Page 38 of Killaney Blood

I arch my back, widening more, giving him full access.

And then, he feasts.

There's no other word for it.

He eats me like he owns me. Like this is his reward and his punishment all in one. His hands grip my thighs, keeping me spread, while his mouth drives me insane.

He slides one finger into me and his tongue works me over.

Loud moans escape my lips no matter how hard I try to contain them.

Another finger slides in and I grip his hair tighter as his fingers slide in and out of me, stretching me.

He stands without removing his fingers and walks me backward until my back hits the wall.

He leans down and licks and sucks on my nipples. I try to free my hands to grab him, but I can't. He takes his free hand and pins them up over my head and he continues fingering me.

"You're mine now," he growls against my neck. "My nurse. My fixer."

His words should repulse me. I've spent years ensuring I belong to no one. But in this moment, with his body pressed against mine, I want to be his. Just for now. Just for tonight.

He curls his fingers inside me, finding that spot that makes me cry out. His thumb circles my clit as he works me, building pressure that threatens to shatter me.

"Come for me," he demands. "Let me see what you look like when you break."

He leans in to kiss me, and I move forward, desperate for his lips, but he pulls away and smiles.

"Next time you see me, tell me you want this," he says and leans forward to whisper in my ear. "Tell me you want me."

His fingers speed up, and my orgasm builds. I can feel electricity running through me, my body tightening.

"I'm going to come," I say.

He pulls my hair and starts to speak but I can’t hear it.

Confused, I open my eyes and he fades away, and hear laughter.

I blink and I'm in bed, my neighbor's stupid TV blaring through the walls.

I sit up and look around. I grab the phone. No calls, no texts. It's 1:45 a.m.

I'm hot, almost sweating. My nipples are hard and, yep, squeezing my thighs, my panties are soaked.

Did I just have a fucking wet dream about Declan?

I'm too worked up to even comprehend what that means. All I can think is what's going on with me. Either way, I’m too tired to even care right now.

I lay back and slide my hand under my panties and finish what he started. I'll figure out the reason in the morning.

13

DECLAN

Ilean back in the seat of my Rolls-Royce Wraith, watching rain bead and streak across the windshield. The novelty's already worn off. It always does. Cars. Women. Victory. I consume, burn through it, and move on.

Just like the cocaine high that the Wall Street bastards pay triple for, everything good becomes ordinary if you have enough of it.

Except lately, there's one area where the burn's been slower.