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

his shirt untucked. He stood, tossed some bills on the table to cover their glasses of wine, then put a hand out to Keara. When she set her hand in his, creamy soft and small, he felt the tremors in it and something swelled inside his chest. Pausing beside the table, right there in the middle of the restaurant, he tugged her hand so she took a step closer to him, then lifted her fingers to his mouth and pressed a kiss to them. His gaze met and held hers and the glossy green of her eyes and the sharp intake of her breath told him her emotions were as turbulent as his.

He led the way out of the restaurant, still holding her hand, and she tripped along beside him in a pair of high-heeled sandals he’d never seen. Come to think of it, she was dressed like he’d never seen her in the weeks she’d been in Kilkenny—a strapless black dress hugged her curves from breasts to knees, and the silky bare skin of her shoulders begged him to touch.

“Is this a new dress?” he murmured as they waited for the valet to bring his car around, allowing himself to drag a fingertip over one shoulder.

She blinked up at him. “Dress? Oh. No.” She looked down at herself. “I don’t know why I brought this with me. But Maeve said we should dress up for our last dinner.”

“Love the shoes.” He looked at her slender calves and the sexy shoes. Pretty scarlet toenails peeped below barely there straps over her insteps.

“Thank you.” Her voice, too, was throaty. Sexy. His insides tightened.

The drive back to his place was smolderingly silent. When they walked into his house, memories of the first time they’d had sex right there on his stairs flashed and burned. And when their eyes met, he knew she was remembering too. A peachy flush crept up her cheeks, making her so adorably pretty he had to reach out and touch her cheek with his fingertips. His thumb stroked over her jaw, then her bottom lip, which parted from the top, and a fierce tenderness expanded inside him.

With a long, aching groan, he drew her against him, tipped her face up with both hands and kissed her mouth. She arched against him, and need for her slammed into him. His arms slid around her, one hand tangling in her hair, one skimming down her back to her butt, where he pressed her tight into him.

Their ragged moans mingled as they shared a kiss that tasted of raw joy and hungry ardor, mouths moving, tongues sliding. Keara’s fingers glided into his hair, her nails scraped his scalp and spears of need stabbed into him.

He never wanted to let her go. He didn’t want her to leave, but the idea of begging her to stay, of opening himself up like that, making himself so dangerously vulnerable, horrified him. He couldn’t do it. He could implore her with his body, with his mouth, with his hands. He could appeal to the emotion he knew raged in her too. But he couldn’t say the words.

He bent and hooked his arm beneath her legs, swinging her up against him. She choked out a gasp and grabbed on to his shoulders and he loved it, loved the feeling of her hands gripping him so needily.

He carried her upstairs. “This time we make it to the bed,” he promised her. She tucked her head against him, and he admired the sleek curves of her legs dangling, the skirt of her dress hitched up well above her knees.

He set her down to sit on the bed then dropped to the carpet beside her. He picked up one foot and slid the strap behind her heel off, then slipped the shoe off. Her foot felt delicate in his hands and he kissed her instep, then her ankle. She shivered and her fingers curled into fists at her sides.

He removed the other sandal, skated his palms up over silky calves, and rose onto his knees. Darkness and quiet enfolded them, the only sound he could hear the thudding of his heart. His hands slid up higher, beneath the dress, over her thighs, until he touched the edge of her panties.

Their eyes met. And she lifted her hips just enough for him to hook his fingers into the strings of what must be thong underwear and drag them down.

As he drew the panties over her knees, the scent of warm feminine arousal filled his nostrils and a feverish lust ripped through him. A moan of pure, primal desire tore from his throat and he tossed the panties aside and shoved her skirt up. With a choked gasp, she fell to her back on the bed, and he parted her thighs and surged over her, craving her taste. He licked and sucked and kissed, filled himself with her scent and her taste, her soft whimpers mingling with the soft noises of his mouth on her until her fingers tightened in his hair and her hips arched beneath him. She cried out. “Shane! Oh God, Shane.”

He sucked until her quivery body went still, and even then didn’t lift his head, inhaled her, eyes closed, wanting to imprint that scent in his olfactory memory forever.

If this was their last time, he was going to make it…everything. He wanted to do everything to her, wanted to be everything to her, as she was everything to him.

His throat burned when he finally lifted his head and moved up over her to kiss her mouth again, sharing her taste with her.

Her hands fluttered over his back. “You make me come so hard,” she whispered, mouth moving against his. “I want you inside me.”

“Mmm.” Oh yeah, he wanted that too. But he knew they could take their time because he was going to make love to her all night long, even if it meant she drove back to LA with zero sleep. This was their last night