Wild Irish_One Wild Finn

by R. G. Alexander

“Oh God,” she moaned when he yanked the bra down forcefully, revealing her heavy breasts to his gaze.

  William’s stare was as potent as a physical caress. “I’ve been starving for this feast, love. For you. Will you give me a taste?”

  She arched her back, offering herself up to him. “Please.”

  Bronte couldn’t contain her cries when he took each breast in his mouth in turn, biting, licking and sucking on her nipples until she was begging for release.

  “Beautiful,” he groaned, tongue circling the tight, sensitive buds. “Beautiful Bronte, do you like this?”

  Her shoes fell off and she dug her heels into his perfect ass, hearing him groan in response before his hips started rocking hers into the wall.

  So close. So close.

  “You need to come, don’t you, Mrs. Finn?”

  “Please.”

  “I’m the one begging now, darlin’. Let me take care of you.”

  He took another hard pull from her nipple as his hand slipped between their bodies, his fingers unerringly finding her clit beneath her dress and pinching it between his thick fingers.

  “What are you—oh my GoddamnWilliam!”

  She felt him smiling, but his voice was barely recognizable. “I’m not stopping this time. Not until you beg me to. Not until I’ve squeezed the last scream out of you and you can’t remember what it’s like to be without me inside you.”

  Bronte dipped her head to kiss him, sucking on his lower lip and sliding her tongue against his greedily. His masculine taste made her moan, and the two fingers that slipped inside her to rub that spot—oh fuck, that perfect spot—turned the moan into a shout as she came on his hand.

  She was still quaking with it when he laid her on his bed, stripping her with swift, urgent movements.

  “Again,” he said, lowering himself down beside her, fingers between her legs and mouth back at her breasts.

  “You’re so beautiful, Bronte. So tight. I need you to be ready for me.”

  “I’m ready,” she swore, lifting weak arms to try and drag him on top of her. “You’re the one who needs to get naked.”

  “Not yet.” He closed his eyes when he added a third finger inside her, stretching her to her limit. “Once I start, I won’t be able to hold back. Not this first time. Not with you. You have to come for me first.”

  “Again?” She tossed her head, a little defiant and a lot desperate. She unbuttoned the rest of his shirt and slipped her hand inside, caressing his abs. They tensed and flexed beneath her hand and she shivered, fingers fumbling with the button on his jeans. “I want you inside me, William.”

  “I am inside you. Can’t you feel me?” The thick digits were thrusting harder inside her now and the heel of his hand was pressing against her clit. “Can’t you hear how wet you are for me?”

  He swore under his breath. “Look at you bucking against my fingers and begging for more. Sexiest wife I’ve ever had.”

  She gasped out a laugh. “The only one you’ve ever had, buddy.”

  “My only.” He looked down at her breasts and licked his lips. “I want to be the only one to do a lot of things to this body. Things that you’ll blush about later. Things you’ll never forget.”

  She cupped her breasts, lifting and pressing them together, feeling his cock digging into her hip impatiently in reaction. “I think I can guess a few of them.”

  “You’re reading my mind, love.” He licked her nipples and sucked deep, his magic fingers throwing her over the edge again, making her scream.

  “That’s right. You’re shouting my name, aren’t you, Nightingale? Only mine.”

  He got to his feet and stripped, his eyes a wild, turbulent sea and his cheeks flushed with need.

  For her.

  Bronte looked down and swallowed another moan as he gripped the base of his thick shaft. He was beautiful. A marble statue come to life. The man didn’t have an ounce of wasted flesh on him, but what he did have was big. Bigger than she remembered after that one quick glimpse all those months ago.

  “Like what you see?”

  He was waiting, she realized. Asking permission like he had every step of the way, so she would know she was in control. Safe. In that moment she felt another door in her heart open wide. One she’d locked years ago and forgotten all about until now.

  William had given her another gift.

  With her throat tight, she leaned back on her elbows and let her thighs part seductively. “I’m not sure. I think you need to bring it closer.”

  His smile, half knowing and half relieved was her reward. Then his hands were on her calves, tugging her toward the edge of the bed.

  She let out an undignified yelp as her ass hit his thighs. “That works too.”

  William lifted one of her legs to dangle over his arm, the other falling to the side weakly as he dragged the head of his erection through her arousal. “I’m healthy, Bronte. I haven’t been with anyone since you seduced me in those sexy dinosaur scrubs.”

  Since they met? She was stunned, but too distracted by what he was doing to realize what he was really asking. “William?”

  He waited for her to look into his eyes. “I don’t want anything between us. Not here.”

  She must have nodded or made some sound of agreement, because he fell on her with a loud groan, filling her with one deep, forceful stroke that stole her breath.

  He leaned over her, his thick shaft stretching her almost to the point of pain. “I’ve never done this before. Bare Bronte,” he moaned. “That’s my new drug. I’m so deep, darlin’. Fuck, love, if you felt any better I would die.”

  “I’m on the pill,” she managed to gasp, her neck arching as her body tried to adjust to the thickness of him. “We’re safe.”

  He pinned her to the bed, her knee near her shoulder, unable to do anything but take the pounding pleasure he was determined to give. “What if we weren’t?”

  “What?”

  His breath was hot on her cheek and there was an edge to his voice. “I’m fucking your tight pussy bare, Mrs. Finn. You can’t know how many times I’ve taken myself in hand imagining how you’d feel. How hard I got at the thought of coming inside you, filling you up until you were dripping with it. With me.”

  She moaned at his words, his thrusts coming harder. Faster. “William.”

  “I need to claim it,” he rasped, his cheeks flushed with heat and desire. “You’ve been saving it for me and I need to mark it as mine. I wouldn’t care if you weren’t on the pill, Nightingale. I’ve imagined that too.”

  That shouldn’t make her so hot. “Oh hell, you’re as kinky as your cousins, aren’t you? First the spanking and now you’re thinking about knocking me up.”

  “You haven’t seen kinky yet, love.” He changed angles and thrust deeper, making them both moan out loud.

  “Is it wrong for a man to admit he wouldn’t mind seeing his wife pregnant?” he asked, breathless with arousal. “Or maybe we should wait to bring it up until I’m older, so you won’t feel so dirty begging for my come.”

  She whacked his arm, her body trembling as fire burned through her, building to an inferno. “Stop.”

  “No! Wait! Don’t stop,” she shouted when he paused above her.

  “Which is it, Nightingale?” His chest expanded, face almost feral as he waited for her reply. Oh God, she was so close. “You can only pick one.”

  “Don’t stop.” She needed him. All of him. “Please, William.”

  “Tell me what you want.”

  For this not to be a fantasy.

  Bronte’s eyelids fluttered but she struggled to keep them open, to look right into his. “Come inside me, William. Give me everything. I dare you.”

  “God yes,” he groaned, the last of his hesitation disappearing at her words.

  The bed started groaning with the force of his thrusts, headboard banging against the wall as she reached for something to hold onto. Anything.

  William.

  She could hear the noises
she was making, daring him to take her harder, begging to be filled, speaking in lust-filled tongues, but she couldn’t find it in her to be embarrassed or shocked. He’d woken something up inside her and it was loud and greedy and fearless.

  “I’m close,” he said almost angrily. “I want more but it’s too good. You’re squeezing me so tight, darlin’. You want it now, is that it? Too impatient to wait?”

  “Yes,” she panted, close to sobbing it felt so good.

  His fingers dropped to her clit again. “You first, Bronte. I want to feel you coming on my cock before I let go.”

  As if it were a command she had to obey, Bronte’s body shook with a climax so powerful she almost blacked out.

  William roared above her and a flood of warmth filled her as his thrusts lost their rhythm. Then he was begging and praying too, unintelligible words that were muffled against her breasts. She wrapped her arms around him until his large body stilled and shuddered.

  What just happened?

  Her experience was limited to teenage fumbling in backseats and post-prom hotel rooms for the most part, but she was willing to go out on a limb and bet that had gone on a record somewhere. Like an earthquake registered on the other side of the globe.

  Seismic.

  And he’d wanted to come inside her. Mark her. He’d made her beg for it.

  She was a strong, black woman with a good head on her shoulders, but that was the sexiest thing she’d ever experienced.

  “I think you won this round. I heard a bell ring.”

  William lifted his head, his blue eyes lightening with suppressed laughter. “We’ll call it a draw since I’ve lost all feeling in my legs.”

  They both chuckled and he rolled off of her, flopping onto his back. “I need a minute.”

  “I’m impressed. I might need at least sixty.”

  He raised himself up on his elbow and let his gaze roam the length of her. “That’s excessive, Mrs. Finn. Anything I can do to speed up that timeline?”

  Keep looking at me like that.

  “Why don’t we compromise?” He said, before she had a chance to respond. “I’ll draw us a bath.”

  She waited, raising one eyebrow. “What’s the compromise?”

  He was off the bed so fast she assumed he could feel his legs again. “You can rest until it’s ready.”

  “That’s all?”

  “I’ll wash while you ride.”

  His wicked laughter followed him out of the room.

  Bronte closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She might not have to worry about confessions or who was showing up tomorrow. She’d die before the sun came up.

  But she’d be smiling.

  Chapter Six

  Sunlight was filtering into his apartment when William heard the knock and snuck out of bed, slipping on a pair of old sweatpants before he opened the door.

  Two large Sunday’s Side takeout bags were on the ground in front of him. He glanced out into the hall. Not a Collins in sight.

  But there was a note attached.

  Mating munchies from Sunday’s. Serving all your belated honeymoon needs since roughly five minutes ago. Dig in and Pop says, “Don’t screw it up.”

  William smiled and shook his head. He felt oddly protective of this family. The Collins weren’t obligated to root for him, to care for him in any way. That they did made him feel both honored and concerned that someone would come along and take advantage.

  The kind of someone he used to be.

  He took the bags into the kitchen and started to unpack. Munchies indeed. A platter of meats, cheeses and fruit. Riley’s famous sandwich fixings. Chocolate cake.

  Had Bronte ever had cake for breakfast?

  Those were the kind of details William wanted to find out about her. How she woke up in the morning. What she dreamed about. He’d discovered one or two things in his email exchanges with Solomon and Brady, enough to get her a few gifts to keep him in her thoughts. He’d learned more in her late night texts, but it still wasn’t enough.

  He needed all of her. Bits and pieces weren’t enough. If nothing else, last night had proven that beyond a shadow of a doubt.

  He bit back a groan remembering how she rode him in the bath, her full breasts swaying in front of his mouth, tempting him to madness.

  After drying off she’d surprised him by getting on her knees. It had only taken a minute with her lips around his shaft before he’d had to have her again.

  He’d forced himself to leave her alone after she’d passed out, because not even he was that much of a prick, but he hadn’t slept for long. He’d been too aware of the silken skin that still smelled faintly of peaches, but more of him. The soft, adorably feminine snores that he knew no lover had ever heard before him.

  She’d never spent the night with a man. Never dated someone long enough to bring them to a family dinner, or introduce them to her friends.

  She might have been on this earth longer, but he felt ancient beside her. There was something pure and fine about Bronte. Something that made him wonder if he was being selfish, wanting to keep her for himself.

  William was damaged goods and he knew it. But when he was with her, all of that fell away. Was it wrong for him to want that? Was it dirty pool, using her desires to tie her to him?

  He thought about the night they’d gotten married. Unlike her, he remembered everything.

  When Bronte and her friend showed up at the dive bar he’d been loitering in, he was sure they’d been lost. He’d told himself he had no choice but to watch over her. Leaving her alone to be groped or rolled wasn’t an option.

  He’d bought them a few rounds and given her friend some marital advice before Bronte started talking. Really talking. She’d talked about her concern for Hugo and Solomon. About her love for her nephews and her mother’s constant reminders that her biological clock wouldn’t be ticking forever. She talked about how she’d given up on having a family of her own, though he hadn’t known why until yesterday.

  She’d humbled him that night. Dazzled him. Made him laugh, both before and after their hasty vows and their impromptu celebration. It was as if she’d pulled back the curtain to show him something he’d always wanted, only to close it up again the next morning, leaving him on the outside.

  That one glimpse had been enough for him to know it was where he wanted to spend the rest of his life.

  If he earned it. If he worked hard.

  If he found a way to scale the last few obstacles without getting himself killed or having her hate him forever.

  He set up the coffeemaker, pulling out the hazelnut coffee he’d been drinking since he discovered her preference. He preferred tea or a pint, but now that he was a citizen, he decided to embrace the custom.

  “What’s this?”

  He turned and immediately had the breath torn from his lungs. “Bronte.”

  She was wearing his shirt from last night and a sleepy expression that had his semi going all in.

  “William? What’s this?” she repeated.

  She was holding a book in her hand.

  “Oh that.” He leaned his elbows on the kitchen counter, casually hiding the massive erection stretching out the front of his sweatpants. “Seeing what your father does for a living, I’m guessing you know what it is and the real question is why.”

  She gave him a look.

  God help him, he loved that look.

  “Jane Eyre,” he added. “I like it better than the other two.”

  “Other two?”

  “Three sisters right? Hard to believe one family had so much talent in one area. Emily, Charlotte and Anne. I’ve read them all. Anne’s was good. Emily though—she did the world of romance a bit of a disservice.”

  “Wait, I think I had something in my ear. You’re saying Emily Bronte ruined romance? You could actually be shot for that in some countries.” She chuckled, glancing down at the book again. “Wuthering Heights?”

  He nodded with a grimace. “Don’t shoot me, but that�
�s the one. Heathcliff was a total arse, Cathy’s husband was a prickless moron and she was a—”

  “You don’t have to say it,” she said, a strange expression on her face. “We agree on that part. She definitely was.”

  She gestured to the book she was holding. “But you like this better? Rochester’s a wannabe bigamist who openly admits to being an asshole.”

  “You’ve read it then?” He made another face. “Stupid question. It felt more realistic, in spite of the crazy lady in the attic. Jane knows what he is and still loves him, but she won’t settle. I can respect that. It made it more satisfying when they got together. Like they were on equal footing.”

  “Wow,” Bronte said, eyes wide.

  “What?” Now he felt uncomfortable. Had he gotten it wrong? “Not the pillow talk you were expecting from an undereducated pub brawler?”

  She stepped closer, frowning. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

  He turned back toward the bags of food, avoiding her eyes. “I’ve got other things to put in your mouth instead. And no, that’s not what I meant, though now I’m thinking about it. We got a morning delivery.”

  “William.”

  He made a racket rustling the bags.

  “Hey, punk ass.”

  He looked over his shoulder. “What?”

  She sighed and shook her head. “You sounded like my dad. The way you were looking at the story? The first time I read it I thought, ‘How original. Another rich, white asshole trying to make time with his governess.’ But you saw more. It was sexier than I expected it to be, so I needed a minute.”

  He walked around the counter, grabbing her hips and tugging her against him. “You thought that was sexy?”

  “A tough, manly boxer reading Jayne Eyre? Do I have ovaries? Before you ask, the answer is yes. The only way it could have been sexier is if you were reading it out loud.” She was smiling, but her eyes were still uncertain. “Why are you reading the Bronte sisters, William?”

  He focused on her lips and shrugged. “Hugo said you were all named for authors that inspired your dad.”

  “Except Robert. Our mother named Robert.”

  William smirked. “I heard about that, the poor man. Even I know who Nora is.”