Chapter 16
Tate sweeps my suite before we enter. My passport, wallet and all personal effects that would name me as the owner of the world’s most luxurious casino hotels are all stowed away in the safe. Not that Irish wants to know my true identity. She had her chance tonight to ask. For a long beat, I thought she was going to, but the words never left her lips.
‘Wow, this is exquisite,’ she says, as she spins on her heels soaking in every detail. Her fingers run over the lavish furnishings, inspecting the quality like she’s a professional designer.
‘Ten nights later and you’re still playing it cool, I see—pretending you came for the décor.’ I prowl towards her, closing the distance between us. ‘We both know differently p>
Her familiar laugh permeates the air and stokes something deep in my sternum. I’m going to miss that laugh. ‘I do actually have a vested interest in the décor, if you must know p>
‘I have a vested interest in you.’ The air vibrates between us. It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask who she truly is, and where she lives. Because if she still lives in Ireland, we could meet up when I’m there later in the year. I’ll have to move into the Dublin Hartmann Hotel for a couple of months to oversee the refurb and ensure the grand reopening goes smoothly before I move onto the next project, a property in Cannes that I’ve been hankering after for months.
Her dark, soulful eyes meet mine. ‘Please don’t make this any harder than it already is p>
I can’t help it. The prospect of letting her leave with no way of contacting her tears me in two. ‘We should swap numbers, just in case we ever vacation at the same time again.’ The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
She stares at me for a long beat. A hint of sorrow, regret even, creases the corners of her eyes. ‘I don’t vacation—not usually. My life is work. Deadlines. Expectations. My family. There isn’t space for… anything, or anyone else.’ Her fingers twist in the fabric of her dress, betraying nerves she rarely shows.
‘All I’m asking for is a number, Irish.’ Fuck, when did I become so desperate?
‘Exactly,’ she whispers, ‘And, if I give it to you, it won’t stop there. I know myself. I’ll want more. Or you’ll want more. This thing between us has been perfect, but we can’t go back to our real lives and expect it to survive p>
‘Maybe it could survive.’ Why am I pushing her? We both knew what we were signing up for, and it wasn’t this.
She smiles sadly, her huge chocolate eyes flood with what looks like regret. ‘Maybe. But “maybe” terrifies me more than goodbye. Hope sometimes does more harm than good p>
I don’t like it.
Not one fucking bit.
Every bone in my body begs me to argue with her.
But how can I when she’s made feelings crystal clear?
And she’s right.
The odds aren’t in our favour.
Even if we picked up this thing between us later on in the year, we’d only have to say goodbye when I wrap up the Dublin project. Dragging things out for a few months is only delaying the inevitable.
I cradle her head, gently angling her lips to meet mine, savouring the taste of her as I part her mouth with my tongue. Her body melds against mine, her small palms glide over my pecs, then round to my shoulders. She cups the nape of my neck and pulls me harder against her, moaning into my mouth.
I need to get her dress off.
I need to feel her skin flush against mine.
And I need it now.
My fingers fasten around the bow at the back of her neck. I tug it and the chiffon slithers down her body, bunching up on the floor. She isn’t wearing a bra. Thank fuck for small mercies. Her furled rosy nipples press against my chest. I reach between our torsos, swiftly opening the buttons of my shirt, craving that flesh on flesh contact like an addict craves his next hit.
The second I press my body against hers, the relief is instant. ‘You’re fucking beautiful, Irish,’ I murmur, tracing my tongue over the top of her cupid’s bow, then along the column of her long elegant neck. Over her clavicle. Then, over the swell of her perfect breast. My mouth latches around her nipple at the same second my fingers slip inside her thong. She gasps and reaches for the waistband of my shorts, pushing them down my thick thighs. I kick them off, then rip the silk from her perfect pussy. I’m keeping it as a souvenir. She wraps her legs around me as I lift her up—the same way she did the first night we were together. I carry her across the suite to the bed, determined to spread her out and savour every last second together.
She breaks our kiss as I place her down on the edge of the mattress and reaches up to run her fingers over my jawline. I take her hand in mine and bring it to my lips, kissing each of her fingertips in turn as I remove my boxers. Her eyes drop to my dick; it’s feral for her, precum glistening from the tip. She bends forward and licks it, slowly, swirling her tongue around my crown. Our eyes meet. Hers burn with something that looks like so much more than lust, but it can’t be. Because if it was, she’d give me her number.
She wraps her lips around me, taking me deep into the back of her throat.
‘Fuck, that feels so fucking good, sweetheart.’ I run my fingers through her glossy hair, stroking it with a tenderness I’ve never shown any woman before.
What is it about this one that makes me want to be a better man?
Makes me want to keep her?
Is it simply because I can’t have her?
No, I don’t think so.
Her ebony eyes burn into mine as she cups my balls and takes me deeper into her throat. ‘I need to be inside you,’ I rasp. ‘Without that condom. I want to cum inside you, mark you from the inside out. Then, I want to watch as it trickles down your thighs. I never fuck bareback. But I need to with you p>
Her lips pop off my cock, and she opens her thighs slowly, deliberately, her index finger extends, curling in an invitation.
‘Not yet.’ I wet my lips. ‘I’m going to need one more taste of your perfect pussy before our time together is over.’ I drop to my knees and grab her ankles, stretching them wider and pinning them to the floor so she can’t move.
She gasps. ‘I love the way you dominate me p>
‘Give me your number and I’ll fly to Ireland and dominate you any time you fucking like,’ I offer her slit a slow sensual lick and her hips arch off the bed.
‘No can do, California. Even if I wanted you to, things are different in Dublin p>
‘So, Dublin, huh? That’s where you live.’ She wouldn’t be hard to find—hypothetically of course.
‘Fuck, I can’t think straight when your tongue is working me like that,’ she pants, running her fingers through my hair.
I take her clit in my mouth and suck gently, and she screams. I smile against her sex, savouring every drop of her arousal as she shudders, and shatters and breaks on my face.
Wide eyes watch as I crawl up the bed. Missionary is my favourite position. Anyone who says it’s boring is doing it wrong. There’s nothing better than having the woman I’m obsessed with pinned beneath me, wet and eyeing me with a want that assures me she’s as desperate for this as I am. My fingers circle her wrists, restraining them above her head as I inch myself into her hot, slick channel.
‘Fuck,’ she moans. ‘You feel so fucking good p>
‘So do you, baby.’ I slide in slowly at first, stretching her, filling her up until I’m balls deep and, fuck me, it’s the most sublime sensation in the world. This woman. She’s utterly beguiling. I’ve never had sex like it. Our eyes lock as I thrust into her, slowly, tenderly. Again and again and again. I don’t put my lips on hers, choosing instead to observe every fleeting micro facial expression as I drive us to the edge of oblivion. It’s even more intimate than kissing. I grind against her, rocking against the sensitive spot deep inside her. Her mouth falls open in a tiny O as her core clenches, and she convulses around my cock.
For a split second, I wish she knew my name, because the urge to hear her scream it as she comes on me is fucking primal.
I can’t hold back. The way her pussy is clenching me drags me into my own devastating release. Hot ropes of cum spurt from my dick as I spill myself inside her. And it’s the most satisfaction I’ve had in years. Maybe even ever.
I release her hands from above her head, and immediately she wraps them around my back, until she’s the one pinning me in position. ‘Don’t pull out,’ she pleads. ‘Not yet p>
And I don’t.
I lie on top of her with my cheek pressed to her chest, listening to the gentle thudding of her heart. ‘Will you miss me?’ I tilt my face up to meet her eyes. She drags her fingers languidly through my hair.
‘What do you think?’ She whispers. ‘Now, show me that hot tub p>
‘Show me what my cum looks like dripping from your gorgeous little cunt, and then I will p>
She hisses. ‘Careful, California—with lines like that, you might have to fuck me again p>
‘That’s the plan, sweetheart. If I have to let you go home, you’re going home shattered, but completely sated.’ I pull out of her and rock back onto my knees, my eyes homing in on my cum dripping from her centre. Satisfaction curls in my core. ‘Fucking stunning p>
She rocks up onto her elbows, her gaze following mine. Her teeth dig into her lower lip. ‘I suppose I don’t need to see the hot tub. Once you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all, right p>
‘Is it any wonder I’m half obsessed with you?’ I push her back until she’s flat on her back again and nudge back between her legs.
‘Only half?’ Mirth lights her eyes. ‘I’ll have to do better with the next man I pick up,’ she teases.
‘Dublin, wasn’t it?’ I pinch her ass hard enough to make her squeal. ‘Don’t make me come and claim you.’ I run my nose over her neck, inhaling her sultry citrus perfume.
‘You wouldn’t dare.’ Her pupils flare. ‘Not if you knew my family p>
‘It’s a good job you refused to tell me about them then, isn’t it p>
We have sex twice before she finally falls asleep, nestled in the crook of my arm with her cheek nuzzled against my chest. I battle to keep my eyelids open. I refuse to miss a single minute of my last night with this mysterious woman—but fate has other plans.
Finally, sleep inevitably claims me.
The second I rouse, before I even prise my eyelids open, the world feels wrong. A sick sensation hits me like a sucker punch to my stomach.
My bed is empty.
Empty and cold.
I roll over, patting the mattress.
I contemplate heading to her suite, but it’s pointless.
Every bone in my body assures me she’s already gone.
And I feel utterly fucking bereft.