as my mouth comes crashing down on hers.
Her moan is the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard, vibrating against my lips and swallowed up in our kiss as I crush her against me, devouring her mouth as I back her into the kitchen, steps away from the front door. It’s the closest place that I can back her into something, up against the counter, my other hand roving as I clutch her mouth to mine, my tongue tangling with hers as I take the kiss I’ve been dying for weeks to have again.
She gasps, arching against me, and I’m so hard it hurts. My cock throbs against my fly, straining the fabric of my jeans, and I thrust against her, dragging another ragged moan from her lips. It’s not until she pushes against my chest that I pause, breaking the kiss ever so slightly as I try to catch my breath.
“Are you sure?” Isabella asks it in a wavering voice, and I can see the hope and desire in her eyes.Shewants it, there’s no doubt about it, and I’m glad, because I don’t know how I could fucking stop.
“Yes,” I grind out through gritted teeth, leaning to kiss her again. “I need you.Christ, Isabella, I need you so fucking badly—”
Anything else I might have said is swallowed up as she crushes her mouth to mine, her arms going around my neck, and I’m well and truly lost.
14
ISABELLA
Iknew Niall was drunk from the moment he stepped inside the apartment. I know I should stop him, that he might regret this in the morning, and it will hurt so much worse then. Waking up and seeing regret in his eyes, or waking up to find that he left in the night, is more than I feel like I can take at this point—another rejection, another reminder that for him I’m not even supposed to be right now, let alone forever.
But as his hand tangles in my hair and pulls my mouth to his, I know I’m lost. I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anything, and I arch against him as he backs me into the kitchen, feeling my heart race wildly.
I don’t want him to stop. I don’t want to evensuggestthat he might stop. I want him to see this through, to finally feel him inside of me again, to have him hold me in his arms and pretend for just a moment that we’re okay, that he won’t leave, that it can be just us. I want what we had before, the passion and unbridled need.
I’ve never felt like I needed anything as much as I need him in that moment. Desire, hot and thick, wells up in me as he backs me into the kitchen. I’ve been fighting it for what feels like weeks, and now, with his hands all over me and his lips on mine, I know I’m losing that battle. My body feels like a pulse, arched against him, and I kiss him back with wild abandon, feeling him harden against my thigh.
“I’m so glad you came,” I whisper against his mouth as his hand slides up under the edge of my robe, fingers rough against my skin, squeezing my thigh, my hip, my waist. “I hoped you would.”
“I’m drunk,” Niall murmurs. “I shouldn’t be here, lass. But I needed you.” He pulls back a fraction, his blue eyes on mine, and for a second I think he’s going to stop, that he’s going to tell me he has to leave. “I couldn’t stay away.”
I gasp as he kisses me again, hard and hot, both of his hands coming up and plunging into my hair, caressing my face, holding my mouth to his. He presses against me, solid and hard, his muscled body pinning me in place as I fight the tears burning behind my eyelids. I’m immeasurably glad that he’s here and heartbroken already that I know he won’t stay, that every time, I never know if there will be another night like this.
But I’ll still take everything he has to give, every single time.
He spins me around suddenly, my hands instinctively gripping the countertop as he lifts my thick black hair, kissing the back of my neck as he pushes it aside. His lips caress my nape, sending shivers down my spine, his rough hands catching on the red satin of my robe as he slides them down my body.
“You wore red the first night,” he murmurs against my skin. “I love this color on you.”
His hands reach the hem, push it up my thighs. He slides it up until he finds the edge of the matching panties beneath it. I’d worn them in some strange hope that he might change his mind after the day we’d had and come over, even though I’d felt conflicted about that desire. I don’t want to just be a means for him to forget about Saoirse anymore, tonight of all nights, but something tells me this isn’t about that. This is Niall wanting me, desiring me, losing his own inner battle against what he wants as much as I do.
“God, you’re so fucking gorgeous,” he growls, his breath hot against my neck as he slides down my panties, nudging my thighs wider. I moan, feeling the satin slide down my thighs, anticipating the hot, hard push of his cock inside of me. I want him, my every nerve aching for the pleasure he can give me, but instead of dragging his own zipper down and thrusting into me, he does something else.
He grabs my waist with one hand, pulling me back a little so I’m standing an inch or two away from the counter, my back arched, still gripping the edge as he suddenly drops to his knees behind me.