Wild Irish Envy (Copperline #2) (22 page)

“They’re gonna ask, Denny. We’ll just deal with it.” Her voice was reassuringly calm, but I wasn’t really looking for reassurance.

I was looking for an excuse.

“Yeah, but what if they… well, I’m not sure that I can lie if they ask about us consummating the marriage.”

The room went exceedingly quiet. I couldn’t even hear Fliss breathing for a moment. Then the tiny sound of her swallowing hard. I heard her tongue wetting her lips in an unconscious caress, followed by a shaky breath.

“So,” she said, trying to sound unaffected, but I could hear the husky tone that laced her voice, “you think we oughta fuck then?”

Just like that, I was hard as a rock. The rush of blood to my dick short-circuited my brain, leaving the tiniest bit of restraint. Barely a thread of control that kept me from leaping up and shagging her senseless.

“Well,” I hoarsely replied, “it’s not like we haven’t before. I just don’t want anything—”

“Denny,” she interrupted.

“Yeah, Fliss?”

“If you want to fuck me, just say so. I’m drunk as hell and happy to do it.”

“I want to fuck ya, Fliss.”

I was on her before I finished growling her name. My lips found hers as my body covered her, swallowing her little gasp. She was delicious, the minty taste of her toothpaste, the softness of her lips and her breasts and her hair. The fresh, clean scent of her skin teased my senses. I tangled my hand in her silky tresses and swept my tongue deeply into her mouth.

Fliss’ fingertips trailed up my back, sliding up under my t-shirt. She moaned and kicked one leg free from the blankets, rubbing her foot along my calf and she pushed her hips up into mine. Like touching a flame to fireworks, she lit up beneath me.

I couldn’t have stopped touching her if the fate of the world had depended on it.

I slipped one hand down her neck to rest over her soft breast, cupping and squeezing until the nipple hardened against my palm. Needing to feel her bare skin, I tugged at her sleepshirt, pulling it so I could slide my hand underneath. A tremble ran through her body, a gasp escaped from her lips as her head fell back, and my mouth trailed down her neck to find the smooth skin my hand had discovered. Fliss’ own hands caught the shirt’s hem and pulled it up over her head, causing me to groan at the sight of her bared tits before me.

With my hand on one breast, my mouth closed over the nipple of the other and I ravenously fell upon her. Licking, sucking, and teasing her until she was keening quietly below me. Her fingers tangled in my hair, pulling me closer to her writhing body, arching up to give me access to her sensitive flesh.

I was raging hard as I rose up above and beside her, capturing her lips while my hand burrowed into her lacy little knickers to swipe against her wet center. Her face turned to the side and a loud sob broke the quiet of the room when I pumped my fingers inside her, stroking her hot and silky pussy. Her hands left my body to frantically push down the scrap of lace and then she was completely naked below me. I rose up to look down at her, to watch my fingers stroking deep inside, to slide back out. The scent made my mouth water, and I grabbed the bottle of champagne, dumping a liberal splash from between her breasts to the apex of her thighs.

Fliss cried out as it splashed against her clit, then moaned when my mouth sucked the liquid from her skin. My tongue swept deep inside her, seeking every drop. The musky taste of her arousal and the crisp, cool taste of the champagne intoxicated me. I laved my tongue over, around and in. I nipped and sucked, thrusting my fingers inside. Her moans became sharper, gasping cries in the dimly lit room that only fueled my fire.

I pulled my fingers out, slick with her need, and pressed one against her tight rear entrance. Barely inserted, only the tip of my finger, but Fliss went wild. Her body arched towards me, lifting her hips up to meet my touch. She moaned as I touched her deeper, as I slid it in and caressed her, my mouth still sucking and nipping at her swollen clit.

My entire body was throbbing with need. With want and desire and a fierce madness that took over all thought. I splashed more of the cool liquid on her skin, licking her dripping pussy and drinking her in until she tensed, then broke beneath me and gave me her sweet release.

I started to kiss back up her stomach, nipping and licking away the remnants of the champagne, when she placed a hand on my chest and pushed, grabbing the bottle from me with her other hand. She took a deep swig of the champagne and lowered her head to my aching cock, carefully taking me into her mouth.

The cool, bubbly liquid swirled around my dick, the bubbles highlighting every swipe of her tongue as she flicked the barbells of my Jacob’s ladder.

I felt like I was going to feckin’ die.

The hedonistic sway of her hips as she moaned with me deep down to the back of her mouth. She swallowed the champagne, and I about lost it right there, feeling her throat convulse around me. She tried to take all of me in, gagging slightly and pulling back before trying again. Lifting her head, she took another swig from the bottle before doing it again, and again… and again. Every second was torture and heaven all rolled into one, agony and exhilaration. Her tongue and her lips wreaked havoc on my skin, drawing a surge of heat through me until it was all I could do to not blow down her throat.

I had to be inside her. I had to fuck her and feel her body tighten around me. Jerking her up, I grabbed the bottle and practically threw it onto the table, not even caring if it was upright or drenching the carpet below.

Sitting back on my heels, I pulled her up to me, lining her sweet entrance up with my aching cock. Her skin was slick with sweat and champagne; the whole room seemed humid with sex and wine. She slid against me, onto me, carefully taking in my pierced cock as her arms wrapped around my shoulders and her fingernails scraped along my back.

“Jaysus, Fliss,” I breathed against her throat.

Her hips jerked and began to circle, sliding on and off me. Pulling at the studs of my ladder with every faint movement. Fliss threw her head back, her hair tumbling down around her shoulders, and I grabbed it and pulled. Her body arched as she rose, and her full, delicious breasts, wet with the champagne, jutted out. I caught her nipple in my mouth, drawing on it hard, and her pussy squeezed around me. I shifted to the other breast, and she did it again. It amped up my desperation. My need to come, to pound into her until we were both weak and sated.

Twisting our bodies to lie back, I pulled one of her legs up, crossing it in front of me as I shifted her to her side. Drawing up her leg to spread her wide, I brutally pushed in. I wanted her to come apart around me. I wanted her to scream with release.

So I fucked her hard. My muscles burned with strain, and sweat poured off my body. Every last brain cell I had was focused on the slide of my dick inside her. Every pounding, fierce thrust brought her closer. I felt her body tense, her cries became higher and faster, then stopped as she froze for a second.

And suddenly, she broke below me, shaking and trembling with a shrill cry. Three, maybe four more strokes and I couldn’t hold back any longer. The sweet and painful tightening of her around me triggered my own mind-blowing release. The world went black around me for a minute. I saw stars flash and heard a rough groan come from my lips as I poured my passion into her, then collapsed on top of her.

My body felt seized, and I had to mentally urge my hand to release her thigh so she could lower it back into a more natural position. She barely moved, though, so I guided it down some and then wrapped her tightly in my arms. My front to her back, my very happy cock still nestled in her warm, wet depth.

And that was the last thing I remembered from my wedding night.

The sound of rain pissing down outside woke me. Strange how that quiet whisper of noise, a sound I’d grown up with, had become somewhat foreign. I’d lived in Butte and then Ophir for long enough that the noises of almost constant rainfall seemed strange to my ears.

My eyes opened to see Fliss’ hair spread out on the pillow beside me. Her dark lashes lay thick against her cheek, and her breathing was slow and steady. She was still very much fast asleep.

I took that time to watch her.
My wife.
To study those features I had dreamed about for years. The fine heart shape of her face, her soft full lips and high cheekbones, the arch of her brows.

She had always been incredibly beautiful. She grew older, as she left naïve youthfulness behind, she seemed to harden like glass, crystal that caught all the rays of light even on a cold and gloomy day.

I shifted slightly, running my fingertips down her bare arm. In response, her body curled into the shelter of mine. And for a short time, I pretended that this could have meaning beyond our agreement, beyond my visa. Her petite little body fit so perfectly tucked up against mine and her fingertips slid down my forearm to tug the blanket slightly higher.

I could have lain there forever.

I wanted to.

I did stay longer than I should have, simply allowing myself to feel that false sense of security and affection. That unfamiliar contentment prevented me from rising, kept me grounded up against her soft warmth.

Knowing it was wrong to do so.

She was nervous.

I was nervous. I had no clue how this was going to go. No clue where we stood with each other.

When I woke up in Edinburgh, Fliss was in the shower. I sat on the edge of the bed for a minute with my head in my hands, feeling a little hung over and tremendously off-kilter.

In the light of day, would we still be lovers?

Or now that the alcohol had worn off, would we go back to the arrangement?

That was really the safer option of the two. I knew it, and I hated it… but I had to do it.

The shower cut off and a few moments later Fliss emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam and her nightshirt. Her eyes were wary, and her hair fell in wet tendrils around her shoulders.

For a second, we just kind of stared at each other, willing the other to make the first move. So I spoke. I said the very words I didn’t want to hear from her.

“I’m sorry about last night. We probably shouldn’t do that again.” My tone was low and pained, partly due to the raging headache I had, partly due to the look of trepidation on her face.

Her gaze dropped to the floor and her lip trembled before she caught it with her teeth. And then she nodded.

“I know,” she whispered back, still not lifting her beautiful blue eyes back to mine. “I should probably just stay far away from you when I’m drunk from now on,” she continued. “It seems to be something that I… well, you know.”

“Right,” I agreed sullenly. I felt like complete shite, both physically and mentally. I wanted her, but I shouldn’t. There was always a reason I shouldn’t.

Wrapping the bed sheet around my waist, I made my way around her to the bathroom to shower, tagging a pair of jeans from my bag. With the door closed behind me, I allowed my choked up breath to flow. I allowed the agony to take hold of me for just a second, just enough to release some of the pressure that had me ready to crack.

By the time I emerged, Fliss was dressed in jeans and a hoodie. All ready to go, hair back in a long braid and light makeup applied. Sitting on the bed by the window silently staring at the fine silver wedding band on her finger. She looked up as she heard me and offered a tentative, sad smile.