Michael (Connelly Cousins #3) Page 7

  “Do you come up here often?” she asked, tracing small figure eights on the back of his hand. She sounded relaxed, content. Very little, if any, of her usual wariness was present, which was amazing, considering what he’d just told her.

  It was another step forward. Michael wanted her to feel safe with him, to trust him.

  “No, not really. My family used to come up here when I was a kid.”

  “It’s so beautiful.”

  “Yes,” he agreed. “You are.” He felt, rather than saw, her smile. There was no mistaking the feel of her body melting into his, radiating warm heat. Beneath the denim, his cock pulsed with ache in perfect time to his heart.

  Stop it, he silently commanded.

  “Michael?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “This is really nice. Thanks for bringing me here.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said, pressing his lips to her cheek again. “But next time, I’m going to remember to bring some of your incredible coffee and cinnamon rolls.”

  “Oh, I almost forgot.” She sat up and reached for her backpack. Before he could protest her absence, she pulled out a stainless steel Thermos and a small package wrapped in aluminum foil. He gazed in wonder as she poured him a cup of her special blend and unwrapped a roll for him. “Here, it’s still warm.”

  “You cannot possibly be real,” he said, taking a sip and closing his eyes in sheer pleasure. “You are a genuine angel.” Bailey laughed softly. Even in the predawn light, he could see the rosy tint rising in her cheeks.

  “Come on, you can tell me. I’ll keep your secret.” He winked.

  “Hardly,” she laughed. “But I’m glad you think so.”

  “My lady, there is no doubt in my mind that you were sent from heaven, just for me. I just can’t figure out what I did to deserve you.” He gave her a mischievous smile. “I’m just not that good.”

  “I think you’re wonderful,” she breathed.

  Something shifted deep inside him. He set the coffee down, the need to kiss her a tangible thing. Needed to more than he needed to breathe.

  “Bailey?”

  “Yes?”

  “I think I’d like the rest of that payment now.”

  Bailey twisted around and straddled his thighs, resting her palms against his shoulders. Michael’s hands held her hips, pulling her towards him. For as long as he lived, he would never forget how she looked in that moment. A beautiful angel, framed by golden light as the sun broke over the horizon.

  “The sun is rising,” he murmured as her hands cupped his face and she lowered her head to his.

  “I know,” she whispered, her lips brushing against his. “A kiss at sunrise is the most magical of all.”

  That was the last thing Michael heard before his entire world exploded. Bailey’s lips met his, and he was lost. Her tongue was in his mouth, making the most wonderful strokes against his lips, against his tongue. She suckled and nipped gently, slanting her head to perfect the fit and bring them closer. Her fingers combed into his hair and flexed, the slight tug and scrape of her nails traveling like an electric current straight into his groin. His mind went into freefall while his heart soared to the heavens.

  Then she tilted her pelvis and rocked against him, adding a few shooting stars to the mix.

  “Bailey, stop,” he breathed, stilling her movements with his big hands.

  “Why?” Her lips moved over his jaw, over the pounding pulse in his neck. “You don’t like it?”

  “I like it too much,” he admitted. “Much more and I won’t be able to stop.”

  She pulled away just enough for him to see the hunger in her eyes. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “No.”

  Fisting his hair, she pulled him back to her as if she could not get enough. He captured her tiny, desperate moans in his mouth, making them his own.

  She wants this. One word to the contrary and he’d force himself to stop, even if that meant taking an impromptu dip in the cold waters of the spring-fed lake. But if she was feeling this intense pull, too, the very rightness of it, then they didn’t have to stop, they could begin their life together sooner rather than later.

  “Bailey.” He cupped her face and waited until he had her full, undivided attention. “Baby, are you sure?”

  She licked her lips. “Yes. I’m sure. I want this. I want you.”

  He’d fought the good fight but there was no use denying it any longer, not if it was what they both wanted.

  Michael lost the capacity for rational thought as he gave himself over to it, surrendering the last of his control. His entire world was reduced to this one woman. She was the only thing that mattered.

  His hand cupped the back of her head while he tasted her sweet mouth. Kissed the soft skin along her jaw and down her neck. Her body heat rose up from under that sexy little camisole, and released a scent that nearly drove him insane.

  Her scent. The scent of his woman.

  He breathed deeply, allowing it to fill him with its intoxicating power. Never before had he felt the power of a woman so acutely. Even the slightest touch of her delicate hands was like a brand on his flesh, claiming and possessive.

  He felt her breasts swell and her nipples harden beneath that tiny sheath of black silk, and his other hand was suddenly there, cupping her. A deeper moan escaped and it sent fire through his veins. His mouth dipped, suckling her through the silk as she arched into him.

  “Oh, Michael,” she moaned.

  Hearing his name on her lips was like throwing lighter fluid onto an already-raging fire. He wanted to hear her screaming it as he brought her to climax, over and over again. His hand reached under the cami to skim her searing flesh. She drew in a breath and whimpered, pressing into his palm.

  “Sweet Jesus, Bailey, you’re so fucking soft.”

  “And you’re so fucking hard.”

  Her raw reply was accompanied by a lower body roll that brought those stars back into his vision, even brighter than before.

  He gently kneaded her flesh, afraid that his roughened hands would hurt her. Lifting her top, he paused to look at her perfect, round breasts – so full and begging to be sucked.

  “You are perfection.” His perfection. To finally be able to touch and taste her like this was sheer bliss. He dipped his head and laved each one, taking each nipple alternately into his mouth and rolling it over his tongue.

  Bailey’s chest heaved, greedy for more as her nails dug into his scalp. With some effort, he slid the button-down over her shoulders and lifted the cami over her head. In the span of a heartbeat, her hands were back on him, coaxing and pleading for more. Short nails dug into his skin, a clawing demand.

  Her hips ground into his erection in a wordless plea. Anxious to please, he wrapped one arm around her waist and rolled her beneath him. His mouth was on hers, then her neck as he kissed his way down to her navel. His fingers continued to play and pluck her now-stiff nipples while he licked around the fine gold charm with the emerald stone that dangled from her navel piercing.

  So fucking sexy.

  He’d never seen anything quite like it before – tiny, intertwined hearts topped by a crown embedded with a tiny emerald. A second golden charm lay beneath it. That one he knew – a Celtic cross. The whole piece was barely more than a half an inch square, but it was exquisite.

  “This is beautiful,” he murmured against her skin, drawn to its intricate crafting.

  “It’s a luckenbooth,” she said, breathless. “Scottish.”

  “I thought you were an Irish lass,” he teased, nipping at her hips. He saw the same crown symbols there, tattooed on the inside of her left hip.

  “Scottish dad, Irish mom,” she panted.

  “So where is your Irish heritage represented?” he asked, his words muffled against her flesh as he kissed his way across her abdomen. Impatient hands unfastened her jeans and tugged them down past her hips, stoked to find that she was every bit aroused as he was
. He breathed deeply, hardwiring the sight and scent of her arousal into his primitive control center.

  “Left shoulder blade. Celtic cross.”

  Michael vowed to verify that later, but his view at the moment was just too compelling to break away.

  Unable to wait another moment, he lowered his head and nuzzled against her sex. She cried out and arched upward as his hands parted her thighs to delve deeper. Nestling his lips between her silky flesh, he growled his approval.

  Pleasing her became his only purpose. Everything up to this point had been merely preparation for this. For her.

  His hands moved of their own accord, caressing her soft, fragrant skin. Grasped her hips. Pulled her closer to better continue his feast.

  Michael licked at her folds with long, slow, savoring strokes while she tangled her hands in his hair and begged him for more. Each cry of strangled pleasure brought forth another surge of desire to take her even farther. He wanted more, needed more of her sweet, creamy confection in his mouth, on his face. He thrust his tongue deep into her entrance, growing drunk on her essence.

  She rocked her hips against his face, her movements faster, her tugs more insistent, and he knew she was close. Replacing his tongue with his fingers, he flat-tongued it back up to her sensitive nub and sucked hard.

  “Michael!”

  Her scream rent through the still morning air; her thighs locked around his head as a series of tremors rolled through her.

  Triumph exploded in his chest. So responsive. So fucking mine.

  Michael kissed her through the after-shocks; only when her thighs started shaking did she begin to relax her hold.

  “Oh my God, Michael,” she breathed. “That was amazing.”

  Hell yes, it was.

  He could remain buried between her legs for hours, bringing her to climax again and again. She was like a drug and he had just become her biggest junkie, already jonesing for another fix. He returned to gentle licks, soothing suckles at her tender lips.

  One finger eased inside her, sliding through her slick heat. It was a fortunate thing, too, because she was impossibly tight. One large finger stroked her from the inside while his thumb massaged her on the outside. He drew his mouth away just long enough to look at her. Her skin was flushed and glistening, smooth and bare and beautiful.

  And his. As he was now hers.

  He knew that as surely as he knew his own name. Better, because he couldn’t actually recall his own name at that moment. All he knew for sure was that he was hers, just as she was his. His croie, his everything.

  Her body protested his absence and he felt the pads of her fingers against his scalp again as her contented mews began to grow needy again. Her desperate little moans were music to his ears.

  “Michael, please.”

  He loved hearing her beg him for relief, loved hearing his name coming from her mouth as she cried out for him. He would oblige. He would pleasure her as no man ever had. By the time he was through, she would have forgotten every other man she had ever known. From this day forward, she would only know him. He swore it to God under his breath, seared the oath into his soul. In claiming her, he had surrendered himself, a silent vow to devote the rest of his life to loving her as only he could.

  “What do you want, Bailey?” he whispered against her sex, his breath sending convulsive shudders through her.

  Her simple answer both thrilled and shattered him. “You.”

  Michael lifted himself up, placing his chest between her thighs and kissing her belly.

  “What do you need, angel? This?” Two fingers slid into her again as he licked at her belly. She was drenched; the way she clenched around his fingers made his cock weep in envy. His balls ached so much he could barely stand it. She was doing things to him he could not control. He had to get inside her. Now. His cock strained, the pain almost unbearable.

  He ripped open his shirt with one hand so he could feel her satiny skin against his own.

  “Oh my God, yes! You feel so good, Michael.”

  He moved farther up her body, continuing to thrust slowly inside her, making small, slow circles with his thumb on the outside to stoke the burn. All too soon he felt her inner walls starting to tighten again signaling her impending orgasm, and began to withdraw slowly. This time, he wanted to feel her come with him deep inside her. He needed it, craved it. Wanted the feel of her clenching around him, arching her entire body against him, screaming into his neck.

  Her small hands dug into his shoulders; her legs wrapped around his hips. He chuckled against her skin, but it was a strangled sound. Liquid fire raced through his veins, consuming him from the inside out. There was no going back now. Not ever. To stop was to die in her arms.

  His tongue licked the underside of her breast, distracting her while he shucked his pants. With his heavy cock resting against the silky skin of her inner thigh, she turned her hips, creating a cradle of bliss, arching her body into his as he took her breast into his mouth.

  * * *

  “Michael!” she screamed, out of her mind with desire. She writhed beneath him, opening her legs wider, loving the heavy feel of his body weight as she cradled him. She tilted her hips, desperate to ease the sweet, excruciating ache that he’d built to another teetering crescendo.

  This was what making love was supposed to be like – fiery passion, desperate need, wanting him more than she’d ever wanted anything. It was exactly what she’d been holding out for, and tonight, finally, she would have it.

  It was a bittersweet moment, knowing that this would be a one-time deal. She didn’t fool herself into thinking it was anything more than it was ̶ a grand climax to the last eight weeks of fantasizing about him.

  But it would be spectacular.

  He held himself just above her, his elbows pressed closely against the sides of her breasts, his hands reaching up from behind and grasping her shoulders, the tip of his shaft poised where she needed him most. Perspiration slickened his chest, his breaths were ragged, his muscles corded and tense with the tremendous effort of holding back.

  She felt his blunt head nudge against her, seeking her, parting her. He cradled her in his arms so tenderly, placing hot, wet kisses along her collarbone. Her writhing stopped, her hands ceased clawing, and she looked into his beautiful green eyes, awed by what she saw there.

  So much hunger. So much passion. For her. Surely he saw the same thing mirrored in hers.

  But she should tell him. She should tell him now.

  Michael returned her gaze and licked his lips.

  “Bailey,” he groaned, his voice breathless and thick with desire. Even his voice was making love to her. “Tell me to stop and I swear I will find a way.”

  Stop? No, she didn’t want him to stop, but... Tell him you’re a virgin. Tell him you’ve never done this before and as much as you want him, you’re scared, too.

  “I don’t want you to stop, but -”

  She didn’t finish, because between one heartbeat and the next, it was no longer an issue.

  * * *

  His last thread of control snapped as soon as the words crossed her lips. His mouth descended upon hers, capturing her cry as he rolled his hips and slid his cock deep in one swift, powerful stroke. Even with her wetness and his easing the way, it was a tight fit.

  And the best fucking thing he’d ever felt.

  White noise buzzed in his head; his body shuddered with the ecstasy of being inside her. The bliss of it totally encompassed him, like sinking into a hot tub in the middle of a winter snowstorm. But even that analogy paled in comparison to the feel of what it was like to join with his croie.

  For a moment he hung there as if in freefall, simply losing himself in her. Then hot fire surged through his veins, and the ache in his balls screamed at him to move.

  Bailey screamed his name into his mouth and tensed beneath him as he felt her hot wetness burning against his shaft. She was so ... fucking ... tight. Her sheath clenched around him like a vise and he was forced
to move slowly until she could stretch and accommodate his girth.

  A thundering rumble replaced the white noise, filling his head, blocking out all else. The only thing remaining was a brutal, primal need to seal their bond, to find the heaven only she could provide. She was his. His to love. His to protect. His to please and pamper. No man would ever again know the searing heat of her skin or the soft yield of her flesh. He growled, a low menacing rumble that began deep in his chest and grew.

  A tiny voice in the back of his head told him to go slowly, to give her time to adjust. She was right there with him, experiencing the intensity of their lovemaking, clinging to him as if her very life depended on it. There was time, plenty of time. The rest of their lives, in fact.

  Another voice – the growling one – insisted that this could not wait. The need to mark her was too great, he was too desperate. She was so hot, so wet, so tight, and he needed her. After all those weeks of watching, of waiting, no other woman would do.

  The scent of her - of her need - filled his nostrils; his mouth still held the taste of her sweet cream. Her slick body pressed against him from underneath, his hips seated between her open thighs, knees in the air... for him.

  Her nails dug into his shoulders, scoring his skin. The sheer power of it overtook him and he thrust mercilessly forward, burying himself to the hilt inside her. He felt her pushing against him, her natural resistance clenching around him, giving him the most incredible high. He heard her cries over the roaring in his head; he heard his name, but everything else was lost in his lusty haze.

  Certain that he’d brought her to orgasm again, he could now allow his own. He answered by thrusting harder until his balls slammed against her, consumed by his desire to claim her. He was powerless against it, this raging need driving him over and over into her sweet flesh.

  He nearly cried with relief when he felt his balls tighten and the seed rose in his shaft. With a final roar he crushed her to him and thrust deeply, riding wave after wave of ecstasy while he emptied inside her. Her body spasmed beneath his with each violent jet, prolonging his climax and making him come that much harder.