Dirty Beautiful Rich Part Three (4 page)

She grabbed his hair and closed her eyes.

A deep growl of satisfaction came from him as he licked, and kissed, and teased her.

Her thighs tightened around him, embarrassed and yet too swept up into what he was doing to really care anymore.

“I want you to come, beautiful,” he said, kissing her thighs, now using his fingers and then his tongue again on her.

And as if he could command her, when he lowered his mouth over her and sucked gently, the world burst around her. She held onto his shoulders as if she was terrified she was going to spin out of control.

He kept sucking and teasing with his tongue until she was gasping for breath and slowly relaxing.

He kissed his way up her hip then her abdomen, lingering over her breasts.

When he was over her, braced on his hands, he stared into her eyes. “Not done, yet beautiful. Not even close.”

Oh, god. How was she ever going to survive him? And yet, it felt like she needed him. If she was ever going to find life meaningful, she needed him. She couldn’t go back to a Damian free world that was gray and mundane. She needed his bigness, his hardness, his teasing.

Without another thought, she slipped her hands under his shirt and started tugging it up over his head.

He helped, whipping it over his head.

She studied his ripped chest in the low lighting and bit her lower lip. How could any one person be so beautiful? Slowly, she drew her fingers along his muscles, along his bones, savoring the feel of his skin under her finger tips.

“You’re going to kill me, beautiful.”

“If this is killing you, what were you trying do to me?” she said, splaying her hands down his washboard abs and tracing where his expensive jeans met naked skin.

He remained silent, using his body to speak. He pulled her shirt over her head in one swift move and had her bra off with such ease, she barely knew it was happening.

Maybe it was the liquid pleasure she felt. Maybe it was his overwhelming but wonderful presence. She didn’t know, but she didn’t want it to ever end.

“I don’t want to wait anymore, beautiful,” he said looking down into her eyes.

The hunger there, the need nearly broke her heart and for a moment she could believe he wanted her as much as she wanted him.

“Don’t then,” she replied.

With that, his big body seemed to ripple with male anticipation. He settled between her thighs and rubbed his cock up and down her wet heat.

She gasped at the sensation. It was perfect and it was more perfect torture at once. All she wanted was for him to thrust deep. Her body arched against his, demanding it, but he worked himself over her again and again, driving her wild until she was pulling on his shoulders, begging again.

How did he do that? How did he make her beg?

“Please, Damian!”

And then he was thrusting into her body.

She tensed. God, he was big.

As if he sensed her sudden shock, he slowed, rocking against her, moving deeper little by little.

At first, the pleasure she’d felt faded. It was too much. He was too much. But for all that anxiety suddenly flooding through her, she wanted him. She wanted him now. So, instead of allowing her fear to take over, she took a deep breath, reached forward, and grabbed his hips.

The gesture seemed to drive him over the edge.

He cupped her bottom, tilted upward and thrust.

She let out a cry, not one of pain, but of such intense pleasure she couldn’t think.

He’d found some secret spot inside her and now, he was stroking it again and again with each thrust.

She wrapped her legs around his hips, barely able to hook her ankles.

A growl rumbled form his throat, and he wove a hand into her hair, arching her head back.

He stared down into her eyes as he held her immobile.

She’d never felt more owned or more free than she did in that moment.

The world exploded around her and she screamed her release. Her voice was his undoing and he shuddered against her, his hips pumping hard.

His breath harsh, he relaxed, allowing his body to rest over hers without crushing her.

Oh, how she loved it. She stroked her hands over his naked back, savoring the feeling of skin to skin.

This was what her body had been made for.

Him.

Chapter 3

Damian held Julie and stroked her soft hair. He loved the long black strands. He wound them around his fingers, keeping silent. They’d laid together now for an hour, just quiet. Something had happened to him in the pub. Usually, he was controlled. Able to always decide when and what happened. It had not been his intent to have Julie in his bed tonight. He’d meant to ease her into it gradually. To continue the seduction.

But when he’d seen the men looking at her in The King’s Head, all of them clearly thinking she’d look good beneath them he’d felt a surge of jealousy so intense it had been all he could to keep a smile on his face, and his fists in place.

So, he’d swept Julie up and taken her here. It was a beautiful hotel. He owned it. But he never had stayed here and he’d never brought a woman here before. It had been total impulse,  something he hadn’t allowed himself in years. . . Or perhaps it was better to say since before meeting Julie Doyle.

With each day that he knew her, she chipped away at his hard won control. . . And that? That wasn’t good. He was supposed to be helping her but if he lost control of his emotions, he wouldn’t be able to help her. He wouldn’t be able to help
anyone
.

He’d lose himself. Just like his father had done. No. He had to keep himself in check. The wild feelings she induced? He’d keep them under lock and key. After all, this endeavor was about her, not him.

Once she’d found her confidence, well then, they’d both be free and he’d be safe. He closed his eyes. No. He was still safe. There was no danger. If there had been, he would have marched out the room the moment he’d felt himself beginning to unravel.

Julie Doyle had no power over him.

It was just the freshness of a new affair that was making him feel so strangely.

That had to be it.

“Damian!” she whispered abruptly.

“Mmm?”

“We have to go back?”

“We do?” he kissed her neck, intending to keep her against him for many more hours. “We haven’t even started yet.”

“I’m going on a walk at five am with your grandmother.” She groaned. “Oh, god. How am I going to face her?”

He started to laugh. Her embarrassment was delightful. “It might surprise you but my grandmother isn’t a virgin.”

She punched him lightly int he shoulder.

That made him smile. A few days ago, he doubted she would have done something so bold.

“I can’t believe you can talk like that about her!”

“Grandmother was quite the woman in her day. The toast of society and she had a bit of a reputation. She has never held back when discussing the matters between men and women. I’m glad she hasn’t. She’s no fool and she’s no judging harridan.”

She was eyeing him skeptically, clearly thinking that she was going to be slut shamed by his family.

“Julie, quite seriously, people of my. . . How shall I say it, station? People of the aristocracy are not generally ruled by the morals of the middle class.”

She grew quiet.

Silence wasn’t a good thing when it came to women, in his experience.

“Did I say something to upset you?”

“Does that mean affairs are totally normal to you? Infidelity, I mean?”

“I’ve never been in a relationship, so I have never cheated on anyone.”

She tensed.

Damn. Women were such tricky creatures. She wasn’t his
girlfriend
, a ridiculous word in his opinion in any case, but he knew they and something more than a casual relationship. No doubt, in her mind, if he was to take another woman out at this stage it would be the worst betrayal.

And he wouldn’t. Because he knew it would hurt her.

To his shock, he found the very thought of another woman abhorrent. But how did he explain that in his past, he’d been with many women without actually really being with any of them.

“Still,” she stretched as if they hadn’t just discussed something she was clearly uncomfortable with. “We need to go back. What time is it?”

He looked at his watch. The watch that reminded him to never lose control.

Which is essentially exactly what had happened tonight if he allowed himself to admit it.

He grimaced and looked away from the timepiece. “Two am.”

She groaned then laughed. “Okay. I’ll stop being so innocent if we get up and go. I don’t want to be driving up when she comes out with the dogs.”

“You know,” he said, stroking the line of her lovely neck, then to her collarbone. “You don’t have to go for the walk.”

She rolled in his arms, lifted her hand to his face.

The intimate gesture stopped his breath and he held perfectly still, uncertain what to do.

“Yes,” she said. “I do. I want her to like me and I want to know her.”

Wasn’t this what he had intended? For her to come to Ireland, to stay in his castle, to meet his grandmother and to come to know his family well?

Why the hell had he assumed he’d be able to keep her distant?

Because he always had been able to keep women at a strong arm’s length before.

But with each passing moment, it was becoming clear Julie Doyle was not other women. He’d known that. It was what had drawn him to her. But it had never occurred to him that her difference would have such a ground shaking effect on him.

He liked it.

Perhaps, that was the most terrifying part. He liked the way she shook the steady ground he had built beneath his feet.

And that? That was not good at all.

***

J
ulie headed down the stone steps, gloved hands stuffed in her pockets. Her brand new boots were bright red and she wasn’t sure what to make of them. . . And the fact that whoever put them in her room knew she hadn’t slept there.

In any case, she loved them. When she’d snuck into change there had been a pile of clothes. Merino wool leggings to go under her stretchy black jeans, a pair of black gloves, a creamy wool sweater that looked remarkably like Damian’s grandmother’s, and the pair of red Hunter boots.

She’d hesitated for a moment, then thought of the heavy dew on the grass and the lowering clouds.

Now, as she stepped onto the gravel, she was grateful. It was cold. Crazy cold, but also so beautiful it was spell binding. In the distance, a crack of yellow gold light was peering over the horizon.

The sounds of many pairs of paws trotted towards her and she turned.

Lady Clare was striding forward, still in tweed and wool, still looking completely at ease on the great estate. “You look ready for a proper walk now.”

Julie smiled and tugged at her sweater beneath her imitation pea coat. “Thank you.”

The dowager countess nodded. “Shall we?”

And that was it. No niceties or chats.

The older woman headed off with the dogs in tow.

Presumably she was supposed to follow.

Julie hid a yawn and jogged after them.

Fifteen minutes later of companionable silence, Julie was rubbernecking again. She couldn’t help herself.

To her right, there were jagged hills, covered in green, their faces so earthy, so bold. They had nothing on the Rockies for height, but somehow they spoke to her soul in a way the Colorado mountains had never done.

To her left, there were stone fence encased fields plummeting down to the furious sea.

Finally, she had to ask, “Is it always like that?”

Lady Clare didn’t stop, but merely climbed a set of steps in one of the stone fences ahead of them. “Often, my dear. The Atlantic is a cruel lady. But we do have a few coves that are quite peaceful.” She tilted her head up and looked at the clouds. “And I do believe a storm is coming in. So, we shall have a short walk today on your behalf.”

Julie had a funny feeling their ideas about short and long walks differed wildly.

But she couldn’t imagine ever having the chance to see Ireland like this, walking through a private estate, seeing the land at its most wild.

“Did you have a nice evening?” Lady Clare asked at last.

Julie’s face was already red from the cold, but she felt her throat tighten. Great, Lady Clare wasn’t going to ignore it. “Um. . . Yes.”

“You sound doubtful.”

“Truthfully, I’ve never done anything like that.”

The older lady smiled softly. “Damian brings out the unexpected in all of us. He always has done. Even as  a boy.”

Julie smiled, trying to imagine him as a child. It wasn’t easy.

“I hear you’re going to write a family history,” Lady Clare said, resuming her steady pace, heading towards a rough path winding towards the hills.

Julie eyed said hills dubiously, wondering at her own ability to keep up with the pack. “He did.”

“Interesting.”

Oh great. Here it was. “I know I’m not the most experienced or most logical choice for the job. . .”

“My dear, it has nothing to do with that,” Lady Clare cut in simply.

“It doesn’t.”

“No.” She shook her head and sighed. “I wasn’t doubting your abilities. I know little about them.”

“Oh.” Julie wanted to kick herself. Why had she assumed the worst about herself.

“Its simply that Damian doesn’t particularly care for the past. Oh, he loves tales of knights and the castle in the era of medieval brutality. It fascinates him. But if you do do a family history,” the dowager frowned, “I’m sure you will look at the most recent history as well.”

“I would think so,” Julie agreed.

The dowager nodded. “Strange.”

“Why?”

“Like any old family there are simply things we don’t talk about.”

“Damian’s father?” Julie chanced, realizing she could be stepping onto very dangerous ground.

Lady Clare’s eyebrow rose. “You are bolder than I first imagined. Perhaps Damian is correct about you.”

Julie wanted to ask what exactly Damian had said but doubted Lady Clare would divulge. “Am I right?”

“You are.” Lady Clare stopped, then placed her worn hand on Julie’s shoulder. “Be careful, my dear. I see the way you look at my grandson. You have no idea how much I’d like him to find a girl who can love him, who will make him love in return. . . But I am afraid that Damian is no longer capable of such a thing.”