Growing and Kissing (32 page)

Then he grabbed my wrists, methodically capturing one and then the other and finally pinning them down with one strong hand. With his other hand, he grabbed my chin and roughly made me look at him.

And then he kissed me long and deep, forcing my lips open, twisting and pushing and
God
teasing my tongue with his, strong and utterly assured. I panted and thrashed and made a lot of outraged sounds like
mmf!
and finally melted into submission, just like all the princesses in the books. He lifted his lips from me but captured my lower lip for one last slow, languorous suck that made me grind my tightly-closed thighs together. Then he raised himself up so that he could look down at me, still holding my wrists above my head.

He watched my reaction as he shoved one hand roughly into the top of the dress and found my breast, massaging it in slow circles and then lightly pinching my nipple. I arched my back, my lips pressed into a tight line. The pleasure throbbed down from that aching bud in hot, rhythmic pulses made stronger by their edge of pain. I felt my hips begin to circle. I tried to stop them because I wanted to keep playing the haughty, aloof princess, but I couldn’t control them.

“Tell me what you want, Lady Louise,” Sean growled, and it made me think of my fantasy of him, months before, when I’d imagined him breaking into my apartment. Back then, I’d thought he really
was
like this: I thought he’d take what he wanted by force. The reality was so much better.

I shook my head violently against the mattress.

He leaned close, his breath hot in my ear. “You want it. You want
this.”
And I sucked in a breath as I felt the hot length of his cock press against my thighs. I shook my head again, copper hair tossing.

Sean growled and pressed his knee into the dark line where my tightly-closed thighs joined. He started to exert pressure, allowing his weight to bear down on me. But he wasn’t willing to wait for my muscles to tire. Oh, no. Suddenly, his hand was gone from my breasts and his fingers were sliding down over my pale belly, down into the tangles of copper curls between my legs, probing between my thighs. I closed them as hard as I could, but even his thick fingers were too slender for me to stop. They slid down and curled...and suddenly, they were stroking at my lips.

“You’re wet for me,” he told me, relishing the words.

Free to move my head, now, I twisted it to the side, refusing to look at him. But I
was
wet. Soaking.

He brought his thumb into play, drawing gentle but insistent circles on my clit. His fingers started to work at my lips, long, slow strokes up and down their length. I clamped my legs together as hard as I could but I was no match for his strength. He began to grin as both of us felt me moisten and heat. It was impossible to stop myself grinding against him.

He leaned down and kissed the corner of my mouth, then spoke into my ear. “You
do
want it. You want the whole thing up inside you.”

Inside me.
My whole body was writhing against the mattress, now, my cheek moving in slow circles as I pressed it against the rough cotton. “N—Never!” I panted. “I’ll never let some Irish barbarian inside me!”

Sean’s grin grew even darker. “Oh. It’s like
that?
” He redoubled his efforts and I began to moan. “You don’t want the
big, rough
Irishman inside your pristine body?”

“N—No!”

He growled and thrust a thick finger up inside me. With my legs pressed so hard together, it was
tight...
and glorious. I felt my legs easing of their own accord as the pleasure washed over me. “N—No,” I said again. But my muscles were turning from iron into gooey honey and his power and weight began to win. His leg slid down between mine, tan muscle dividing my paleness and I groaned in dismay—and delight—at his victory.

He inserted his feet between mine and
pushed.
My exhausted legs opened easily and then his whole body was between them, powerful hips pinning mine to the bed as he slid down into position. He must have rolled on the condom while he was rubbing me, because I felt the hot, thick head of him pushing at my lips almost immediately. I made a last attempt to close my legs and a shudder of excitement went through me when I found I really couldn’t move them.

Then he was plunging into me and both of us could feel how slickly hot I was for him. I gave up my act completely and let my body go limp as he slid smoothly inside me, groaning as he filled me to the limit. Then, as he began to thrust, I came alive, swirling my hips as I’d longed to do all along, arching my back and grinding up against him. He still had my wrists above my head so I couldn’t use my hands and that made it even better—I was free to buck and thrash and writhe under him, but I still had that feeling of being roughly taken. “God,” I panted. “God,
yes!”

He sped up, his hips slamming between my widely-spread thighs. He supported himself on his elbows so that one hand was free to dive into the top of the dress again, this time forcing it down just enough that one breast spilled out. He rubbed his thumb across the nipple until it was achingly hard, then lowered his head and sucked it into his mouth, lashing it with his tongue until I squealed and kicked my heels against the bed.

His cock was so perfect inside me: steel-hard and throbbing, stretching me just the right amount. And it had such power: every time he drew back I felt panting and empty, desperate for him to return; every time he slammed into me I was the helpless, trapped princess again. I went from wanton hussy to blushing virgin a hundred times a minute, until the room dissolved and I was floating in a crimson void of raw pleasure.

He fucked me for what felt like hours, slowing down and then speeding up, taking me towards my peak twice and backing off before finally allowing me to finish. When I finally came, my legs wrapped around him and my spit-wet breasts throbbing from his fingers and tongue, it was with a scream that filled the whole house.

And the best part? When my breathing settled and reality oozed back in, and I realized just how kinky we’d gotten and I felt like some sort of freak...he took me into his arms and whispered in my ear that I was his best ever. And suddenly, I didn’t feel like a freak at all.                                                                               

Afterwards, we lay looking up at the ceiling. “Sean?” I said.

“Mmm?”

“We can’t burn this place down.” I sat up and rolled over to face him, propping myself up on my forearms. “When we move out, we can’t burn it down.”

I expected him to argue, but he looked around and slowly nodded. “Yeah. I know.” Then, when he saw my shocked expression. “What?” His eyes burned right into me. “You think I can’t appreciate beautiful things?”

He slid an arm under my body and pulled me close. I snuggled into his chest.

“I like it,” he said. “Reminds me of the places my mum and dad used to take me. Used to love those places.” He ran his eyes over me, following the curve of my breast and the swell of my hip. Then he smiled a tiny, secret smile. “‘Specially the statues.”

I blinked, wondering what the hell that was all about. “So we’ll find some other way?” I said.

He let out a long sigh and ran his hand through his hair. “Yeah. Christ knows how. But yeah.” And then he clutched me around the waist with those big hands of his and hoisted me up in the air, making me yelp, before bringing me down to straddle him, facing his feet. Then he shuffled us down the bed until we were sitting on the end of it. He sat up, his chest pressed against my back, and kissed my neck...and then he nodded towards the mirror.

I looked up into its silvered surface and gasped. We were framed by the dark wood posts of the four poster. The green dress was up around my hips and pushed down below my breasts. My hair was falling down over my naked shoulders. I really did look like a ravished princess.

And behind me, the man who’d done it: massive and tanned, black-haired and with those cobalt-blue eyes gleaming in the dim light. He wrapped his hands around my waist and lifted…

...and lowered me slowly. I drew in my breath as I felt the head of his cock nudge at the lips of my sex. “Ready for more?” he murmured, kissing my shoulder.

I nodded. And we spent the next panting, moaning, shuddering hour watching a princess and an Irish rogue in the mirror.

Eventually, way past noon, when we were both limp and exhausted, he left me in the bed and borrowed my car to go for food. He returned with pepperoni pizza and we devoured it sitting on the bed. I insisted on taking off the dress, not wanting to get grease on it. But as soon as he saw me naked...well, we very nearly didn’t get to the pizza at all.

Afterward, we lay there, sated in every possible way. It was only mid-afternoon, but with the cardboard over the windows and the lights off, the room quickly darkened as the sun moved to the other side of the house. “How’d they die?” Sean asked.

I was a little thrown. It wasn’t that I minded him asking, it was the shock of him asking anything at all. He’d avoided asking about my past and I’d always assumed it was because he thought it was unfair to ask when he was so closed off himself.
So does this mean…?
“Car crash,” I said. “Both at the same time.”

He didn’t say anything, didn’t use words like
sorry
that would have felt inadequate. He just tightened his arms around me, his chest warm against my back, and that was enough. “Sometimes, I think it was better that way,” I said. “I mean, I didn’t have to watch one of them missing the other. But worse, too. One morning they were there and then...they never came home.”

He was silent for a long time, just holding me. I sensed that he was working up to something. Then, “I was born in Ireland. The north.” Each word came slowly and with great difficulty, as if it was being dug up from deep underground. “Irish dad but American mum. I’ve got lots of brothers. We were happy, mostly. Moved around between Ireland and America. And then...something happened.”

He stopped, but I could feel his chest straining with the pain. I pressed my body back against him, wondering if that was going to be it. I wanted to tell him how glad I was he’d finally told me something, that it was fine to leave it there for now if he wanted to. I opened my mouth to speak—

“My dad killed my mum,” he said.

Louise

I lay there trying to process. I had no words. Even losing my own parents hadn’t in any way prepared me for something like
this.
I wanted to turn around and hug him, but I was worried he might not be able to get the words out, if he had to look me in the face. So I reached back with one hand and stroked his side instead, hoping I could transmit how sorry I was through my touch.

“It’s complicated,” he said.

I nodded. There was so much pain in his voice, I was tearing up myself.

“My dad isn’t the bad guy,” he told me.

I nodded again

“My dad used to go off on these jobs, sometimes for months, and he’d leave us at home with mum. Usually in Ireland but one summer, it was in America.” He swallowed. “At the end of the summer, he comes back….”

I closed my eyes, knowing what would come next. The lover. The discovery. The enraged husband, a crime of passion.
My dad isn’t the bad guy.
But I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Sean swallowed. “He came back to find...she’d got mixed up with a cult.”

I twisted around and pressed close to him. “
What?”

“Not a religious one. A...personality cult, I suppose you’d call it. Mixed in with doomsday stuff. A really fucking evil one.”

I put my head on his chest. “Go on,” I whispered.

“We knew something was wrong. We’d known all summer, we’d seen her changing. Weird people coming to the house. But we were kids—what were we going to do? It was scary...the person she was just disappeared, within a few months. Then my dad got back and we thought,
thank God,
now everything’ll be okay. But she wouldn’t listen to him, treated him like a stranger. Said he was trying to take
her
children away from her, and she had to do what was best for us.”