Page 113 of Handsome Devil

“I can see.” He took a step closer.

My pulse skipped all over the place.

“And my nightie is horrendous.” I pointed at my stripy blue pajama shirt.

“To put it mildly,” he agreed ardently and placed an open kiss across the side of my neck, his rough fingers hiking my sleepshirt up my waist. “Let’s get rid of it.”

He pushed me against the sink, and my traitorous legs opened for him on their own accord. I grunted, clutching the vanity to steady myself.

“We can’t… I have all my bed stuff on. I don’t feel sexy.” I plucked out my retainer, setting it on the vanity behind me.

“Well, you are.” His lips crashed against mine, claiming my mouth in a bruising kiss. He thrust himself against my thigh, demonstrating the evidence of his attraction. “You’ve never looked sexier to me than right now. Guard down. Barefaced. Without the fancy heels and the pastel suits.”

The praise warmed me down to my little toes, making me feel heady, lulled inside a dream.

“The Irish want me, not you.” I tore my mouth from his. I’d had time to figure it out on our drive back home.

“I know.” He trailed kisses along my collarbone and farther south. “Collateral. They have no use of me dead. Instead, they want to blackmail me by taking the only thing I care about.”

A wave of heat rolled through my body. Perhaps my husband could never love me, but he cared for me, and in time, maybe I’d learn to live with that. Maybe it’d be enough.

“This is bound to end badly.”

“For Tiernan Callaghan,” Tate said. “Yes. Not for us.”

“Be serious. How many people will you kill to stop the Irish from kidnapping me as a bargaining chip?”

“All of them.” His head disappeared between my thighs, under my nightie. His hot, wet tongue lashed at the dry cum around my pussy, cleaning me in circular, teasing strokes, a vortex of heat that kept inching toward my aching center.

“You’re playing a very dangerous game, Tate.” My fingers threaded in his hair, messing his perfect Ivy League cut.

“I’m very good at it,” he said cockily, parting the lips of my pussy with his thumbs to reveal my clit like he was extracting a pearl, flicking the tip of his tongue teasingly around it, swirling and sucking, grinding his teeth all over it. I shuddered, my nipples puckering under the flimsy fabric.

His tongue disappeared between my folds as he began thrusting into me with it, and I clutched his head, euphoria washing over me. He massaged my clit with his tongue and feasted on my pussy, fingers digging into my arse in a death grip, and when I came all over his tongue, he slurped it all like it was water in a desert, grabbed my waist, and dragged me down to lie on the floor beneath him. I gasped when the backs of my legs hit the cold tiles, and he took advantage of my open mouth, tonguing me hard and making me taste my own desire for him.

He tugged my nightie up, releasing me from its confinements, and latched on to one of my nipples, drawing moans and soft purrs from me as I opened up before him, eager to welcome him in again. His cock pressed against my core.

Tate’s lips fastened over my other nipple, and he tugged and caressed the breast he just kissed while I arched myself in offering. The way he teased me without entering me left me crazed. But I also wanted to pleasure him back. He’d been remarkably humble by not rubbing it in my face that I’d caved to our attraction in less than a month. The least I could do was reciprocate oral sex.

I pushed at his chest, and he immediately leaned back, giving me space. He propped against the cabinets, frowning. “Not good?” His voice was roughened.

Butterflies flocked my stomach. This man, whose knuckles were busted, who’d killed people with his bare hands, was so mindful of my slightest discomfort.

“No. I mean,yes.” I crawled between his open legs, jerking his joggers down.

His cock sprang out, head purple and gleaming, veins snaking up and down his shaft. He licked his lips in concentration, grabbing his base and reaching between my thighs to ensure I was wet enough for penetration.

“No.” I pressed my palm against his chest again. “I’m going down on you.”

His eyes widened, boyish excitement filling them, like the mere idea was unfathomable. He looked like a kid who just got the present he wanted for Christmas.

It reminded me Tate had never been allowed to be a kid.

And that his Christmases likely did not include any pressies.

You took the only person who gave him a sense of family.

Pushing back the guilt, I brought my head down to the crown of his cock.