Page 30 of Stolen Rival (The Stolen #1)

SORCHA

“Every orgasm you have from here forward belongs to me. Do you understand?” Patrick’s warm breath skims my cheek as he speaks low and growly into my ear.

The only part of me he’s touching is my wrist, and yet my body has lit up like a carnival. The air between us is charged, desire hanging heavy in the room. My breasts are full, erect nipples visible through the lingerie.

“You can own my life, you can assert your power, threaten my brother, force me to marry you, but you can’t command my heart or my mind. And you sure as hell can’t tell me not to masturbate. Especially if you’re not going to touch me.”

There. Gauntlet thrown. The fire in his eyes burns hotter.

“Are you going to make me come?” Stitched into my tone is a challenge we both hear. My gaze holds steady on his, but when his tongue snakes out to wet his lips, I can’t help but follow its journey from one side of his mouth to the other.

The yearning inside me is almost too much.

My pussy throbs, my skin is hot, and he’s so close he could have me coming in seconds.

The body and the heart truly are separate beings, and right now they’re at war with each other.

I hate this man for what he did to my family.

For what he’s done to me. But I am desperate for his touch.

“Do you want me to, mo mhuirnín ?” He studies my face with severe concentration. Is he searching for consent or submission?

Control, remember.

“The question, Patrick, is do you want to?”

A muscle flickers in his jaw. He’s not used to having his hand forced, and I can tell he hates it. But how long can he hold out?

Seconds later, I get my answer.

He picks me up, and the next thing I know, I’m sprawled out underneath him on the bed. His lips capture mine in victorious hunger, his tongue spearing into my mouth.

Can you climax from only kissing?

I think I’m about to find out.

Or maybe it’s the feeling of victory coursing through my veins.

He caved. Whatever his plans were before tonight, they’ve been changed, because of me.

It’s a heady rush of pleasure knowing I bested the man who always wins.

Except, I haven’t really won yet. He needs to be inside me to truly have the upper hand.

My hips roll like they have a mind of their own, bucking, taunting. His large calloused hand gently planes over my bullet wound. He pauses, and though I could be wrong, a flicker of what looks like remorse crosses his face. It’s gone in an instant, but I saw it. I know I did.

He nips at my jaw, down the side of my neck, and back up to nibble at the shell of my ear, navigating my body like it was made for him and him alone.

His hand rests on my hip, fingers toying with the delicate material of my thong.

The lazy strokes drive me so feral, I almost beg.

Almost. I’m desperate, aching, and so needy I should be embarrassed or ashamed of myself, but I pinch my bottom lip between my teeth to save from pleading with him to hurry the fuck up.

I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of taking more power from me in this moment. If I beg, he’ll go slower, make me wait, push me to the edge and leave me dangling there until he decides he wants to toss me over.

Instead of slipping into my underwear, he gently parts my thighs and glides his hand along the inside of my leg. This is it, this is how I die, in the bed of my greatest enemy being teased into a sexual frenzy.

The foreplay got her.

That’s what my headstone will say.

Despite the fact his cock’s so hard it’s pressing against my body, he seems in no rush to do anything with it. I should take comfort in the fact he’s able to get hard because of me, but every single feeling in my body right now is tinged with anxiety and fear.

It feels so… big when it’s digging into my hip. How am I supposed to…? I don’t know how it’s going to fit.

Fuck. The delicious searing pleasure spreading through my limbs gets doused in cold water as my husband’s rough fingers caress the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. I try to slow my breathing, but my body won’t listen. It’s too busy being eaten from the inside out by fear and panic.

I mean, he can’t kill me if it doesn’t go well, Dylan has seen to that, but he could make my life very difficult if I don’t give him what he needs.

What if I’m not physically capable of accommodating his dick ?

“Shh, mo mhuirnín,” Patrick murmurs against my skin. “Don’t think. Just feel.” My body listens to his instructions, and my muscles loosen enough for him to continue his path to my pussy.

He removes my thong with the skill of a man who has done this a thousand times over. A low moan escapes from him as his fingers slip into my arousal. Is there a sexier sound? A gorgeous man moaning because my body is ready for him? If there is, I haven’t heard it yet.

“So wet.” His voice isn’t soft or filled with warmth. He hasn’t had a personality shift simply because we’re in bed together, but there’s a gentleness in his touch. Maybe he doesn’t want to be too rough with me on my first time. Although how could he know it’s my first time?

My body freezes, and he looks up at me, a stitch in the middle of his forehead pinching his brows together.

“It’s… I…” It shouldn’t be this hard to say the words.

He waits, but from the storm in his eyes, it’s not patiently.

“I’m a virgin.” I can’t look at him when I say it, and my skin burns more from embarrassment now than being turned on.

“Considering how your father kept you locked away behind those gates of his, I’m not surprised.”

“Oh.”

“It’s okay. I’ll take it slow. Let’s get you relaxed and ready for me.”

It’s not exactly romantic, but gratitude swells in my throat that he’s not going straight to the main event. That he’s not going to take his giant cock and destroy my pussy. At least not on our first time.

His hand works my clit, and since I’m already primed, it’s a matter of seconds before I’m dangling off the edge of a cliff, ready to detonate.

Every cell in my body zings with an electrical current, and my pulse skitters so quickly I’m not sure it’ll ever come back to normal.

My arms and legs twitch as my muscles tighten, ready and hungry for release.

“Are you ready to come, mo mhuirnín? ”

I nod, my teeth close to drawing blood from biting my lip.

“I’ll let you come on one condition.”

Oh no you don’t. You’re not usurping my control now. “No conditions. If you don’t do it, I will.”

He smirks, like he knows the game I’m playing, but it doesn’t stop him kissing me again, using his tongue to unhook my lips. When he pulls back, he brushes his nose against mine.

“If you’d let me finish, I meant stop holding back.

Stop biting your lip. Stop trying to be quiet.

Just let go, Sorcha. Let go.” He doesn’t give me the chance to argue, his fingers dance like the wind, and within seconds, the room shatters into blinding white light as a raw scream bursts from my body.

He keeps going, drawing every drop of my climax from me, dotting chaste kisses along the edge of my jaw through the aftershocks until my jerking limbs become boneless.

Holy. Shit.

None of my orgasms have ever felt like that, so deep, so devouring, so overwhelming… I feel it everywhere, its wake leaving a tingling warmth throughout my body.

He doesn’t waste time before rolling onto me and settling between my legs, he doesn’t take off my bra or caress me while whispering sweet nothings into my ear about how he’s going to make it good for me. No, this isn’t making love after my wedding night. this is raw sex, pure and simple.

And not even a best-orgasm-of-my-life buzz can distract me from that fact.

“Ready?” He’s not exactly Shakespeare with his words .

I nod. “I’m ready.” I can’t remember a time I’ve ever gone from feeling so good to so anxious.

I’m getting emotional whiplash lying under a beautiful man.

I focus on the ink coloring his skin, an intricate swirl of roses, daggers, skulls, and traditional Celtic tattoos, and I reach out, tracing the patterns with my fingertips.

He nudges my legs further apart before shucking his boxers down his legs.

When his cock slides through my slick arousal, there’s no denying it feels good.

I tip my head back, trying to force my body to relax on a sigh.

Patrick doesn’t say anything else as he holds my thighs and works himself inside me.

I’m not sure how much of his dick is in me, but the stretch bites.

I knew it would hurt, but I wasn’t prepared for how the sting doesn’t feel all bad.

He inches in a little more. I’m so wet, my body makes it easy for him.

His forearms flex, his jaw is tense, and there’s a prickling of sweat across his forehead from exertion.

I should be grateful he’s holding back to not hurt me. The strain in his muscles make them pop as he continues to push inside me until he’s balls deep.

He collapses over me with a grunt. “So fucking tight. Are you okay?”

Huh. I guess he’s not so up his own arse that he can’t consider the person he’s in bed with. I nod, turning my head so he can’t see my tears or the blood on my lip from biting it to stop myself from crying out.

With his dick inside me, it feels like there isn’t anymore room in my body. It’s hard to breathe from the pressure squeezing me from inside, but it’s not unpleasant.

He grips my chin, turning me back to him. “Don’t hide from me, mo mhuirnín. Are you adjusted? Ready for more?”

In answer, I flex my walls around his cock, making him hiss through his teeth. He pulls his hips back from mine before sliding back inside me. I’ve never been able to make myself come from G-spot stimulation, but Patrick’s dick is so big there’s pressure… everywhere .

He moves slowly at first, lying low enough over my body so he can kiss me when the mood strikes.

Patrick Mahoney is as measured in bed as he is with his clothes on in the outside world.

There’s no passion from him, no chemistry, no creativity, simply two people performing their duty as a means to an end.

The only sounds in the room are his balls slapping against me as he gets faster and faster, entwining with our heavy panting. He seems to get bigger as his movements grow erratic, and I somehow stretch even more to accommodate him.

A few more pistons of his hips shunt him over the edge into his release. The whole thing felt better than I expected it to. I’ve read that a lot of women don’t like sex. I didn’t not like it, but I suspect it could have been better.

And not just because it was my first time. Maybe if I was doing it with someone I liked, someone I loved, it would be more enjoyable. But it doesn’t matter. I came here to win, and win I did.

He rolls off me and onto his back, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. After a few minutes of painfully awkward silence, he sits up. “I’m going to have a shower, then I have some work to do. You can go back to your room.”

And just like that, I’m dismissed.

I blink like I must have missed something. Did he really just kick me out? He took my virginity, he’s done, so now we’re both done?

What was I expecting? That he’d come inside me, fill me with his cruel seed, and suddenly fall in love with me?

That my vagina would be some kind of magical portal to transform him into less of an arsehole?

That he wouldn’t reassert his authority, reclaim his power, and control the situation as soon as he could?

I’m a fucking fool.

He got what he needed from me: a wet pussy to sink his dick into. And now his cum is trickling out of me and onto the bed, I’ve been excused. Well, fuck that.

“It’s funny, Patrick.”

He pauses with his back to me, but he doesn’t reply.

“I didn’t think you’d be like other men, but you proved me wrong. Like every man I’ve ever heard of, you’re weak for a woman’s pussy.” I give a hollow, brittle laugh, toss the covers aside, and stomp out of bed. “So easy to manipulate, so easy to control with just a little flash of bare skin.”

I brace for his ire, but it doesn’t come. He resumes his journey to the bathroom, closing the door with a quiet click.

That bastard. He took what little control I wrestled from him and symbolically slapped me around the face with it. Rage courses through me. I snatch up my dressing gown, storm into the hallway and burst into my bedroom, slamming the door behind me.

My whole life, I’ve never had someone make me feel so cheap, so used. So filled with regret that when I first opened the door and found Patrick Mahoney on my doorstep, he didn’t just fucking shoot me and put me out of my misery.