by Pam Godwin
He tossed her onto the bed and focused on the lamp. There. He caught the chain and yanked.
A dim glow illuminated the small, spartan room. Curtains blacked out the single window. No adjoining bathroom. No pictures on the walls. No knickknacks. Just a bed and the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen sprawled atop it.
Red hair. Natural red on her head and between her legs. Porcelain complexion, almost flawless, save for the freckles that speckled her brow and nose. Without the makeup and the wigs and evocative clothing, she looked outrageously innocent and young.
“How old are you?” He feathered his fingers up her calf, shaking with the force of his desire.
She shivered. “Twenty-seven.”
“I’m eleven years older than you.”
“Afraid you can’t keep up with me?” She stared up at him, panting, her sea-green eyes dazed and hooded, and her lips… Sweet hell, those full, fuckable lips pouted as she opened her legs, taunting him. “Let’s go, old man.”
“Shut the fuck up and let me look.” He sat back on his heels and soaked in the sensual lines of her body.
She arched into a sensuous stretch that mounted the pounding in his blood. She was perfect. So painfully, insanely gorgeous.
“You’re stunning. Jesus. You’re always beautiful, but this face…” He trailed a knuckle along her graceful jawline. “Your real face shines in breathtaking contrast to the one you paint on.”
“Cole.” She reached out a hand and scissored her legs back and forth, restless, needy.
He caught her fingers, entwining them with his. Until her eyes widened.
“Oh, my God.” With a gasp, she sat up, her attention locked on his new tattoo. “You removed her?”
“I didn’t belong to her.” He met her riveting gaze. “I belong to someone else.”
He twisted his arm, showing her the red swallow caught in the serpent’s deadly clutch.
Her hand fell to the bird on her chest, and little ruts formed between her brows. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Do you hate it?”
She shook her head, slowly at first, then faster, harder, her eyes tearing up. “I love it.”
His chest lifted, soaring. “Lie back.”
As she relaxed into the bed, he followed her down, sliding over her and dwarfing her tiny frame. She hooked her legs around him, and their lips came together.
And their bodies.
For the first time, he felt her skin flush with his, the soft warmth of her nudity rubbing and quivering beneath him.
With a shaky hand, he reached between them, cupping her, watching her eyes. Long, auburn eyelashes fluttered closed. Warm, supple, soaked flesh welcomed his caresses. He traced his fingertips around her opening, evoking short rapid inhalations on her cherry red lips.
Passionate woman.
So easily aroused.
“Cole, please.” She lifted her hips, wriggling, demanding.
He swatted her thigh, chastising her for her impatience. But his own was just as bodacious.
Shifting down her body, he pushed the bedding away, freed her legs, and opened her wide. She shuddered, whimpered, and reached for her clit. Such a shameless, wanton creature.
He knocked her touch away. “My hands are no longer tied, Lydia. I command. You obey.”
“Even with your hands restrained, you were always the one in command.”
The throbbing stiffness of his cock demanded he do dirty, dirty things. From the moment he’d met her, he fantasized about eating her, front to back, inside and out.
“How many cocks have been here after me?” He speared his thumbs into her pussy and spread apart her needy flesh.
“I’ve never been one to abstain. I gave away my virginity at a young age and…” She stroked a hand through his hair, blushing. “I just really love sex. But since I met you, I’ve found something I love more.” She shrugged. “I’m in love with love.”
He grinned. “That’s a pretty drastic leap from There is only war, and that is always fueled by hate.”
“I’ve taken a lot of leaps recently.” She slid her fingers down his face. “I’m on birth control, and I haven’t been with anyone since you.”
The tension in his shoulders loosened. “You’re the only woman I’ve touched in eight years.”
“Why?”
“I was waiting for something extraordinary.” He glided his thumbs up and down in opposing directions, working her tight little pussy into a sticky, squelching suction of need. “I was waiting for you.”
Her breaths punched out in disbelieving rasps as her fingers threaded through his hair. “You’re making me really, really fucking hot, Cole. If you don’t put something inside me, I’m legit going to die.”
Gazes locked, he flashed her a grin. Then he buried his face between her legs.
She cried out. Spasms rippled against his tongue, drenching her with more heat and saturating his beard. Her heavenly taste flooded his mouth, and he groaned, needing more.
He draped her legs over his shoulders and dragged her pussy hard against his face, really getting in there, tucking into his sweet meal. His beard scraped against her thighs, turning her skin red, and the strokes he inflicted between her legs teased out more of her desperate sounds, painting them in a picture of devotion and greed.
She writhed and thrashed beneath him, her hair splayed across the pillow in luminous waves, trapping the lamplight in metallic shades of red. The texture was softer, fuller, more luminous than he ever imagined it could be.
His starved mouth inched up to her other hair—the short red curls on her mound. He pressed his nose in the patch and inhaled deeply, basking in her pheromones and the sinfully ripe scent of her musk.
“You’re smelling my pussy.” She half-laughed, half-moaned. “God, you’re so filthy.”
“Just getting started.”
Moving his tongue away from his first conquest, he licked his way backward, along the sexy slit of her body until he reached the next opening.
With his hands locked behind her knees, he pushed her thighs to her chest, angling her tightest channel heavenward. Then he shoved his tongue inside.
She made a scandalized sound and clenched the tight ring of muscle, trying to keep him out as her hands swatted and pushed. “What are you doing?”
“Your ass and my dick are going to spend a lot of time together. I’m talking about regular visits. At least once a day.”
“Oh my fuck, you weren’t kidding? Anal is your weakness?”
“It’s my weakness at a premature-ejaculation level.” He gripped himself, collecting the thick, abundant pre-cum from his tip. Then he held up his wet hand. “I’m leaking all over just thinking about it.”
She burst out laughing. “You traumatized my brother doing that.”
“Oh shit. In Rome.”
“Yes, in Rome. Mike and I have been forced into some awkward situations together, but that was the first time my come was shoved in his face.”
“I’m not sorry.” He stabbed his tongue again, rimming her, violating her, and making her scream.
Once he had her thoroughly loosened up and drenched in both holes, he gripped her hips and dragged her toward his lap, tight against his cock.
The four times they’d had sex, he’d been restrained by rope, unable to move the way he needed with her on top. Not a comfortable position for a man of his nature. So this was going to feel fucking fantastic, having her under him, pinned beneath the drive of his need.
“It was real.” She trembled, gripping his arms. “In Texas, when we fucked, every second of it was real. I never faked my desire for you.”
“It was real for me, too. That last time, when I took your ass, my cruelty was unforgivable. The things I said afterward were lies. I’m—”
“Don’t apologize.” She pressed a finger to his mouth. “We’re not doing that. We’re not going to regret the actions that brought us together, okay?”
“No regrets.” Poised between her thigh
s, hard and thick and pulsing with eagerness, he lined himself up and met her eyes.
In that look, he felt as though he were already inside her, and she was inside him, their connection sparking, twisting, soldering into something brighter, denser, and more profound.
Then he pushed, sinking inside her body, stroking his tongue into her wet mouth, and burying his cock to the hilt.
Jolts of overwhelming sensations coursed back and forth and everywhere. They held themselves motionless, her lips parted around a soundless cry as he attempted to master his breathing and not bust a nut.
Her lissome beauty was intoxicating. Impossible to look away. Not to mention the pleasure that gathered where they were joined. The strangling grip of her pussy brought a flush of sweat across his brow.
He flexed within her. He couldn’t help it, and the pulsing sent her chest into motion, rising and falling and thrusting her gorgeous tits upward.
With the dip of his head, he took the taut nipples into his mouth, sucking and biting until she groaned and yanked his hair.
“I’m dying a mini-death here.” She pulled his mouth toward hers. “Fuck me already.”
He obliged, bruising her lips, attacking with teeth, and shutting her up with the swift, invasive thrusts of his body. He held her gaze as he fucked her. He never looked away as he stretched her and filled her so full and deep she had no time to brace herself when the first orgasm hit. He watched as she exploded around him, and his pleasure rose in dark, swirling torrents, pushing him to join her. But he fought it off, unwilling to surrender so quickly.
Before she caught her breath, he flipped her over and plowed into her from behind.
Over the next couple of hours, he took his time with her, exploring her body, worshiping her curves, and pumping his seed in all of her holes.
He found his ultimate release in her ass, his cock buried to the root and his eyes jammed shut against the violent, jetting spurts of his climax. Seconds later, she joined him from below, moaning through yet another orgasm. He lost count of how many she’d had.
On hands and knees, she collapsed beneath him. He rolled to his back, his cock throbbing and sore. Deliciously used.
She panted beside him, her hair plastered to her flushed, sweaty face and her eyes aglow with dazed satisfaction. A huff of laughter broke through her gasps for breath. She swallowed, heaving and short-winded, and laughed again.
Happiness looked good on her. Dazzling and magical. She was absolutely extraordinary and so vibrantly, naturally gorgeous. Her beauty was true to life.
“What the ever-loving hell, Cole?” A beaming smile lifted her cheeks as she crawled toward him, climbing up his chest and sliding a lazy kiss across his mouth. “You’ve been holding back on me.”
“Ready for round two?”
“Oh, no, no, no. You just blew through ten rounds. Pretty sure you broke my vagina.”
“Let me see.” He shoved a hand between her legs.
With a yelp, she stumbled back and off the bed. “I’m going to feed you, you beast.” She turned and sashayed toward the door. “Then we’re going to talk.”
Contentment sifted through Lydia as she sat at the kitchen table, watching Cole dig into his second bowl of mutton stew. He hummed as he chewed, his eyes hooded with pleasure.
She savored the moment, knowing it wouldn’t last. A somber conversation loomed ahead. And the job. She had to finish the job by the twentieth of January. Less than a month. If she didn’t, it would be out of her reach.
“I can’t believe you’re here.” She propped her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her hand. “I’ve never cared much for Christmas presents, but you just gave me a dozen unforgettable ones. I’ll never walk the same again.”
“I hate this time of year.” His eyes twinkled as he stared at her over his spoon. “At least, I did. You might’ve changed my mind.”
He slid the bite of stew between his chiseled lips, licking the utensil.
The temperature of her body rose several degrees.
Was he trying to be sexy? Or was it an involuntary reflex, like the salivation happening in her mouth?
Seriously, though. Why was he so beautiful?
His facial hair was thick but not long. Nothing like the beard he wore in Texas. Neatly trimmed, soft, and tidy, the length lay somewhere between stubble and a full-on beard. The scruff took those boyish dimples and made them so manly. She loved it. She really did.
Two small pink scars glowed amid the tattoos on his arm. One in front and one in back, they marked the pathway of the bullet he’d taken in Texas. If he hadn’t stayed at her side that day, that bullet might’ve gone through her.
He wore his jeans with the button unfastened. Nothing underneath. No shirt. A lot of ink. Tousled, just-been-fucked hair. Lethal from head to toe. Sexy as fuck.
The man looked like he’d been playing football his entire life. A linebacker with a solid eight-pack and enough aggression to push back an army. Beneath all that brawn and those adorable dimples was a guy she could have a beer with, or tear up a dance floor with, or run into a gunfight with, or share a dozen orgasms with. He was the most dangerous person she knew, and maybe, just maybe he was the safest.
“Thank you.” She smiled softly.
“For the orgasms?”
“For spending Christmas with me.”
“I should be thanking you. Earlier tonight, I was sitting in a pub alone, feeling woefully sorry for myself.” He slurped down another spoonful of stew. “This is our first Christmas together. The first of forever.”
“Whoa. Forever is a long—”
“Forever.” The sharpness in his tone cut through her. “I get all of you, Lydia. Every holiday. Every non-holiday. Every damn thing for the rest of your life.”
She straightened, stunned, disturbed, and strangely aroused.
“Having second thoughts? It’s too late for that.” He pointed the spoon at her. “You opened that door, knowing what you were letting in. You welcomed me into your bed, knowing what kind of lover I was. A celibate one, in fact, until I met you. Because I don’t do casual sex. I’m a partner for life. A dedicated, faithful, protective, possessive, jealous, obsessive partner. Welcome to my world.” He flashed her a wolfish smile, all teeth and somewhat scary, and returned to his bowl. “This is deadly. Seriously, the best stew I’ve ever eaten. What’s in it?”
Whirling, she opened her mouth and tried to untie her tongue. His deranged declaration tangled her up and strung her out. But after several hard swallows and a calming breath, she knew he was right. She knew exactly who and what she was letting into her life when she told Mike to unlock the door.
“Mutton chops,” she said. “Potatoes, onions, water, and magic. It’s Shannon O’Sullivan’s recipe. She always made her homemade stew when it snowed. It warmed us down to our toes, like we were somehow imbibing some of her hardiness, her glow. I think it’s because she made it with love. That was her magic ingredient.” Her chest warmed with the memory. “I have a lot to tell you, Cole. I don’t know where to start.”
“Mike is your brother. Let’s start there.”
“We met twelve years ago. I was fifteen. He was sixteen.” Her shoulders loosened, her love for Mike all-consuming. “My mother was a Russian swallow. I don’t remember her. I was two-years-old when she died. I was born in Russia, but my dad raised me in Chicago. He was American.”
His gaze dipped to the tattoo on her chest, the symbol of her mother. “You really are Russian.”
“My bloodline, yes. But I never lived there. I’m American.”
“And Mike?”
“He was raised in this house by his mother, Shannon. He didn’t know our dad, never met him. Mike and I didn’t know about each other until Dad died.”
“How did you find out?”
“My dad named Mike’s mother as my legal guardian should something happen to him. I was fifteen when a lawyer showed up at my door and told me that my dad was gone, I had a brother, and this woman I didn’
t know would be my guardian. I was uprooted from Chicago and sent to Dublin, and man, oh man, I was angry. I was an angry, grieving, rebellious teenager with a penchant for stealing. And suddenly, I was Shannon O’Sullivan’s problem. You know what she did?”
“She beat your ass?”
“No.” She laughed. “She loved me. That’s what she did. She loved me with every breath in her body. And so did her son. A brother I never knew I had. They took me into their humble home, made sure I had everything I needed, and they gave me love.”
“Where the hell did you all sleep?” He glanced around at the cramped space, the small kitchen, the couch, the single bedroom.
“Shannon and I slept in the bedroom. And this was Mike’s room.” She pointed at the couch. “After Shannon died, I demanded he sleep beside me. When we travel, he sleeps beside me. We have a unique relationship because we didn’t grow up together. We’re best friends. Siblings, too. But it’s our friendship that binds us.” She pulled in a guilt-ridden breath. “I know you thought we were fucking, and I let you believe it. It’s a ruse he and I employ to ward off unwanted attention.”
“Male attention.”
“Yes.”
“He’s protective of you.”
“That’s an understatement. When I met him, he was the biggest troublemaker in Dublin 22. The leader of the troublemakers. I was a thief when I arrived here, and he made me a better thief. I went from picking pockets to luring powerful businessmen back to their hotel rooms and scraping their phones while they were in the shower.”
“Scraping digital information?” His eyes darkened. “Information that, I assume, you sold on the black market?”
“Yep. I saved up a shitload of money from those jobs.”
“Did you fuck these men before you robbed them?”
“Sometimes. Look, Mike and I got mixed up in some dirty shit. We needed money. A lot of it. We’ve been planning our revenge for our father’s death for years. So we ran criminal schemes and robbed people to fund it. It was the only way we could afford to do this for as long as we have.”
