Irish Sex Fairy: Ellora's Cave by Kelly Jamieson (the lemonade war series TXT) 📕

wrapping her fingers around him. He sucked in a sharp breath. “I want to taste you,” she whispered, lips against his ear.

“Oh yeah, babe. Do it. Suck me.”

She went to her knees in front of him, grateful for the soft rug on the floor, and took him in both hands. She studied him for a moment, the heavy veins under silky skin, the rounded head. She cupped his tight balls and caressed them with her fingertips and he made strangled-sounding noises, stepped his legs further apart to allow her access. He was warm, smelled delicious and she leaned her head in for the taste her mouth watered for. She took him in, licked and sucked and tightened her lips around him.

He held her head, gently, never forcing her, just guiding her as she moved her mouth up and down on him, and when she opened her eyes and peered up at him, mouth full of him, the look on his face made her spasm deep inside. She slid one hand between her legs to press there, throbbing against her fingers.

She drew back to catch her breath, slid the wet tip of his penis over her lips then kissed him, right there.

He groaned again and pulled her up. “In the bed,” he muttered, dragging her toward it. “God, I want inside you.”

Didn’t he like that? Because she sure did. She loved the taste and feel of him, and mostly loved knowing that she had caused that look of extreme erotic pleasure on his face.

“Your mouth should be illegal,” he moaned as he tumbled down beside her. “I might have to arrest you.” She smiled as he moved over her. She’d take that as a compliment.

He cupped her breasts, played with her nipples, which she loved so, so much, until she was writhing and so hot she couldn’t stand it.

“Now,” she cried. “Now, Shane, please.”

“Wanna fuck you, baby. Wanna fill you up and make you come.”

“Oh yes. Please.”

“Just need…a condom.”

“Oh. Good thinking.” She waited, a throbbing mass of lust, while he retrieved one from his jeans and returned to her.

She closed her eyes, grabbing onto his shoulders and tilting her pelvis as he pushed inside her, slow and stretching. “Love that. Oh God.”

He filled her, touched her deep inside, and they moved together in a sensual rhythm, rubbing against each other, laying small kisses on shoulders and forehead, the only sound Shane’s harsh breathing and Keara’s whimpers.

She lifted her legs and wrapped them around his hips, trying to take him as deep as she possibly could, all of him.

“Feels so damn good,” he groaned in her ear. He thrust again and she felt his body tense, and she reached for it, her own climax there, just there, there… A fractured cry tore from her lips as she peaked, a high, sharp point of sensation that burst into a shower of sparks. She held him tight as he, too, gave a harsh cry and tightened and pulsed inside her.

They lay there for endless moments of rapture, descending from the high to a plane closer to earth, legs tangled, bodies damp, arms around each other.

“What time does Maeve get home?” Shane murmured.

“Oh shit.”

“What?” Amusement painted his voice.

She turned her head and met his eyes. “I was going to tell you. She forgot it was Tuesday. She was going to miss her bridge game.”

“Shit.”

“I know.”

“She’s been doing that every week, forever.”

“Yeah.” Keara blew out a breath. “I’m going to talk to her. Maybe tomorrow.”

“I’ll do it.”

“No. I will. I’m her niece.”

“But you just got here. I’ve been around a long time, and I’ll be around long after you’ve gone back to LA.”

She said nothing. He was right, but somehow his words wounded. As when she’d arrived, when he’d made her feel guilty for not visiting Maeve, but now his low opinion of her didn’t just annoy her, it hurt. She pushed away from him, but he caught hold of her and dragged her back. He tipped her chin up.

“I’m sorry,” he said seriously. “I wasn’t trying to be rude. But it’s the truth.”

“I know.” She took a breath. “But I’m her family and I’ll talk to her.”

He studied her face, eyes gentle, and then nodded. “Okay. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

“I will.”

He pulled her back down onto his chest and stroked her bare back. “I’m here to help,” he said.

She sighed. “I know you are, Shane, but I’m a big girl.”

“With a few problems right now.”

“Okay, yeah. Hell, I don’t know how I think I’m going to help Maeve when I can’t get my own life together.”

“You will.” He stroked her hair and the gentle tug on her scalp sent tingles skittering down her spine.

“I don’t know. The thing is, I don’t think I deserve to be happy.”

His hand stilled. “What? Why would you say that?”

“Because of what I did. The things I did, the mess I made. And…” She swallowed through a constricted throat. “Never mind.”

“Tell me. It can’t be that bad. It’s not like you’re a murderer or something.”

“Yes, I am.”

Shane couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. She had to be joking.

“Don’t be crazy,” he said roughly, tugging her hair so she had to lift her head to look at him. He rolled her over onto her back and moved over her.

“I’m serious,” she said, eyes closed. “I might as well have killed him.”

“Killed who?” What the hell was she talking about? His mind went to the accident, but there’d been nobody else involved in that.

“Gary. The man who robbed the bank.”

Shane frowned. He’d read the reports, knew the unfortunate outcome of that incident. How the perp had been shot by the SWAT team, coming out of the bank, Keara held in front of him with her hands up.

“How could that be your fault? Jesus, Keara, he held a gun on you.”

“Yes, but…” A tear slid from the outer corner of her eye, a silvery trail in the muted light of her bedroom. “Oh God. I don’t want to