Page 49 of Distant Shores (Stapled Magnolias #2)

ADAIR

I was dying inside.

Dying.

A slow death by Ireland Sewell and her intense, heated, vibrant blue gaze as she walked toward me, the slit in her skirt teasing me with glimpses of her skin.

I wasn’t breathing. No way I could until… I wasn’t sure what.

Her eyes trailed over me, from my haphazard hair falling over my brow to my ratty T-shirt, to my leg, which was once again hiked up on pillows she’d fussed with.

“I want to touch you,” she said, her tone level.

I nodded enthusiastically, my mind made entirely of white noise.

With her gentle guidance, she got me moved toward the center of the bed.

“How’s your pain level?” she asked, inching closer to me.

“What pain?” I asked, and God, if that wasn’t the truth.

Dead people didn’t feel pain, right ?

Her lips twitched up, and the pain and shame in her eyes cleared, replaced by…

Nope. I couldn’t even think about this woman wanting me. No matter what evidence was right in front of my face.

She leaned over me, and I breathed in lavender just as her lips ghosted against mine in the promise of a kiss.

“ Good ,” she whispered against my lips, and then I was falling backward.

Eyes wide and lips parted, I watched as Ireland lifted the pillow she’d just pulled out from behind my head and tossed it away.

“Tell me if you start to hurt,” she said, eyes bouncing between mine. “Or if you want me to stop.”

I nodded because words weren’t working, but I’d be damned if my dick wasn’t picking up the slack.

There was another scrape of her lips against mine, and I almost whined when she pulled away, but the complaint died in my throat as she put her knee on the bed and swung her leg around, straddling my chest.

Backward.

Oh, holy shit.

I clutched the quilt beneath me in both hands, sure I’d see my ghostly form floating by the ceiling fan if I looked up there.

But I wasn’t looking because Ireland’s hands slid down the tops of my thighs, and that was all that existed—her skin on mine, with the pressure on the right one stronger than the left.

Her hand lingered at the edge of my cast, exceedingly gentle, while her right trailed back up my thigh with excruciating slowness. Right before she made it to what had to be the biggest tent of my life, she paused, the question hanging silently in the air .

I’d never wanted anything more. I should write her a sticky note with blanket permission to touch me.

I opened my mouth to tell her yes, but I was actually afraid of what would come out of if I tried to speak. Instead, I let go of the quilt and finally did what I was dying to do. I laid my open palm on the soft skin of her spine, just below her crop top.

Her back arched, which made her ass press lightly onto my chest, and I about wept.

Never, not in a million of my wildest fantasies, had this been a possibility.

As I hoped, she took my touch as permission and grasped my aching erection through the fabric of my shorts.

My hips shot off the bed, a dire miscalculation, as the pain shot through my ankle like a lightning bolt.

Ireland paused, feeling it, and glanced at me over her shoulder.

I shook my head at her. “Please,” I rasped. “Please don’t stop.”

She studied me for a moment, then, holding my gaze, she stroked me, sure and thorough.

I panted, unabashed and so turned on, I had to actually focus back on the pain so I wouldn’t shame myself.

Maybe it was good I was in this condition.

The ghost of a smile graced her lips, but her breaths were coming quicker, too, and something about that emboldened me.

I raked my fingertips down her spine and was rewarded when she arched her back again. Her eyes fluttered shut briefly, but then she turned back around, hooked her thumbs into my waistband, and pushed my shorts down, freeing me .

My brain backfired like an old engine, throwing ideas and feelings at me in rapid succession.

Thank God Cole got me showered. Don’t think of Cole right now. I want to see her face. I want to hide. I need her naked. Ugh, so soft. So warm. Indigo. My Indigo Girl. Her ass—so close, but too far. Damn our height difference.

Then her mouth was on me, and any level of thinking became impossible.

Ireland’s tongue swiped over my head, then licked down my erection, sure and thorough in its exploration.

My other hand flew to her waist, and I gripped her there securely while raking the other up and down her spine.

I felt her moan through my contact with her skin more than heard it, just before she swallowed me down completely.

I gasped, my hips bucking again, and I didn’t stop them, sinking into that little bit of pain to hold myself back.

I needed this to last—at least for a few minutes.

She found a rhythm then, bobbing up and down my dick with enthusiasm, and I just held on for dear life, my skin tingling and on fire at the same time.

My chest rose and fell rapidly underneath her, and when her right hand squeezed my upper thigh, I bucked again.

Raking my hand up her back, I got as close to her head as I could, feeling its movements as she gave me the most pleasure I’d ever felt.

I clenched my jaw and moaned—because this woman .

Her hips gyrated lightly against my chest, but I suspected she was holding a good bit of her weight off me. I smoothed my left hand down the bare skin of her waist to her thigh, resting on top of her skin beneath her skirt to confirm that suspicion.

Those strong thighs that starred in my fantasies were rock-hard as she held her weight and worked me over .

She popped off to catch her breath, then licked all around me, worshiping my body in a way that fundamentally changed something inside me.

I slid my hand back to her waist, then snaked around her body, resting my palm on her stomach, feeling her breathe.

She sucked on my head then, focusing on the sensitive skin there, and I freaking felt it.

A pathetic whine escaped my throat, but damn if I cared.

She hummed in response, the vibration absorbed by my hands pressed against her, just before she redoubled her efforts.

Her nails joined the party then, raking against my own flexing thighs, and I lost it.

Who I was, where I was. There was nothing but her , and no amount of microdosing pain could hold off me coming.

I had just enough sense to warn her, tapping twice in a pointed way near her neck.

She didn’t let up, but her hips pressed down on my chest with a little more pressure, and that was the final straw.

I came violently.

Desperately.

Throwing my head back, my open-mouthed scream was completely silent as every one of my nerves lit, then smoldered like white-hot sparks falling into the crashing waves.

Ireland worked me through it, licking, kissing, and nuzzling against me for several seconds before she took a deep, shuddering breath underneath my palm.

Then, with the natural grace she applied to all of her movements, she turned to face me. Her hips rose off my chest briefly, and we both inhaled sharply as I felt it and she saw it .

A perfect wet spot on my shirt where she’d been grinding on me.

I couldn’t even blush. My face was already as hot and red as it could be.

But she could, and did. I reached toward her face, running the back of my hand across her darkening cheeks.

“Surely,” I said, my voice broken and raspy, “the same woman who mounted me isn’t blushing right now.”

With one hand braced on her lower back and the other cradling her face, I drew her down for a kiss. Her lips parted in a gasp against my lips, and in this moment, I wasn’t shy.

I didn’t care that I tasted myself on her because it was still her. And heaven knew there was nothing that would keep me from kissing her right now.

Not one thing.

“What are…,” I started, voice still rough, “What are the chances I could convince you to sit on my face?”

Her lips parted, and she looked ready to agree, but then she studied me closely.

“You’re hurting.”

I huffed. “Prove it.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Your pupils are dilated.”

“Circumstantial,” I rasped, gripping her waist. “The circumstances were circumstances.”

Her stomach moved under my hands in a silent laugh. “You’re not coherent.”

I nodded as if she’d agreed with the plan and pulled her toward me, but she resisted.

“You need to rest,” she said softly, planting a soft kiss on my lips.

My eyes flew open. When had they even closed?

She pulled back, her hands braced on either side of my face .

“I’m going to go shower,” she said, looking at me intently, her face still flushed. “Feel free to listen. And watch.”

“Wha—”

She swung up and off me. The loss of her weight was so horrible that I reached for her, but she danced away from me with a small smile. When she got to my bathroom door, she turned the knob and stepped inside.

And left the door open.

Her skirt and panties hit the floor.

Then went her shirt and bra.

Lurching upward, I froze mid-crunch, gritting my teeth against the pain as I drank her in. Framed by the doorway, Ireland lingered there for several seconds before looking over her shoulder at me.

Her smile was somehow both warm and sensual as she drank me in, her eyes moving from my face to my still exposed dick. Jolting, I moved as if to cover myself, but she shook her head at me, the tiniest movement that I wouldn’t have caught if I hadn’t been looking so closely.

My hand fell away from the pillow I’d been reaching for, and approval danced in her eyes. Despite the pain and having just come, I was rock-hard again.

Ireland turned away and started the shower, her form becoming less distinct when she stepped inside, but nothing could’ve made me look away as I watched her through the slowly fogging glass.

Reaching up, she took the removable showerhead from its cradle and ran the water over her body, turning it from the shower setting to a single jet.

Lord have mercy.

Grasping myself, I strained my eyes as I watched Ireland prop her foot on the built-in bench, directing the spray down… and down… .

I couldn’t stop my hand from pumping. From imagining a clearer picture of what was happening, but even the impression of Ireland getting herself off was enough.

My strokes didn’t even need to take on a fast pace, my dick sensitive and more than ready from all the stimulation it was getting.

Clenching my jaw, I worked myself over, only pausing when Ireland braced her free hand on the glass.

Her soft moans echoed off the tiles, each one making me keenly aware of my own heavy breathing.

The shower was completely fogged over now, so I focused on her hand, a beacon in the steam, imagining it curled around my dick instead of my own.

“ Adair .”

The sudden rasp of her voice, of my name from her lips, cut through everything, and on the next stroke, my muscles clenched, and then I came, releasing into my fist.

Her fingers curled on the glass and then disappeared. Several seconds later, the water turned back to a softer setting, and she resumed her shower.

I cleaned myself up quickly with the tissues by my bed, and after a quick sip of water, time was officially called on my body, and I sank into the pillows.

When I woke sometime later, Ireland was gone, but my hands smelled like her lavender soap, as if she’d cleaned them, and a fresh T-shirt was folded neatly on the bed beside me with a note on top.

Old age isn’t so bad if you consider the alternative!

You used those 10 minutes well.

P.S. Thank you for the 10 you gave me too.

P.P.S. And the 10 after that …

I held the note against my chest and smiled.

Maybe conflict could be good for me.