The Player and the Pixie(63)

She meant it as a joke, I was certain.

But it angered me.

Tension pulsed through my veins and my arm constricted around her waist. The movements of my fingers ceased. I waited until she opened her eyes, at first foggy with lust, then focused on me, before responding.

“No, Lucy. There is only you.” My anger seeped through the words. I watched as she swallowed and blinked.

“Sean, I—”

“Only you. Only me.” I didn’t comprehend the impulse, but I needed her to understand, to know. I thought of no one else.

Lucy swallowed. Her eyes were wide and rimmed with determination, an acceptance that heightened, rather than eased, my frustration.

“Only tonight,” she whispered, making me frown even as her hand came to my jaw and guided my mouth to hers. She brushed a soft kiss over my lips.

Not enough.

I deepened it, chasing her mouth as she smoothed her hand over my shoulder, scratching her nails down my chest and stomach, dipping her fingertips into the towel wrapped at my waist.

I needed more of her skin, so I allowed our bodies to separate just long enough to discard her shirt and bra, for her to step out of her jeans and sandals and lacy knickers. Sampling bites, savoring her neck, the side of her breast, I maneuvered her against the wall as I lowered to my knees on the plush carpet. I held her body in place and my mouth watered at the promise of her taste.

“You’re kneeling, Sean,” she whispered, her voice unsteady yet laced with teasing; a playful reminder of the last time I made her come.

I lifted my eyes to hers, skimming my fingers up the back of her legs and drawing circles on the backs of her knees.

“I’ll beg,” I said, clearly senseless with my need to make her come, though I meant it.

I would beg if she required it.

My frankness was rewarded straightaway. “What are you doing to me?” she asked, dazed. Her stare moved over my face, helpless hunger making her eyes glow. Her legs trembled beneath my fingertips.

“Please, Lucy . . .” Holding her gaze, I separated her with my thumbs and deliberately leaned forward, gently traced the warm flesh of her slit with my tongue. Always gently. “Please let me taste you. Please let me make you feel good.”

“Damn, damn, damn . . .” She pushed her hips forward, widening her stance, her head falling back against the wall.

Her legs flexed as I devoured her, and I followed the indentations and curves of her muscles with my fingertips to the silky smoothness between her thighs. As I traced, I catalogued her skin, discovering and memorizing her most sensitive places.

I knew when she grew restless, tired of my teasing touches and the light flicks of my tongue. I fed her hunger, easing two fingers into her body and licking a path from the apex of her thighs to her clit, sucking the bead between my lips.

She came with an abrupt, sharp cry, her body clenching, her hips rocking over my mouth, her fingers twisting in my short hair.

I needed this. I needed the sounds of her pleasure, the artless spontaneity of her release.

And I needed her to do it again.





Chapter Fourteen


@EilishCassidy to @SeanCassinova Where are you? #CrankyAuntWantsToKnow

@SeanCassinova to @EilishCassidy Someplace I never want to leave. #Heaven



*Sean*

I tugged lightly and she tumbled forward, unable to support her own weight. I captured her, gathered her close in my arms. She grasped me weakly, her head resting against my shoulder as I listened to her shuddering breaths, felt her body trembling.

Accomplishment. And . . . pride. A deep, thorough satisfaction spread like wildfire through my veins, warming me from the inside as she snuggled closer, gripped me tighter, sighed the sigh of replete contentment.

“A plus plus,” she murmured against my neck, placing a kiss there.

I lifted an eyebrow, loving the friction of her soft skin as she moved. “Pardon?”

“You get an A double plus in cunnilingus, Sean. You’ve graduated.”

I smiled to myself, because though I didn’t require additional verbal verification beyond her panting groans and cries of pleasure, I enjoyed her candor.

“Good.” I kissed her temple and sought her hand. I kissed her knuckles one at a time. Then I searched for something else to kiss and decided on her neck since it was closest.

Her head lolled to the side, allowing me greater access. “Seriously. Gold star. Your parents will be so proud at the end of term.”

I chuckled, understanding and appreciating the joke even though my familial history made it more perverse than funny. Pushing thoughts of my parentage away, I fondled her breast, massaging it, loving the weight and feel of it beneath my palm.

“Oh, Christ. You’re not done, are you?” She groaned, though it was a happy groan, spiced with excitement.