by Zahra Girard
It fails.
I wonder how he looks under that shirt? Everything flexing, everything pumping and full of blood, everything primed to explode.
I imagine abs — toned and perfect — and pecs that pulse and one other muscle in particular that swells and moves in time with his heartbeat.
This is the man who owns me.
Calm down, and keep to the story, Evie. Don’t go meandering into I-want-to-fuck-Connor land. Even though you want to. Because you have eyes and a sex drive.
“Would you like the fucking moon while you’re at it?” He growls.
“I just thought…” I start.
“No, you’re not thinking. Unless your plan is to pick the absolute stupidest thing you could do. You’re asking for something that I can’t give you.”
I felt good, earlier. But now? I’m just angry.
I snap.
Connor doesn’t get to call all the shots. This is still my life we’re talking about. I have a say.
I need to convince him.
Whatever it takes.
Come on, Evelyn, you’re a journalist. You know how to ask questions and you know how to win arguments.
Convince him.
“Then just kill me now.”
I put my foot down. Literally, I stomp it.
“The fuck you talking about?” He says.
“If you’re going to drag me around to your little birthday party, parade me around where you want, and then think it’s fine to shut me away from everyone and everything that’s important to me, you’re an idiot.”
“I’m trying to save your life,” he says, his teeth clenched and eyes flashing.
“What’s the point if you just end up wrecking everything? My family and friends are important to me. I need them and they need me. And I need my fucking job, too, as much as I hate to say it. I’m a journalist — that’s part of who I am. If you keep me locked up here, I’ll lose so much of everything and hurt so many people I care about, you might as well just finish the job and put a bullet in me.”
One of Connor’s fists lashes out and smashes the emergency stop button on the elevator.
Lights dim.
The big metal box jerks to a stop.
Connor takes one menacing step closer to me.
“That’s not how this works,” he growls.
I’m more aware of how hard and thick and powerful he is in that moment than I’ve been in the whole time I’ve known him.
Connor Halloran is pure burning intensity.
“Who says?” I say.
I keep my chin up, my eyes on him.
I’m not backing down.
He steps right into me, strong hands taking me by the wrists and forcing me back into the wall of the elevator.
I’m pinned, my heart is racing, and his muscled body pressed right up against mine.
This is a show of force.
He’s going to dominate me. He’s going to show me just how thoroughly he owns me.
There’s a screw loose in the steel paneling, giving me a small poke in the back, making me twist and squirm.
“I make the rules. I take what I want. And you do as I say,” he says, his face so close to mine our lips almost touch.
“What if I say no?”
His body is right against mine. Every inch of him is hard and pressing against me.
I can’t think straight.
There are so many emotions, so much blood, so much heat, racing through my body that it’s insane.
I can smell him. His spicy cologne, the undercurrent of sweat from running around the last few hours, the cocksure masculinity and danger that just seems to radiate from him.
It’s overwhelming.
Every part of me wants to surrender to him.
“I won’t let you. I won’t allow you to get yourself hurt. You mean too much to me,” he says.
I barely get a breath in before he crushes his lips to mine. I shut my eyes, part my lips and let my tongue dance with his.
Holy fucking shit.
I am his.
My heart feels like it’s going to jackhammer it’s way out of my chest.
My legs and hands are tingling, and the sensation of Connor pressed against me is more than my body can handle.
His lips move to my neck, his tongue and his teeth sending electric shivers up my spine as he nips at my collarbone.
“What do you mean?” I gasp.
I can feel his cock press against my thigh. Thick and tempting. It calls to me. I want to feel it’s thickness in my hand. I want to hear the moans from his lips as I squeeze and suck it.
I want to feel it’s heat inside me.
I need it.
His lips move up to my ear.
“I won’t lie and say I understand it, lass. I’ve spent my whole life devoted to my family. Then the second you say hello, it all gets turned on its fucking head. It’s you I want; fuck the rest.”
I shift — because I need to, because his hot whisper in my ear is more than I can handle — and that little movement makes me aware of just how wet I am.
My body is crying out for the man who could put it in the morgue.
This is happening.
It feels like some twisted, sexed-up fever dream. One that I don’t want to end.
My back is flat against the cold steel wall, my hands are pinned, and I am utterly at his mercy.
Just how I want it.
Connor takes what he wants. And right now, he wants me.
He reaches for the bottom hem of my shirt, lifting it.
It catches against the screw, halting halfway up my chest.
Connor growls, with one pull ripping my shirt apart.
His face, his lips, meet my chest. His tongue exploring the space between my breasts while his hands slide behind my back, undoing the clasp of my bra with one deft motion.
“Fucking gorgeous,” he moans as my bra falls off my shoulders.
He moves back, just a bit, and I wiggle my shoulders, dropping my bra to the floor.
He smiles. “Fucking hell, Evelyn, you’re beautiful. You know that, right?”
I smile.
With just a few words, with a touch, with a look, he makes me feel more aroused — more alive — than I’ve ever felt in my life.
I’m not just his prisoner. I’m his.
He comes closer.
“I need to taste you. Take your pants off,” he commands.
I leapt to obey. My hands find the buttons of my jeans before he even has a chance to reach for them. I undress in a hurry.
I’m eager, I’m excited, and I am aching to know what his lips feel like between my legs.
He kneels down in front of me and thank fucking god there’s a handrail. I squeeze it so tight my knuckles pop.
“Sweet mercy, how can it be so good?” he whispers.
I want to answer, I want to tell him something — like, stop using your lips and tongue for talking — but my words turn to mush in my mouth and all I get out is a hot moan.
“Do you like that, Whiskey Gal?”
I look down and see him looking up at me, green eyes shining with mirth and lust.
I nod my head. Then find my tongue. “I love it.”
He chuckles, and his hot breath against my pussy makes my legs clench and seize.
His lips and tongue explore me, teasing and tasting every spot between my legs except that one heated place that I am just dying to feel his touch upon. My body is buzzing with need.
“Connor,” I moan.
His fingertips trace trails up my thighs; his tongue tests my patience.
“Connor,” I moan again, more insistent this time.
He draws part of my labia between his lips, holding it, kissing it, licking it.
It feels so good, but I need more.
“Please, Connor,” I beg. My hands hurt from how tight I’m holding the handrail.
He chuckles, the vibrations against my pussy reminding me just how badly I need to feel him against my clit.<
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I can’t wait any longer.
I try and shift my hips, lowering myself, hoping that maybe I can make him lick me there.
But he moves, too, and when I try again, his hands lock on my hips and hold me in place, hard and fast against the cold steel wall of the elevator.
I shut my eyes.
“Not till I say so, lass,” he chides me.
He kisses me again, long and slow, and I feel like I’m going to pass out, I’m breathing so hard.
My legs are shaking.
I open my eyes again and look down at Connor.
His are smiling back at me.
Fuck, I need it.
I clench my jaw and ready myself to move again.
One way or another, I’m getting what I want.
Even If I have to touch myself.
He must sense it. He must see it in my eyes, my face, just how bad I want it.
Because as I’m about to move, the barest hint of his tongue brushes my clit.
It’s just lick. Just one.
But it’s like being struck by lightning.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I moan, over and again.
Then — just like that — he’s back to teasing me, his tongue circling but never touching. His lips promising, but never delivering.
“Who’s in charge, Whiskey Gal?” he asks.
I blink.
I don’t want to play games.
I want his tongue on my clit.
I want the teasing to stop.
I want to feel this orgasm that’s been hanging just out of reach finally break over my body.
Another lick, longer and slower this time, makes my legs quiver, my tongue press to the roof of my mouth, and my eyes flutter in their sockets.
“Who’s in charge?” he says again.
I fight to make my tongue move. I fight to make my lips form the words.
“You,” I finally force out.
“Good girl,” he says. Then his tongue finds it’s home.
Circling, caressing, searing my nerves with heat.
I let go of the handrail.
I grab his head.
I’m not letting go.
I’m holding on for dear life.
His tongue drives me upwards, pressing and guiding me towards my peak.
I tighten my grip.
He groans.
The vibrations of his lips feel incredible.
Moaning, I break. Into a thousand quaking pieces.
My legs give out, and Connor holds me in place, his tongue drawing every inch of pleasure out of my thrashing, quivering body.
Eventually, his tongue stops and I feel my breath returning and my body start working again.
“Good lass,” he says.
He holds me still, his smiling green eyes locked on mine, until I nod, until I’m sure I can stand on my own. And then he stands.
I’m shaking still.
Goosebumps cover me from head to toe and I’m sweating and feel hot and cold all at once.
He taps the emergency button again and the lights come on and the elevator hums back to life.
We’re three floors from the top.
A cheerful ding heralds our arrival, the doors glide open, and Connor looks at me. “Are you going to listen to me now, lass?”
To be honest, Connor, I forgot what we were arguing about.
I shrug my shoulders and, naked, follow him down the hall.
Chapter Fourteen
Connor
The fuck did I just do?
I’m supposed to show her I’m in charge, that she needs to listen to me when I tell her that her demands are fucking loony.
So how the hell did I end up tongue-fucking her in an elevator?
And why is it that I feel like, for all that ‘convincing’ I just did, I can’t say no to this woman?
Who’s in charge here?
The door closes behind us and she’s standing next to me, glistening with sweat and as naked as the day she was born.
I can’t stop staring. Fuck me, she’s gorgeous.
She’s spent, her legs are still shaky, but the way she’s looking at me, I can tell she’s still hungry. My cock is stirring like a hungry animal begging to be let free.
“We’re not done, yet, Connor,” she says.
There’s fire back in her voice. Not full flames, yet, but deep red embers ready to flare to life and burn me alive.
“Done with what, lass?” I say.
One slender finger presses into my chest, insistent, undeniable.
“I’m going to make you see things my way,” she says.
My dick twitches in my pants.
It’s throbbing, hard, and aching to break free and plunge between her legs.
That finger slides down my chest, then curls into the clasp of my belt.
My eyes go wide. One pull, and my belt opens.
One button and one zipper stands between her and my throbbing cock.
She makes quick work of them.
She drops to her knees.
“Fucking hell,” I moan.
One pump of my cock, one lick from base to tip, and I’m reduced to a fucking Cro-Magnon with a one-track mind: getting my dick into this singular hazel-eyed angel.
She grins at me.
“Now, Connor, seeing as how you want to keep this journalist all to yourself, you get to deal with some questions. Do you think you can handle that?”
Her hands tighten their grip around the base of my cock, holding it so tight I’m worried it might pop.
Her tongue flutters out from between her lips to draw a slow circle around the tip of my dick.
“Holy shit, woman,” I say, my words coming in short, quick gasps.
“Is that a ‘yes’?” she says, again flicking her tongue against my cock.
Just that is enough to set my dick quivering.
It’s fucking unnerving; usually I can fuck the women I bring home for ages. But with her? I’ve been ready to pop since the fucking elevator doors closed.
Hell, looking at her is enough to get me ready.
“Connor, is that a yes?”
“Yes,” I manage to force out.
“Good,” she says.
Her lips encircle my cock, taking me halfway down. I feel her tongue, encircling my shaft, stroking it, while her hand pumps up and down on the rest of me.
My balls are about to boil over.
But just like that, she pulls back, pulls me out of her mouth, so that just the barest bit of her hand is still touching the base of my cock.
It’s enough to drive me crazy.
“Next question: do you want more?”
No. I need more. Otherwise I think I might literally die from the worst case of blue balls in recorded history.
Instead, I say: “Yes.”
She stares right at me — still smiling — as her lips part once more, taking me deeper. Three quarters of the way, this time. I can feel the head of my cock pressing against the back of her throat.
Again, her tongue swirls and strokes the shaft of my cock.
Again, she strokes the base of my dick.
She keeps going. Until a dull, strained groan starts to form deep in my chest.
I can feel it coming; I’m ready to pop.
Then, she pulls back.
One more second, and I’d be done.
My dick is left throbbing and pulsing right in front of her face.
She slaps it. Hard.
This angel is no angel, I realize. And: this is worse than any torture I’ve ever heard of.
I mean, shock a man, cut him, bash him with a hammer, whatever, that’s all part of the job. But give him blue balls that’ll make him shake so much you can measure it on the Richter scale?
That’s just evil.
“Do you want more?” she says.
“Lass, you’re cruel,” I reply.
One more pump, and my eyes roll back into my head.
“That wasn’t an answer,” she says.
“I
t is, and you fucking know it,” I say.
Her hands stay right where they are. Her mouth stays tantalizingly close to my cock, yet still, so far away.
She looks at me expectantly.
“Just what are you willing to give me?”
Aside from the obvious, sprayed all over your face and in your mouth?
I stare at her blankly. There’s no blood left in my brain for me to think.
That mouth of hers pulls back a little further. Her grip gets a little lighter.
I think I might die.
Put it on my tombstone: Connor Halloran, True son of Boston, done in by blue balls.
“What do you want?”
“You know what I want. I told you. Will you give it to me?”
Whiskey Gal, you are going to get more than you bargained for.
There’s no way I can agree to that, can I?
I hesitate.
She draws her hand back to her sides. Her eyes tell it all: sorry, you lose.
She even starts to stand, rising up to one knee.
“Too bad,” she says. “I could’ve made you feel real good. Guess I’ll put my clothes on, now.”
I break.
“Fine,” I say.
A grin bigger than any I’ve ever seen splits her face. “I was hoping you’d say that,” she says.
Taking my cock like it’s a handle, she leads me to the couch.
Then she turns her back to me, bends down, and braces her hands against one of the armrests.
I about lose it just looking at her.
It’s better than my fantasies.
I step behind her and take her, slow at first. She fits me like a glove, tight and wet, and I move slower than molasses because any sudden movements and this’ll end way too fast.
I want to enjoy this.
I’m Connor Fucking Halloran, and I’ve got an angel bent over my couch. The dirtiest angel to ever grace this earth.
Breathing deep, trying to keep calm to slow down the rising tide in my balls, I go faster.
She tosses her head back, sending her hair cascading over her shoulders. Hazel eyes flash at me, and she licks her lips.
Hot and cold suffuse my body and everything goes tense. This woman has a hold on me. Her sex grips mine and the sensation is indescribable.
Bending over further, giving me an incredible view of her luscious ass, she reaches between her legs.
Gentle fingers take hold of my balls, stroking me, coaxing me.
God damn. Just, God damn.
My fingers dig furrows into her hips as I erupt inside her. It feels like my whole body is going to shut down as everything that I am fills and flows into her.
