* * *
It felt so good; so damn good. Her initial embarrassment was nowhere to be found, shoved aside with brutal force by the wave of desire Michael had created. It continued to build, lifting her higher and higher. She wriggled wildly beneath him, the lift of her hips becoming increasingly erratic as rational thought ceased and she just felt. Felt his lips. Felt his teeth. Felt the press of his heated flesh in the chill of the room.
He tortured her with his mouth, sucking and biting with hard little nips that made her cry out, followed by long, slow licks that made her shudder and moan. There was no doubt about it; this man knew more about what she needed than she did, and she would willingly surrender to his expertise.
She felt the wave beginning to crest, but it was so much more powerful than anything she had experienced at her own hand. The tension, the pressure continued to rise and she was afraid to open her eyes. Her movements became wild and desperate, her breaths shallow and ragged. And then, just when she was about to break into a thousand tiny pieces, that was when, in one swift motion, he pulled the vibrator from her hand and spread her legs, burying his face nose to chin against her sex.
She cried out again in surprise, but welcomed him by burying her fingers in his hair. No man had ever gone down on her before. She’d read about it, dreamed about it, imagined it - but the reality was so much better. He murmured against her soft folds, curses and praises that only partially registered in her fevered brain.
* * *
“Ah, Maggie,” he moaned. “That’s it, baby. So sweet.” He pulled her legs up over his shoulders for a better angle as he gave her one long, slow lick. Her entire body shuddered beneath him and he smiled wickedly. Michael glanced at her face, saw her looking at him with half-lidded eyes heavy with desire, desperate with need. He knew then that it was a look he wanted to see over and over again.
“Michael,” she gasped, opening herself to him. The sound of his name in that breathless, pleading voice sent a fresh wave of need through him. “Michael, please. Don’t stop.” Happy to oblige, Michael dipped his head and continued where he had left off.
Ah, fuck, he thought as he filled his mouth with the taste of her. Like candy, like some decadent dessert. He could be happy here, suckling her forever, filling his mouth and nose with nothing but Maggie. Possession fired through his body. His Maggie. Her scent, her taste was a part of him forever now, burned into his senses like a brand.
His lips kissed hers, tugging lightly. His tongue dipped inside her, coating itself with her sweet cream. His long arms reached around her legs and fondled her breasts, so full and heavy, spilling over his palms.
“Oh, God, Michael, I’m coming... I’m coming...” Her cry was a sob, a desperate plea. He redoubled his efforts, sliding his tongue across and around her most sensitive spots, then dipping inside her as he felt the first tremble. He held on tight as her legs squeezed around him and began to shake uncontrollably. Dear God, her whole body seized as the powerful orgasm overtook her and she grabbed for him as if he was the only thing that could keep her from blasting away.
Michael had never felt such a raw, primal need. Before she finished, he placed himself between her legs, his thick, swollen head pressed against her entrance. Her eyes widened again but she reached for him. He pushed against her, into her, inch by glorious inch as she stretched around him, thankful for the deluge of wetness that eased his passage. With each deepening of his penetration, she cried out again as it prolonged her climax.
Finally seated balls-deep, Michael slipped his arms underneath her and held on as she continued to seize around him. Each contraction was powerful, gripping him in rippling waves. He clenched his back teeth, fighting against the seed rising within him. Just a little longer. He needed just a little longer.
Her eyes were pleading, needy, for him and him alone. She stopped shaking as he kissed her, long and deep and tender. She was so unbelievably tight, clenching him, spasming against his intrusion, cradling his body as no one ever had. Her hands reached up and grasped his shoulders, cupped the back of his head.
Nothing, nothing, had ever felt so good.
Michael remained still and deep, fighting the animalistic urge to pound into her. He stretched her to her limits, filled her as far as possible. That in itself was amazing to him – that she had taken him – all of him. He hung heavy against her slick folds, filled to bursting, tight with need and aching for release.
He was lost.
He let his eyes rake over her. No hard, tight body here, just all feminine curves that made his heart pound against his chest and his cock harder than iron. Round, full breasts that spilled over his palms; breasts that he could spend hours, days, nuzzling and fondling. A sweet, soft waist with the tiniest swell that trembled when he kissed it. Perfectly proportioned hips that he could grab on to as he took her over and over again.
He loved that he could grasp her flesh in his hands, that he could squeeze and knead and suckle it. His body sank into hers as all of her soft swells and dips yielded to his harder planes. This, this was a woman made for pleasing a man, for making him forget everything except the most basic and primal of all urges. To be inside her, to possess her so fiercely and thoroughly that no other man ever breached her thoughts again. Even now, buried deep inside her, he continued to swell and harden, anxious to get on with it, but he refused to hurt her. He would allow nothing to mar this perfect union.
She rolled her hips, just a tiny movement, but one that let him know it was okay for him to move. With infinite care, he pulled back, every muscle tense from the effort of restraining himself. A slow stroke in, impossibly deep, until he felt his tip hit her cervix. Another stroke, and another, slow and controlled as she became accustomed to his thorough possession. Despite the chill of the unheated room, sweat broke out on his brow, across his back and chest. His seed began to pool in his shaft and he forced himself to stop, almost sobbing with the barely leashed hunger he felt.
Maggie cupped his head, and looked into his eyes. “Don’t stop,” she whispered. And in her eyes he saw the same savage need. The sweet, gentle, caring doctor was gone. In his place was a man, needing only to claim this woman. His woman. The need went so deep, way beyond logic or conscious thought. It just was, as ingrained and primal as anything he’d ever felt.
“Take me,” she begged, saying the words he needed to hear. “Take me like you need to. Like I need you to.” Something snapped inside him then, and the leash with which he had tethered himself ripped right in half. He pulled out and slammed into her, hard and commanding. She cried out with the fierceness, the pure need of it.
“Yes, Michael, like that, just like that.” Her nails dug into his shoulders, marking him, even as her legs wrapped around him, pulling him deeper.
Hearing her cry out his name, feeling her score his flesh did something to him. He pulled out and did it again, and again, pounding into her so deeply she would never be free of him. He would care for her later, pamper her and soothe her and coddle her, but now everything else ceased to exist, just him, deep inside her.
“Take me,” he rasped, his voice barely recognizable. “Take me, Maggie, please. Oh, God...” His plea broke off in a gasp as he felt his seed rising. He couldn’t stop it this time. If he had to pull out it would kill him.
“Yes,” she whispered, and tilted her hips, accepting him. She wrapped her legs around his hips and cried out his name. Michael felt her clamp down around him, milking him, drawing him into her as she was consumed by her own powerful orgasm. He almost sobbed in relief as he finally let go.
It was impossible to get deep enough, to hold her close enough. Her body arched and seized against him, the pleasure, the ecstasy nearly unbearable.
An eternity later, his cock drained, her cries now sated purrs against his ear, weakness overwhelmed him. He shuddered and collapsed, barely catching himself on his elbows as her arms and legs clutched him to her.
For those few minutes, Michael knew true happiness. His mind, body, and sou
l were in perfect harmony as he lay in Maggie’s arms. Her heart beat strong through her chest and right into his; each breath she exhaled resulted in a warm, moist sensation against his neck, where her face was buried. His body still tingled from the earth-moving orgasm he’d just had, the one he held inside her as he twitched against her sheath.
He rolled to the side, taking Maggie with him, until he was beneath her and she was spread across him again. He loved the way her body blanketed his; loved the way his hands fit perfectly over her perfect ass.
Eventually his mind began to function again, along with his capacity for speech. Maggie had been so quiet, so still; he worried he had hurt her. Tenderly, he pushed some of the hair from her face, but he still could not see it. “You okay?” he asked.
In response she hummed against him, half-purr, half-moan. It sounded so wonderful he interpreted it as a good thing. Clearly she had not regained her ability to speak yet, and he took great pleasure in that. Instead, she flexed her sheath around him, a gentle but firm squeeze. A surge of pure male satisfaction ran through him.
When he felt strong enough, he bundled her up in the comforter. As he lifted her from the bed his heart clenched, for there, upon the sheets, was evidence of the innocence he had just unknowingly shattered.
“Maggie, why didn’t you tell me?” Christ, he should have known. He was a doctor, for God’s sake. And he’d ravaged her like a beast.
Chapter Twelve
She looked deep into his eyes. “I needed you, Michael. All of you.”
“But, Christ, Maggie –“
She put a finger to his lips. “I’ve been waiting a long time, Michael, dreaming of what it would be like. You made it real for me. You made it better than anything I ever could have imagined.”
If he hadn’t already lost his heart and soul to her, he would have in that moment. Unable to reply with words, he kissed her deeply, passionately, with the certain knowledge that he would never be the same again. He carried her back downstairs to the warmth of the fire. For a long while they just laid there, neither saying a word. Maggie’s warm, sated body pressed against his, her arm over his chest, one leg crossed over his thigh. His hand moved lazily up and down her back. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this content, this satisfied, this awed.
Now that he was coming back down from those incredible heights, regaining some semblance of rational thought, he tried to make sense of it. His analytical mind set to work, and the first question that came to mind was, what the hell just happened? The second was – why?
What happened? That one was relatively easy. He’d just had the most amazing sex of his entire life with a woman who had given him the gift of her innocence. Why? Well, that one was a bit harder.
Yes, Maggie was beautiful. She was soft and feminine, generally shy (the last two hours notwithstanding). He found her to be smart and witty, funny, resourceful, and passionate. Slightly clumsy, perhaps, but in his eyes, that only added to her charm. All very attractive things, to be sure. And Michael was a fit, healthy man. It was only natural he’d want to be with her, right?
Except that Michael had been with smart, funny, beautiful women before. He’d even had virgins. None of them had ever made him feel like she had. None had ever made him lose control like that, or brought him even close to the point of neglecting protection. None had brought him to his mental and emotional knees by screaming his name in the throes of passion. And, he thought, as he curled his body protectively around hers – not one had ever filled him with such a strong need to protect and possess.
Unlike much of his family, Michael tended to be on the quiet side, more apt to think a situation through thoroughly before acting on impulse. He was probably the least likely to jump in bed with a woman he just met, or to exhibit what he often half- jokingly called their innate caveman tendencies. Except here he was. He had barely known Maggie less than forty-eight hours. And God help any man who even thought about looking at her.
He believed he already knew the answer. Like two of his brothers before him, he had found his croie. His heart. His perfect woman. His soul mate.
Maggie let out a little protest in her sleep, rousing him from his thoughts and making him realize he was clutching her too tightly. He forced himself to relax his hold, and was rewarded with a soft little sigh as she burrowed into him further. For some reason, that simple action-reaction seemed incredibly profound.
Michael closed his eyes and let himself soak in the feel of her naked skin against his. As he finally drifted off, he couldn’t help but think that there was no place in the world he would rather be.
* * *
It was insane, that’s what it was. Maggie drank in the sight of the beautiful man beside her, his large hand clasped possessively over her hip. His other arm sat beneath her cheek, serving as the most wonderful, warm pillow. In sleep, his face had an angelic quality, as if it had been carved by skilled, inhuman hands. A hint of dark shadow dusted his jawline, lending him a slightly dangerous air.
As gorgeous as he was, if anyone had told her she would jump in bed with a man she just met she would have dismissed them as a few bricks shy of a load. That wasn’t her. Maggie was solid, cautious, almost prudish. A good Irish girl, clever and self-sufficient, unwilling to lower her standards for the sake of a little male company.
But look at her now. Forty-eight hours after meeting him, here she was, buck-naked beneath the comforters, shamelessly pressing herself against him, one leg bent and resting atop his hip as though in open invitation to slide himself deep inside her once again. The thought gave her a shiver, even as her sex still wept with their combined releases. God help her, she could summon none of the shame she should be feeling, only the potent desire to have him again.
Her hand traced upward from his forearm along his formidable biceps, hard even in the midst of sleep; over his broad shoulder, dipping down to his neck. Here she paused, feeling the strong, steady pulse beneath her fingertips. The rhythm carried through into her own body, coaxing her heart to beat in the same tempo.
With no other movement to indicate he was awake, Michael opened his lids. His eyes were so lovely, so deep and filled with enough power to steal her breath away.
“Michael.” She whispered his name as she cupped his cheek. He caught her hand with his own and turned his head to lay a kiss on her palm.
“Yes, sweet?” His voice was husky and deep. She wondered if it was always like this in the morning, or only after nights filled with passion. She would give just about anything to find out.
* * *
So much was going on behind those eyes. He watched, fascinated as they sparkled and lost focus, only to return with even more strength than they had before. He waited patiently, content to memorize the feminine contours of her face as she lay warm and soft in his arms, but there were no words that either of them could say, nothing that could accurately express the depth of what was happening between them.
“I know,” he whispered as his thumb caressed her cheek tenderly. She had given him such a tremendous gift. He wished he could tell her how much it had meant to him, how she had crawled into his heart and soul, but he could not find the words. Instead, he kissed her forehead and pulled her to him.
She sighed and burrowed into him again, and he knew she understood.
The storm lasted for three days. When all was said and done, nearly thirty-six inches had been recorded officially, though it was not uncommon to find drifts that topped the six and seven foot marks. Highways had been shut down, airports were closed, and most of the northeastern United States had been declared a disaster area. But in one isolated farmhouse, Michael Callaghan and Maggie Flynn remained blissfully apart from all of it.
They spent long, luscious hours making love. They heated water over the fire and gave each other erotic sponge baths by candlelight. Toasted sandwiches and roasted marshmallows on sticks. Ate canned brandied peaches off of each other. Made love some more. When the wind finally died down and the snow stopped falling, ne
ither of them was particularly pleased.
Michael dug out his truck, but while the roads in town were reported passable, the mountain roads were in no shape to drive. He was quite happy staying right where he was, but Ian’s increasingly aggressive texts insisted they all had to attend the final tux fittings, making it clear that those were Lexi’s orders, not his. Maggie, unfortunately, agreed.
Now they were awaiting the Humvee, and Michael was making the most of every last moment by holding her in his lap in the big picture window seat. He hadn’t even left yet and he was already trying to figure out how quickly he could get back to her.
“When will I see you again?” she asked, mirroring his thoughts.
Michael pulled her into his arms, devouring her mouth with his own. “Not soon enough,” he growled. “Sure you won’t come back with me?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
It wasn’t the first time he had asked. She had explained that she needed to stay at the farm, to keep the fire going so the ancient pipes wouldn’t freeze. Plus there was George to think of. She couldn’t leave him alone in this weather with the power expected to be out for a few more days at least. They had debated back and forth, but Michael discovered that Maggie, while soft-spoken, was every bit as stubborn as he was.
“Maybe I should stay,” he said, hesitating. “At least till the power comes back on.”
“No,” she told him firmly. “You need to be there for your brother. This isn’t just about tuxes, you know.” He arched a brow at her, wondering at the certainty with which she spoke. “Besides,” she continued, “I can always just fire up the generator if I need to.”
Michael’s jaw dropped open. “You have a generator? Why didn’t you say something?”
She gave him a slow smile, one that had him hardening again, despite the fact that physiologically speaking, he should be sated for days. Apparently his vast medical knowledge of human anatomical needs had not quite made it down to his penis.
House Calls: Callaghan Brothers, Book 3 Page 9
