The Wedding Pact (The O'Malleys #2)(52)

She frowned when he moved closer. There were scars on his chest. And not just a few. Nearly every inch of skin was covered with them. She’d felt the irregularities the last time they had sex, but she’d been too distracted to think about why his skin felt that way. Those weren’t fighting scars, either. They were too perfectly spaced. “James—”

“I’ve bared all the soul I’m going to tonight, lovely.” He climbed onto the bed and moved to straddle her hips. She started to turn over, but his hands on her shoulders stopped her. “Just relax. You need this as much as I do.”

The scent of lotion reached her, and then his hands were back on her skin, digging in and working out all the tightness in her muscles. This time she couldn’t fight back a moan. She’d known the man had magic hands, but apparently they extended beyond sex. He moved slowly over her, spending precious attention on every inch of her. By the time he reached the small of her back, she was boneless and would have agreed to damn near anything he’d asked of her.

James moved to the side. “Over.” She obeyed, rolling onto her back, and he started the process again—this time beginning at her feet and working upward. If his work on her back had left her languid and relaxed, this was entirely different. Her nerves sang to life as he moved up her calf and over her thigh. She dug her hands into the comforter. All the feel-good sensation he’d created shifted, centering between her legs.

He stopped a bare inch away from where she needed him. “Not yet.”

Carrigan lifted her head to glare. “I’m ready.”

“I never leave a job half-finished.” He moved to her other side and dug his thumbs into the sensitive arch of her foot. Against her wishes, her eyes drifted shut and she moaned again. He cursed, and his grip tightened for a single second before he moved to her calf. If she thought his desire would make him rush through this, she was sorely mistaken. He was slow and methodical and, by the time he’d reached her upper thigh, she was damn near panting for him.

“James, please.”

“You don’t sound relaxed.” His wicked grin only stoked her need higher. He used a finger to trace the seam of her panties, dragging over the scalloped lace edge. Still not where she wanted his touch most. She lifted her hips, trying to guide him, but he used his free hand to pin her to the bed. “You’re wet for me, lovely, aching for what only I can give you.” His thumb stopped directly over her clit. With a little pressure and movement, he could send her hurtling over the edge, but he didn’t give her either. “It’s a damn shame you’re going to be needing me for a little bit longer.”

“What—goddamn it.”

He moved before she could, straddling her hips, easily holding her in place when she tried to sit up. James started those maddening circles on her shoulders. “Be good and relax, and I’ll take care of you, lovely. That’s a goddamn promise.”

She didn’t want to relax. She wanted his hands and mouth on her, his cock filling her until she was lost in a sea of sensation that—damn him—only he seemed able to give her. Carrigan had had good sex before. She’d even had great sex. But what she shared with James was on a completely different level. He didn’t let her run things—even when she was on top, there was no doubt that he was in control. And hell if that didn’t turn her on more than she could have thought possible.

She wasn’t winning this—not with a head-on confrontation. So she lay back and stretched her arms over her head, the move designed to draw his eyes to her breasts. “Fine. I’m relaxed.”

“Hardly.” He palmed her breasts, his rough hands heaven against her skin. “Tell me about this tattoo.”

“I think it’s self-explanatory.”

He traced the words as he read aloud. “I became insane, with long periods of horrible sanity.” They were just words but she felt stripped bare beneath his gaze. He frowned. “I’ve heard that quote before.”

“Poe.”

“Ah, yeah. I remember now.” His thumb moved over the words again, his frown deepening. “Explain.”

“You’re seriously bossy.”

“You like it.” He cupped her breasts again, kneading gently. “And you’re stalling. I’m surprised. You don’t strike me as a Poe fan.”

She closed her eyes because it was easier to focus on what he was doing to her body, completely at odds with how closely he watched her face. What was this man doing to her? She licked her lips. “I was an angsty teenager. Poe spoke to me—this quote most of all.” It was the bare-bones explanation, but she didn’t want to get into how her life was so often jumping the tracks and running out of her control. The feeling only got worse the older she got, when she realized that her father didn’t care if she had a brain in her head as long as she did what she was told and didn’t talk back. There was no room in their world for a woman with ambitions of her own, even if they would have benefited her family. The so-called insanity was her only escape—her dancing and drinking and men—but the real world was always waiting when she came home.