Page 32 of Fire Island (Fire Island #2)

“What are you busy with?” She narrows her gaze.

I can’t help the smile stretching my face. “You, baby girl.”

“How will I keep you busy, mo ghràdh?”

I close the distance between us. Mo ghràdh. That’s the first time she’s used the phrase. I love the way it rolls off her tongue. How I would love to take this woman around the world. Experience everything life has to offer, just her and me. I cup her face in my hands, tilting her mouth up.

“With your insatiable need, your research... That will take up days.”

“My research does take hours, and I can only get the best results with you.”

Her fine fingers travel my chest as I fist her hair, nipping her neck. Wanting her fucking bare already.

Wanting to be balls-deep inside this little woman, giving her my soul. Making sure she’s so satisfied, so thoroughly fucked, you’d never be able to wipe the sweet little smile she gives me in the afterglow every time from her face.

Harried hands pull at the hem of my polo shirt.

This old tub is filthy. But the night sky overhead is magnificent. The moon is hidden behind the northern trees, giving us the most incredible blanket of stars.

“Wait, I’ll be right back.” I break away, dotting a kiss to her nose before making my way down the ladder to the nearest, newest boat up on stilts I can find. Stealing two of its covers, I bundle them up and scale Pearl’s ladder again.

Laying the covers out, I leave one folded at the side. Just in case.

The old rust-spotted rail trimming the deck sends up a speckled glint. The night breeze whips Evie’s hair around. It’s now I realize her breaths are choppy, her eyes desperate. I cross the deck that spans between us and palm her face, sinking my mouth to hers.

A pretty little whimper rises, and I take it.

Breathless, I break away, double-checking the yard is empty as I rest my forehead to hers.

“Fuck me, mo ghràdh. My heart is yours, Evie.”

“Mine to protect.”

I groan through a huffy sound. “If anything happened to you?—”

“I will not leave you. I promise you that.”

I want to tell her I would die for her. I would use my last breath to keep her safe from those fucking low-life pieces of shit. But I’m not ruining this moment. Instead, I channel the desperate need for her safety into affection. “That’s the only promise I will ever hold you to, Evie.”

“Good,” she breathes. “Now, fuck me like it’s the last time you’ll ever touch me.”

Christ almighty.

I grind my molars. Just the thought alone is enough to take this man down. It takes everything I have to not crumble and beg her to make sure that never ever happens. I won’t. I won’t yield to my insecurities. Not this time. Never again.

That’s the difference twenty years makes. The difference between a boy and a man.

With a low growl, I tug her T-shirt down. The material gives way, ripping a little at the center. Sliding two fingers behind her lacy black bra, I expose one perfect tit. It bounces in my rough hand, and I clamp my lips around her hard peak, rolling my tongue around it.

Hands sink into my hair instantly, and a sweet little moan breathes into my neck as her head drops. “Cal.”

I’m hard as a rock, stretching these jeans to the point of agony.

It’s not enough.

I want her under me, over me. Wrapped fucking around me.

I want her soaked pussy in my face. My name tumbling out on every breathy cry I can pull from her.

I haul her shirt from her body. It hits the deck. Removing her black bra, I stand back, taking her in.

“Fuck, look at you, baby. Bare under the stars.”

“Not yet I’m not . . .”

I move to fix that, but she holds up a hand, saying, “My turn.”

Her finger releases the button on her jeans.

Christ.

She holds my gaze as she pushes those tight jeans over her hips.

The black lacy panties are all she stands in on the moonlit deck as the moon pokes its way over the trees now.

Illuminated and backlit, she’s stunning.

She pulls her hair around her shoulders, and the ends fall over her chest, tickling her nipples.

“No touching, Callum. Only watching.”

I swallow past the stone in my throat. “Okay.”

She slides the panties down. They hit the deck. She tosses them aside with her foot.

“Now, you need to do as I ask, fear milis.”

Sweet man. In fucking Gaelic. This woman . . .

“Shirt off, now.”

I tug the shirt from my back and toss it away.

“Thank you,” she says, running a hand over her left breast. Her lips part as her fingers find her nipple.

The breath in my lungs evaporates.

“More, please. The jeans next.”

I flick the button open and shove the zipper down. Rough hands push the jeans from my legs. I stand in my boxers, my rock-hard cock tenting them.

“Hmmm, I like that.”

Elegantly, she sinks to her seat. Leaning forward, spreading her legs, she pulls her knees up as she caresses my cock through the silk boxers.

Christ, woman.

I pant a groan, my restraint harder to hold by the second.

Evie strokes me like she’s exploring something precious. It throbs, and now the air in my lungs burns on each too-short inhale.

Hands hanging by my sides as I stand over her, she looks up at me with those big brown eyes. With one hand, she drags her hair around her neck, letting it settle over her shoulder. Her breasts now fully exposed, she leans back, knuckles grazing over her pussy.

“I’m soaked, Cal.”

I lick my lips. Fucking parched.

Bracing herself with one hand behind her, she leans back further. Her hand unfurls, and she slips a finger over her clit.

“Show me, Evie baby.”

“No touching, remember?”

I nod, and it’s a shallow movement.

On a huffy breath, she sinks one finger inside herself. I grind my jaw shut, tamping down the growl wanting out. Tensing every damn muscle to root myself to the spot.

To not touch her.