Ramsay(33)

"We still have another round," I whispered hurriedly, glancing down at  the cards. I needed to think. I needed to get my thoughts in order. This  was . . . this was . . .

"It's a war," he said evenly. "And I win. You don't have any high cards left."

I licked my lips, believing him. Wanting to believe him even if he  wasn't telling the truth. "And what will you ask of me? Truth or dare?"

"Dare," he said immediately.

"Brogan," I breathed, knowing where his thoughts were headed, knowing  the nature of what he'd ask of me. And knowing I'd agree. My eyelids  fluttered against my will. "We'll destroy each other. Again. You know we  will." And yet, my hands came to his shoulders and I clutched him  there, my actions contradicting my words of protest. I felt the current  of our electricity running beneath my palms-the spark that had always  existed between us. We'd indulged it once, and it had ruined us both. I  feared now would be no different . . . and perhaps worse.

"Then let's at least destroy each other properly this time." His voice  was low and slightly gravelly, and a shiver ran down my spine. He  brought his lips to my neck and licked down my throat. I moaned a  desperate sound of longing as if it had been lodged in my airway for  seven long years. Sensation shot straight between my legs, my nipples  hardening.

"Brogan . . ."

"Lie back," he instructed. I looked at him questioningly, but did as he  said, scooting up the bed until my head was on the pillows where I  slept. "I'm going to cash in on my dare."





CHAPTER FOURTEEN




Brogan



Her eyes held mine, waiting. Her breath seemed to be suspended as I  moved closer to where she now lay. "I want ya to show me," I said,  barely controlling my voice. I could hear my accent emerging and I  didn't attempt to control it. I suddenly wanted to be myself with her,  not the cleaned-up, polished version I'd extended so much effort to  become. Not him. Not right now.

Tonight I was reminded again just how much she'd known me-the real me.  More than anyone else. And she'd been right that my initial reaction had  been to punish her for her knowledge and insight. Because it scared me  and made me feel raw . . . but it was also a freedom. A freedom I hadn't  felt in seven long years.

She blinked. "Show you what?"

"Show me how ya used to touch yourself when thinking of me. Show me what  ya did, Lydia." I'd lie in bed and think about it, my hands wandering  over my skin, pretending they were your hands touching me, stroking me.  I'd moved those words aside earlier because we'd been discussing more  important things, but I couldn't move them aside now, nor did I want to.  I wanted to explore them thoroughly.

I'm cashing in on my dare.

The pulse in her neck jumped, color rushing to her cheeks. I had been  halfway turned on the entire time we'd been playing cards, but now I was  practically buzzing with need, my erection pressing painfully against  the zipper of my jeans, suddenly so aroused, I could barely focus.

Her eyes lingered on mine for several moments, her pupils dilated, her  lips parted, before her expression softened into acquiescence-and  something I swore looked like relief. She was going to do as I asked. A  hot rush of desire headed south and landed between my legs, my entire  body tightening. Holy feck. I watched as she began unbuttoning the  buttons down the front of her dress, her blue-green eyes trained on my  face. Christ, but she was gorgeous. I tried to hold eye contact, but my  gaze was wrenched to what she was doing with her hands, each new glimpse  of skin making my heart rate increase and my breath catch. When the  last button came undone, her dress fell open, revealing her silvery-blue  bra and underwear. She shrugged the dress off her shoulders, slipping  her arms free. My eyes roamed over her greedily, and I heard a small  groan come up my throat, unbidden. It'd been so long since I'd seen her  like this, and she was even lovelier than I remembered.                       
       
           



       

Lydia. Beautiful. My everlasting dream.

Her hand moved tentatively down her flat stomach until she came to the  waistband of her underwear. She paused momentarily, as if she was  rethinking what she was doing, and I swallowed, desperate to watch.  Desperate to taste, to touch. Just . . . desperate. Please don't stop.

"One summer day," she said, her voice low and breathless, "I was lying  by the pool and you were nearby shoveling mulch into our flowerbeds."  Her fingers slipped beneath the waistband of her underwear and my eyes  followed as if in a trance. "After an hour or so, you took off your  shirt and used it to mop up the sweat on your face. God, Brogan," she  let out a small sigh, "you were the most beautiful boy I'd ever seen. I  watched your muscles tighten and flex, the way sweat gathered at the  base of your back and gleamed on your chest, and it was all I could do  not to move my hands just as I'm doing now."

Her lips parted on a small moan and she closed her eyes as her fingers  dipped lower. My cock throbbed helplessly. Jaysus. I wondered if I might  embarrass myself by coming in my pants before I'd even touched her.

"That night I was lying in my bed, and I was still so turned on. I kept  picturing those lines on the inside of your hips and the way I could see  veins on your stomach that disappeared into your pants. I wanted to  trace those veins with my tongue. I wanted to find out where they went. I  closed my eyes and let my fantasy take over. You had stopped your work  and joined me at the pool. I pretended you had asked if you could cool  off and then hadn't been able to resist the sight of me in my skimpy  swimsuit and had come over to my lawn chair and climbed on top of me."  She let out a breathless little whimper as her fingers moved beneath the  thin material of her underwear, pleasuring herself. I watched,  fascinated, as her cheeks flushed with arousal and the pulse in her neck  beat insistently under the delicate skin of her smooth throat. My eyes  heavy, my head foggy with desire, I watched as she used her other hand  to reach up and unhook the clasp at the front of her bra, her beautiful  breasts popping free of the lace as she shrugged off the skimpy  material. Oh, dear God in heaven. My dick pulsed again, and I felt  pre-cum practically pouring out of my tip, my blood heating another  three million degrees.

"I pretended my own hands were yours, Brogan. I've always loved your  hands." Her fingers continued to move inside the underwear she was still  wearing and she used her other hand to run one finger around a nipple. I  watched, entranced, as it puckered. She moaned. "You'd know just how to  touch me, just what I liked, what I needed. It was the first time I  brought myself to orgasm."

"Lydia," I said, my voice shaky and sounding as if it were coming from  somewhere far away. I moved closer, taking her hand from beneath the  lacy material of her underwear and replacing it with my own. Her eyes  popped open, hazy with lust. I watched her for a moment, waiting for  some sign of approval. She closed her eyes again and arched into my  hand. I let out a harsh exhale of relief, moving closer. She brought her  hands to my arms, gripping my biceps. The room went dim. "Lydia," I  choked out. I didn't know exactly how to tell her that if she touched  me, I'd lose all control. Please understand, Lydia. Please understand  because I need you too . . . so much right now.

She opened her eyes again, comprehension pouring through the lust, and I  let out a relieved breath. She. Understood. She . . . knows me.  Reaching over her head, she held eye contact as she gripped the bars of  the bed frame. My heart pounded more fiercely in my ears, blood rushing  through my veins like molten gold. She was the only woman who'd ever  made me feel this way. Mo Chroí.

I pulled her underwear down her legs and tossed them on the floor. Then I  moved over her as she let out another small gurgling sound in her  throat. "Let me show ya what I would have done if I had really been  there," I murmured. "First I would have tasted your sweet nipples." I  leaned my head down and rubbed my lips on her breasts, feeling the  texture of her skin there-like hot satin-and then I licked one hardened  peak, swirling my tongue around it several times before moving to the  other one. Lydia's breathing increased, and she let out another sweet  whimper. "God, you taste good, Mo Chroí. Like milk and honey. Still.  Sweet and creamy." No woman had ever tasted this good before, no woman  had even come close. I know your flavor, Lydia, and I can't forget it.  No matter what I do, I can't forget.

"Brogan," she sighed, pushing her breast toward my face. God, I loved my name on her lips.

I sucked and kissed her nipples for several minutes until she was  panting with need. Need me, Lydia. I want you to need me. I kissed  slowly down her smooth belly, my tongue dipping into her bellybutton,  learning the flavors and textures of every part of her. I licked over  one hipbone, feathering my lips over that smooth, taut skin, moving  lower.