Three Irish Brothers: A Reverse Harem Romance (Quick & Dirty Book 1) Page 16

  “Against the door. Floor. Wall. All of the above.”

  I couldn’t help the shiver that went down my spine.

  “Your place,” he said.

  Anna’s wide-eyed reaction to me banging my professor in our apartment flashed through my head.

  I shook my head. “My housemate’s home. Yours.”

  “Fuck.”

  “What?”

  “Rickie crashed at mine late last night.” Danny let out a groan. “He said he’d be out by midday but…”

  That was a few hours away still.

  “Son of a fucking bitch,” Danny cursed.

  Usually I hated cursing but with his deep voice, it sounded like sex. Brutal, wild sex.

  “Maybe we can take the long way to your apartment?” I suggested.

  He shot me a look. “Not even in a drunken, confused state does it take me close to two fucking hours to walk home.”

  “Give me a tour of your neighbourhood. Show me Dublin. I’ve only been here a few months and only know the area around my apartment and college.”

  He raised an eyebrow at me. “We’re not dating, Dearg.”

  I snorted. “I know it’s not a date, asshole. I’d never date a prick like you.”

  “No tour.”

  I shrugged, brushing my hand through my hair and leaning back against the door, letting my fingers trail down my neck and towards my cleavage. “Fine. Then we can stay here for two hours and not fuck.”

  His eyes followed my fingers as they brushed against the swell of my breast. He cursed and adjusted his jeans. “We can’t stay here. Or I really will fuck you up against a door. Let’s go.”

  I pressed a hand up against his firm chest to stop him. I’d just thought of something.

  “We can’t be seen walking together, Danny.”

  This city was too small. The odds of running into someone we knew were too high.

  “So, what,” he said, a note of frustration in his voice, “I walk behind you like some creeper?”

  I raised an eyebrow at him.

  “This is the stupidest idea ever.” Danny’s voice was in my ear, coming through my headphones.

  We were taking our time getting back to his apartment with him trailing behind me, connected only by two things: the sense that he was watching me and the voice in my ear from our phone call.

  I rolled my eyes even though he couldn’t see them. “This coming from a guy who once wanted to jump off his apartment block with an umbrella after watching Mary Poppins.”

  I heard him snort-laugh. “Holy shit. I can’t believe you remembered I told you that.”

  I did. I remembered everything he ever told me.

  I even remembered where we were when he said it—curled on a ratty beanbag in the corner of the hospital playroom—what he smelled like—soap and chocolate from the Cadbury Snack! bars he’d smuggled in for us—and the colour of the shirt he was wearing—blue, because his eyes looked even more brilliant when he wore that colour.

  “Turn left up ahead for me,” he said in a firm voice.

  “Where are we—?”

  “Just walk. I’ll tell you what to do.”

  A small thrill travelled through me. I could feel his eyes on my ass as I walked through the streets of inner Dublin.

  “I love the view from back here. That curvy ass swaying as you walk, those long legs. I’ve thought about wrapping those legs around my shoulders and burying my tongue in that pussy.”

  “Danny,” I hissed, my cheeks flaming, glancing around me in shame.

  He chuckled in my ear. “Relax, Dearg.” His nickname was so fitting for me right at that second. “No one can hear me. No one will know what I’m saying to you unless you give it away.”

  “But—”

  “You wanted a tour of Dublin. You’re getting a tour. My way.”

  Dear God.

  Was this whole walking tour going to be like this? I was already a wet mess between my legs.

  “I bet you taste like heaven. I bet your pussy hair is the same gorgeous strawberry-blonde colour as your head.”

  I had to fight to keep walking straight. He wasn’t playing fair.

  “Was,” I said, breathlessly, trying to regain some control over this situation.

  “Was?”

  “I don’t have any hair down there at the moment.”

  I heard a choking sound.

  “Danny? You okay?”

  “Fine.” His voice came out strained.

  I hid a smirk.

  “I’m starting to realise how much of a dark horse you are, Dearg.”

  “Oh?”

  “Good girls don’t shave their pussies.”

  “Good boys don’t talk about tonguing girls pussies.”

  I could almost hear him smiling through the phone. “We both know I’m not a good boy.”

  “No,” I breathed. He was not a good boy at all. “I’m starting to think I’m not a very good girl.”

  “Turn left,” he demanded.

  Another thrill shot through me at the promise of dominance to come.

  “Yes, professor,” I breathed.

  I swear I heard him growl through the phone.

  He kept talking dirty to me as he trailed behind me. Talking about how often this professor prayed that I’d wear a skirt to class so he could look up it. How he wanted to bend me over his desk and slip his hand under my skirt, pushing aside my little girl panties so he could see how wet I was.

  He described in painful detail how he wanted to bury his face in between my legs, to suck my juices off me, to sink his fingers into me, curling them around to rub at my g-spot while he nibbled at my clit.

  Then just as I was riding the crest of pleasure, how he’d push into me with his cock, stretching my pussy around him, and fuck me hard till the screaming of his name could be heard all through campus.

  My walk became wobbly, my breath heavy and uneven. I fought the urge to look over my shoulder at him, the space between my shoulder blades prickling at his heated stare.

  “Jesus, Danny,” I breathed, “I can’t keep going like this. I need…”

  I was going to collapse. Weak at the knees from want.

  “I know what you need, baby. Walk into Marsh’s Library on the left.”

  I did what he commanded, pulling out coins to pay for the nominal entrance fee, my hands shaking from the neediness gripping me. I swear my cheeks were red, my lust obvious to the bored-looking youth who took my change and handed me a small ticket. I had to remind myself that no one could see inside me, no one else could feel the heat radiating off me from Danny’s words, from his eyes on me.

  I walked into the library and let out a gasp.

  “It’s stunning.” I let out in a low voice as I walked farther along the rows of Baltic oak bookcases with carved gables, my need temporarily forgotten.

  Danny didn’t say anything back. The noise in my ear sounded muffled.

  “Danny? Are you there?” I spun around.

  There was a pause. Then his voice came on in my ear, “Keep going. Take your second left into that smaller aisle.”

  “Okay,” I breathed, my nerves tingling in anticipation of what was in store for me.

  I walked down the main aisle, smaller aisles branching off the main. I spotted bullet holes, which I’d read once were left over from the Easter rising. I let my finger run over one, my cheeks heating at how erotic this motion was.

  I found the aisle that he was talking about, a small nook, and stepped into it.

  “I’m here,” I whispered. There was no one around me, but I was still conscious that I was in a library. There was a pause.

  “Yes, there you are.”

  I looked around me, startled. Where was Danny? “Where are you?”

  “Never you mind. Just know that I can see you. I’ll know if you’re not following instructions.”

  A shiver went down my spine.

  “What instructions?”

  “I want to watch you while you get off.”<
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  “Danny,” I hissed, his words like liquid fire in my veins.

  “You want to get off, don’t you? You need it?”

  I inhaled my breath all choppy. “Yes.”

  “I want to watch you come, to watch your knees shake and your mouth part.”

  “But…we’re in public.”

  “If you’re quiet no one will know.”

  Dear God.

  “But if someone passes by…”

  “No one will.”

  “You can’t know that.”

  “Come on, Dearg. Be a bad girl for me. Take a risk.”

  I was going to regret this.

  “Okay,” I said, my voice shaking.

  “Show me how you touch yourself when you think of me.”

  I gasped. “I don’t think of y—”

  He chuckled. “I’m just teasing ye. Touch yourself for me. Slip your fingers inside your panties. Tell me how wet you are.”

  I grabbed onto the nearest shelf to hold myself up. He couldn’t honestly be asking me to…

  I couldn’t. No.

  Yes, I could, a small voice in me rebelled. I could and I would.

  I slid my hand slowly down my body, my eyes darting to the end of the aisle, praying that no one walked past, a thrill snapping down my spine at the thought that someone could.

  I moved my hand up my skirt and into the front of my panties, sucking in a breath when I found my sensitive slit, soaking.

  “I’m…so wet,” I whispered.

  He hummed in approval. “Good girl. Rub your clit for me the way you like it. Describe what you’re doing.”

  I did as he asked. “I’m…” I cleared my throat, “I’m tracing circles with the tips of my fingers.”

  He let out a low moan in my ear. “Fast or slow?”

  “Slow. To start with.”

  “Then what? What comes next when you’re all alone?”

  “I…dip my fingers down to tease my entrance,” I said, doing it as I spoke.

  His breath was getting heavier, as was mine.

  “Slip a finger inside yourself for me.”

  “No,” I breathed.

  “No?”

  “I want two.”

  I pushed two fingers inside me at the sound of his groan in my ear. Pleasure rolled through me.

  “My dark horse,” he muttered. “Fuck yourself for me, Dearg. I want to hear your wet pussy.”

  I moved my fingers in and out, slow at first. With his breathing in my ear and the knowledge that he was watching me, this was better than any fantasy I’d ever had lying in bed alone at night. I sped up as the pleasure heightened.

  “Fuck, you look so damn beautiful. Eyes hooded, your skin so red…”

  There.

  I spotted the twin flame-blue eyes watching me from between the space through the bookshelf.

  I shuddered as I gripped the edge of the bookshelf, the intensity in his eyes pushing me over the edge. I threw back my head, my mouth opening in a silent scream as my orgasm crashed through me.

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  Excerpt of Royally Screwed

  I didn’t think I would have much to say to a prince, but several hours later we are laughing over plates scraped clean. He is intelligent, sophisticated, but with a wicked sense of humour.

  We’ve talked about music—we both love classical, especially Mendelssohn, and rock classics like The Eagles and Creedence Clearwater Revival—and art, discovering we both love Monet and hate Picasso.

  I’ve confessed about my temporary position as acting hotel manager and what it could mean to me if it were to be made permanent, and he offered some suggestions on how to make the hotel run more efficiently.

  When I raise an eyebrow, he shrugs. “This particular spoiled royal brat got his MBA from Oxford.”

  My cheeks heat. “Grayson, I’m so s—”

  He holds up his hand, grinning at me. “I’m just teasing you.”

  He places the chocolate mousse on the table between us and holds up a single dessert spoon. The warm glow of the candles makes his lightly tanned skin glow.

  I pout. “Where’s my spoon?”

  “You don’t need one.”

  That stings. I swallow, hard, and sink back into my chair, folding my arms over my chest. “Okay, fine, I could stand to lose a few pounds, but you don’t need to—”

  “Sophia!” He looks horrified. “I’m not suggesting that you shouldn’t eat dessert. You don’t need a spoon because I was going to feed you.”

  Oh.

  “I have an arse,” I blurt out.

  His grins. “I noticed. Officially, men love arses. And I think I can speak for all men—at least all the British ones—I am their future king, you know. Unofficially…I can’t wait to get my hands on that beautiful round bum of yours.”

  I almost choke on my own tongue.

  “And for the record,” he scoops some mousse onto his spoon and holds it out, a hungry look on his face as he stares intently at me, “I think you look fucking perfect.”

  I think you look fucking perfect.

  I don’t think I have ever felt as sexy as I do in that moment. Spurred on by his sincerity, I lean forward towards the spoon suggestively. His gaze drops to my mouth. He lets out a groan as I suck the mousse off. The chocolate is like heaven on my tongue, and I can’t help my own little moan of pleasure.

  “If I wasn’t such a gentleman,” he says through gritted teeth, “I’d throw you across this table, strip you naked and see how many more noises I can coax from that pretty little mouth.”

  Heat sears through me. I know right then that all my excuses are shot. If he tugs me close, I will melt into him. If he pulls me towards the bed, I will let him. Because I want him so much it hurts.

  “What a pity you’re such a gentleman,” I say, attempting to sound teasing but my voice coming out all breathy instead.

  “Damn this good breeding.”

  He scoops another spoonful into my mouth, his gaze fixed on my lips, hunger growing more intense in his sapphire eyes, his breathing growing heavy.

  I’m imagining that the spoon is him. I lick it, suck it, I let the spoon slide in and out of my mouth. All the while his eyes darken, he appears ever the more dangerous. I’m testing his limits, poking the bear, but I can’t help myself. This man does things to me. He unleashes this careful control I have over my life.

  It’s foreplay like I’ve never experienced it, and I am getting wetter and wetter with every bite. All this over a damn spoon.

  Waves of desire course through my body so hard I have to fight not to wriggle in my seat.

  I want him. Not the crown prince nor a future king. But this man.

  Lord help me, before the night is out, I know will give him everything.

  Soon there is no mousse left. There is nothing of this dinner to distract us now from the real reason I am here.

  Grayson sets the plate and spoon aside before leaning forward and gripping the edges of the table. It’s the only thing left between us. He looks about ready to throw the damn thing aside.

  “I want you.”

  “I…”

  “You want me.”

  I let out a heated breath. There is no denying it. My skin feels flushed. My thighs are pressed together. I am practically burning up inside. “Yes.”

  “Say yes to me, Sophia. And I will give you pleasure unlike anything you’ve ever experienced.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut, struggling to maintain the last vestiges of my control.

  Sleeping with a hotel guest—with a fucking prince, for God’s sake—is unforgiveable. Unconscionable. Wrong.

  But…

  How often in my life have I felt this kind of connection? And not just sexually. Our conversation over dinner proves that we connect on so many more levels.

  Grayson moves so swiftly that I barely have time to open my eyes before he’s pulled me from my seat and yanked me into his arms. Once again, we’re flush against each other.
My softness melding against his hardness. It’s a struggle to think in his arms. All I want to do is to submit. To be taken. To be claimed by him.

  “What do I have to do to make you say yes?” He lowers his lips to my ear, sucking up my earlobe before releasing it.

  I let out a groan. “You’re not playing fair.”

  “I have to use what I can. I’ve never had to work so damn hard to seduce a woman. It’s a blow to my ego.”

  I laugh, then gasp as his lips find that sensitive spot on my neck. “Luckily for you, your ego is big enough to survive me.”

  “Right now, I’m not sure if it will survive if you say no.”

  I whimper as he rolls his hips against me, his huge erection pressing against me, making me want it where it aches most for him.

  Why am I still hesitating?

  Because I think if I have just once taste of this man, I’ll want more. But more is not what he’s offering.

  One week.

  No strings.

  Could I do it? Could I give him my body and keep my heart out of this arrangement?

  “I don’t usually do this kind of thing,” I protest weakly.

  “Neither do I.”

  “Liar.”

  “I’m practically a virgin,” he teases, as he expertly presses soft kisses up my neck.

  I groan. “But my…job.”

  “We’ll keep our affair in this suite. I’ve already requested that no other staff come near it. No one will ever find out.”

  “And…if they do?”

  He pulls back to look at me, a serious, concerned look on his face. “I’ll deny it. No one ever dares to contradict me.” His lip quirks up. “Except for you.”

  A serious look steals over his face. He lowers his head and for a moment I think he’s going to kiss me again.

  It’s all over if he does. I am a goner.

  But he doesn’t. He brushes his lips against mine in a sweep from left to right. The touch so light, so tantalizing, it has me groaning and moving forward. This time it’s he who pulls back, just far enough to keep the light pressure on our lips.

  Push. Pull. Back. Forth. It’s a delicate dance we are performing, and I know the end game.

  He won’t give me what I want until I…