Page 56 of Sins of Arrogance (Syndicate Sins #1)

KARA

After our date, we don't head back to the helipad. Instead, Mick takes me to The Tower Room at The Plaza.

After one of our men lets us into the security cleared hotel suite and leaves, I spin in a slow circle taking in the lavish décor.

Yes, we live in a mansion, but this is a very special hotel room. The gilt furniture breathes opulence and elegance. And all I want to do is make a beeline for the big round bed I can see through the opening to the tower.

"Fitz gets to enjoy his sleepover. I thought we could enjoy ours." The sensual promise in my husband's voice makes it clear we won't be eating popcorn and watching a children's movie.

A pulse of want thrums in my core as a shiver of desire snakes up my spine.

Without either of us saying a single word, we move into the bedroom in one accord. I kick off my shoes and toe off my socks while watching my husband tear his clothes off like we didn't have sex only hours before.

Tugging my dress up my body and over my head, I toss it aside, now completely bare to the emerald heat in my husband's eyes.

Stepping forward, I lay both hands on Mick's hair roughened chest and push, guiding him back toward the bed. He stops when the backs of his legs bump the bed.

His eyes never leave mine. They’re heavy-lidded, dark with intent and desire, but there’s something else in them too.

Restraint. Control. The very thing I want to take away from him.

Because now that I know what it is like to have all of him, I'll never settle for the facade again.

I push a little harder against his chest. "I want to taste you."

It feels like everything stills around us. Even the air.

We've never done this.

I've wanted to. So many times. But I never had the courage to try.

Mick's the only lover I've ever had and even back when I was a na?ve eighteen-year-old, I knew he'd had sex with much more experienced women.

Meeting Dierdre only confirmed that.

"Let me," I say, and slowly drop to my knees.

Mick spreads his legs, making room for me between them, tacit agreement to do what I want.

I wrap my hand around his thick shaft again, pumping once, slowly, watching how his abs contract and his hand fists at his side.

The sight of him like this – so powerful, so undone – makes my whole body clench with need.

"The girls in my high school used to talk about this." I lick my lips. "They said boys complain if they didn't do it right."

"Boys might, but I'm a man, mo chroí . There is no doing it wrong when I crave the touch of your mouth on me and have for the past seven years."

"Then why haven't—"

He puts his finger against my mouth, stopping my words. "I wanted to fuck your throat and I doubted my control to stop myself."

My clitoris throbs at his words. "I want you to lose control."

"I will na hurt ya." Mick's Irish brogue is so thick it would take a knife a lot sharper than the one in moma's box to cut it.

"I know you won't. You didn't hurt me on the helicopter." My intimate flesh can still feel the hard use he gave it, but I like the ache.

It's a constant reminder that with me, this man with nearly supernatural control, loses it. And only with me.

"Do whatever ya want." Mick's hands fist in the duvet.

I smile inside, but keep it off my lips. My predator doesn't need to think I'm challenging him.

I'm so not. I'm challenging us.

To be what I need us to be as a couple.

When I lean in and press my mouth to his tip, he groans and lets his head fall back.

Salty and hot, he tastes like power, like possession, and I want all of it.

Fantasies I've had about this over the past seven years run through my mind like a montage. One in particular playing over and over again.

Acting on it, I lean forward and drag one of my tight, aching nipples up and down the length of his thick, pulsing shaft.

It feels so good, I moan.

He does too, only his sounds more like a growl – low and raw.

I do the same with the other nipple, the sensation streaking through me like lightning, a direct line from the tip of my breast to the hot, desperate ache between my legs.

"I like this," I murmur, breathless.

"I feckin' glory in it," he rasps.

I smile, then do it again. It feels even better the second time, but it’s not enough. I want more. I want control.

I want to surround him.

I press my breasts together around his thick erection, the weight of him nestled between them as I start to slide them up and down the length of him.

One hand lands on my shoulder in a tight grip and his hips jerk upwards, not letting me draw too far away.

"Fuck my bod with those big baps, mo chuisle !" he demands.

The need in his tone mixed with the heavy Irish brogue excites me as much as our bodies touching in this intimate way.

"You enjoying this?" I tease, just before dipping down to lick the viscous fluid beaded on the angry red tip of his penis on the next stroke.

Salty, like tears, but there’s sweetness too. Unique. Intoxicating.

"Aye! Feckin' hell, Kara, do it again!"

I do. This time I let my tongue swirl over his crown, tasting more of him and prolonging the pleasure for both of us.

His fingers clamp onto my nipples, tugging, fondling, as I stroke him with the tunnel of my breasts. My hips rock back and forth in need, but there's no relief in empty air.

Each time his broad head brushes against my lips, I linger longer, licking, teasing, learning what makes him moan, what makes him shake. He starts moving in sync with me, his urgency growing by the second.

I want that urgency as unbearable as mine is. I need it.

I kiss him again, letting my parted lips linger over the head of his cock, before releasing my breasts. Wrapping my now free hands around his straining flesh, I lower my mouth over his head, stretching my lips wide to take him in.

I suckle gently at first, savoring the taste of his precum. Then more firmly, allowing my tongue to circle and stroke.

His fingertips tighten on my nipples to the point of pain and my own pleasure grows more urgent.

"Don’t stop. Kara!"

Like I'm going to. My clitoris is aching for direct stimulation, but the tightening in my womb tells me I'm not going to need it to go over the edge into ecstasy.

I revel in the power I have over him, in knowing that right now, this lethal man is completely at my mercy. My predator, undone by his heart.

I slide my mouth down slowly, letting my tongue trace the sensitive underside of his thick shaft. He grits out a dirty curse in Gaeilge and it makes me want to smile in triumph, but my mouth is too full for that.

I take as much of him into my mouth as I can before sucking hard. He thrusts up reflexively, hitting the back of my throat, gagging me a little.

I don't mind. I want this. I want him . All of him.

His words from earlier play through my brain in a sexy litany. I want to fuck your throat and see the tears run down your temples from choking on my cock .

I pull back, then push down again, taking him a little deeper each time. My hands move with my mouth, the rhythm a little awkward, but he doesn’t seem to care. If anything, his wild, frenzied movements say he’s right there with me.

He lets go of my nipples to fist his hands in my hair, guiding my movements, pushing me further and further until I'm not just gagging. I'm choking and moisture trickles down my cheeks.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph, mo stór , you’re gonna make me lose it." As out of control as he sounds, he pulls my head back so I can take a breath between each thrust.

Taking care of me even when his lust nearly consumes him.

Remembering one of the conversations about how to do it right from my high school days, I hum around him. The results are more than a little gratifying. Swearing, his hips jerk and his hands pull on my hair.

I tighten my grip at the base and take him deeper, swallowing when he hits the back of my throat this time.

He goes deep, blocking my airway and I love it. He thrusts once, twice and then he pulls back, allowing me to breathe again.

I look up at my husband. His eyes are wild, feral. His chest rises and falls like he’s run a marathon.

Then in one smooth motion, he pulls his erection all the way out of my mouth and hauls me up off the floor, before tossing me onto the bed.

I cry out in shock.

"Spread your legs." The command is rough, a growl scraping from his throat.

It thrills me.

I obey.

Mick climbs between my thighs pausing for a second that feels like a minute while his gaze consumes every fold of my intimate flesh.

"You’re glistening for me, mo chroí ."

I arch, utterly shameless in my need. "I want you."

He lowers his head and licks me from my perineum to my clitoris, in one long, slow stroke with his hardened tongue.

Already over sensitized, I shriek.

His smile is diabolical. And then he eats.

There’s no other word for it. He devours me like a starving man. Tongue wicked, hands possessive, arms pinning my thighs so wide there's plenty of room for his broad shoulders.

He circles my clit, flicking, sucking, teasing, and every time I get close, he backs off. Again and again.

Desire wars with remembered pleasure.

There have been times he's kept me bound and on edge for hours. I've come so hard, I passed out. More than once.

I don't think I have the stamina for that tonight. I need.

"Michael," I whimper.

"You’ll come when I say."

I want to argue, to beg, to demand. But all that comes out is a cry as he sucks harder, and thrusts two thick fingers inside me, hitting that perfect spot.

And I shatter. Screaming my throat raw as my body seizes around his fingers, stars bursting behind my eyes.

Before I can come down, he shifts and flips me onto my stomach. Bruising hands yank my hips up and back, and he plunges his huge erection inside me in one brutal, beautiful thrust.

I scream into the sheets, and he curses, gripping my waist like he owns me.

Because he does.

"This is mine," he growls, thrusting so deep, so hard, I swear I can feel him in my throat.

"Yes," I gasp. "Yours."

The rhythm is ruthless. Punishing. Perfect. My whole body tightens again, climbing impossibly high, impossibly fast.

"I want you to come again," he grits out. "Let me feel it."

I reach under myself, rubbing my swollen, needy clit. My orgasm hits like an earthquake, splintering me into a thousand trembling pieces.

And it hits me. More than the pleasure. Something deeper. Something fierce.

Crimson. Intense.

"I love you, Michael!" It comes out on a sob and I wallow in the profound rightness of the words.

This is not with the pale pink affection that grew in those early months for the man I married.

This is mature. Molten, heated, and consuming. This is the kind of love that doesn’t come with safety rails.

And I tremble with the enormity of it.

Mick goes rigid above me, growling my name as his hips jerk and he floods me with his heat.

For long minutes, neither of us move and the only sound in the luxurious hotel suite is our harsh breathing.

Then he sinks down on top of me, nuzzling my neck. "So feckin' perfect for me. I'm bleedin' lucky, even for an Irishman."

I smile, utterly boneless beneath him. And for this moment in time, I let myself believe I’m not just his wife.

I’m his everything.