My hands drop to his belt as his fingers gather the layers of my dress, hiking the fabric up around my hips so he can find my panties.
Our lips remain locked, our tongues tangled in a fight to the death as he tears through the lacy fabric of my undies, shredding them and tossing the ruined lingerie aside.
Then my hands are at the buttons of his shirt, fumbling them open as he shoves his pants and boxer briefs down around his ankles.
I barely get his shirt open, exposing the rippling expanse of his muscular abdomen before he’s grabbing my thighs and hiking them up around his waist.
His chest slams me back against the wall, pinning me in place.
A gasp rushes past my lips, and I fling my arms around his neck as I feel his silken tip brush my slick slit.
I’m shocked to find just how wet I am as he presses between my folds.
The observation doesn’t seem to escape Raf either as he unleashes a tortured groan.
Then he’s lining up with my throbbing entrance, and with one punishing jerk, he shoves his considerable length inside me.
It’s dangerously reminiscent of our first time together—the shocking size of him ripping through me as he claims my body in one deep, relentless thrust.
Only this time, the pleasure that rises up to meet the pain nearly swallows me whole. I cry out as my muscles clench around him, every inch of me begging for more, even as my nerve endings scream.
And this time, Raf doesn’t stop.
He doesn’t slow down or give me time to acclimate. Instead, he pounds inside me, furious and without restraint.
A low, throaty growl rumbles from him, raising goosebumps across my skin, and I cling to him desperately, my fingernails digging into the quality fabric of his suit jacket as I ride out the brutal euphoria.
“You’re still so damn tight,” he rasps, his voice laced with disbelief. “Tell me,focosa, was itthatchallenging to find a cock that could compare to mine?”
Bitter resentment threatens to dampen the intensity of my pleasure—because, while he’s no doubt had sex with plenty of women since our time together, for me, there was only him.
And that seems to come as a surprise to Raf. He thinks that just because I gave myself to him, I would open my legs for anyone else.
It’s insulting, and the presumption of his comment makes me want to draw blood, so I bite down savagely at his full lower lip until I taste copper.
Raf hisses, his head jerking back, and I respond with a wicked grin as his cock stiffens even more inside me.
“Stop talking and fuck me,” I command, combing my fingers into his dark locks, mussing them as I bring his lips forcefully back to mine.
12
RAF
Christ, no woman on earth has a right to be this tantalizing, to feelthisincredible.
But as I plunge into Aisling’s warm, wet depths, it’s all I can do not to lose myself inside her.
She smells like spun sugar, cocoa, and cinnamon—pure warmth and sweet comfort on my tongue—and a groan rushes from me as the fiery heat of her teeth tempts me back from the edge just enough.
I’m not so drunk that I’ve lost my senses.
But I’m damn near it from the heady combination of whiskey, blows to the head, and the intoxicating pleasure of Aisling’s body wrapped around my own.
I know what I’m doing is wrong—because I still love Genevieve and this dishonors her memory; because Aisling and I agreed our relationship was not only fake but temporary; and because I could too easily fall for this fierce Irishwoman who nearly stolemy heart five years ago—before I even discovered I had a heart to give away.
I know I shouldn’t be kissing her, touching her, consuming her like she’s the very oxygen I need to survive.
We agreed this arrangement would not involve sex.