Clodagh
The sound of heavy footsteps coming toward the studio door has my heart doing the bongo against my ribs.
Living with the most arrogant man in New York and a few too many drinks pushed me to the brink. Now my inner alpha has reduced to a scared little kid who wants nothing more than to crawl under the bed and disappear.
He’s going to fire me and throw me out onto the street tonight. Immigration will be here to deport me any second now.
I could have kept my fat trap shut, but instead, I-
The door is thrown open and slams hard against the wall.
Killian stands in the doorway, nostrils flaring, and jaw clenched, face like a bull about to charge.
Oh fuck.
My only saving grace is that he put on boxers.
The muscle in his jaw flexes so tight I think it might break. “No, that won’t be all,” he says in a low, husky drawl. Something gathers in his eyes-not just anger-something that looks a lot like lust.
He takes a step toward me, closing the gap between us.
I’m vaguely aware of myself backing away until I’m pressed against the wall, and his muscular arms form a barrier on either side of me.
“You think I’ll let an employee get away with that? You owe me an apology.”
“No, you owe me an apology, Killian.” I try to keep my voice steady, but it catches in my throat.
He’s so close my body is literally shaking with anticipation, like he is electrifying me with his presence even though he’s not touching me.
His arms remain braced against the wall on either side of me. His breath is hot on my forehead. His whole body is just inches from mine. He smells like his body lotion, the one I sniff every day when I clean his bathroom. He’s not even touching me, but my body hums wildly in response.
My breathing is all over the place, my cheeks are on fire, and my core throbs with anticipation and desire.
I feel overwhelmed and out of control.
“Why did you make me come home, Killian?” I rasp. “Why do you care if I stay out all night on my own time?”
He doesn’t answer me.
His eyes hold mine, and the burst of sexual energy is so palpable I can barely keep eye contact. The way he looks at me makes goose bumps break out over my arms and chest.
“Were your people spying on me?” I press on, knowing I’m playing with fire, but I can’t stop. “Why’d you make me come home?”
“I think you fucking know why.” His voice comes so breathy and thick with need, as if in pain.
I arch my hips against his thick erection.
Oh.
He lets out a shuddery groan and grabs them, holding them against him so I can’t move.
My palms slide over his warm, solid chest. I feel the flutter of his heart.
I’m so done for.
“Goddammit,” he groans against my forehead. “What are you doing to me?”
“I dunno,” I whisper, our mouths almost touching. “You’ll have to explain.”
He groans again. “You’re on my mind all the time. I think about you at work. I think about you when I’m running. I think about you when I’m watching TV with my daughter, and I hate it.”
I’m about to ask him to clarify whether that’s a compliment when he says, “I need to know what it feels like to be inside you.”
God. His voice is so masculine and sexual, I’m shaking with need.
“Then find out,” I manage to croak, barely audible.
He pulls back to see if I’m serious, his eyes blazing.
When he sees blatant approval, he pulls my leather dress up so that it’s to my waist, pulls aside the thong, then slides two fingers deep inside me.
I’m soaking. I’m so wet, it’s embarrassing.
The sensation of his hands down there has me writhing around like it’s the first time I’ve ever been touched.
I arch my back into his hands and spread my legs wider, thrusting into his touch. Thousands of shivery tingly sensations light up my core as his thumb circles around my most sensitive spot.
“Soaking,” he says in a ridiculously husky voice. “You’re absolutely fucking drenched.”
He bends down to kiss my neck as he controls me with his fingers. “Such a disobedient nanny. You want me to fuck you so badly, don’t you? It’s all you’ve wanted since you moved in here.”
I whimper in response. Oh God, that feels good.
“Say it,” he breathes against the dip of my neck. “Beg me. Beg me, and I’ll give you what you want.”
Arrogant ass.
“Please.”
“Louder. I can’t hear you.”
“Fuck me,” I gasp. “Please.”
“There’s a good girl. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
His fingers leave me, and I moan at the loss. Then I realize it’s so that he can slide his boxers down and off him.
Then he turns his attention back to me. With a devious smirk, he slides my thong down my legs. I grip his shoulders for balance and lift each foot to free it, barely able to contain my impatience.
Desperate to feel him bare, I wrap my hand needily around his cock. He’s so thick; this is going to hurt.
He groans into my hair in response and lifts me off the floor, his hands tight around my backside. My hold on him slips.
The tip of his cock pushes against my entrance.
“Wait,” I breathe.
“Dammit,” he hisses, closing his eyes as if trying to calm himself down. “Condom. You got one down here?”
Struggling to form words, I wave vaguely toward my purse on the counter.
He leans over and rummages through it until he produces the condom.
Then his cock is back pressed against my stomach again.
God, I’m so ready.
I watch him as he sheaths himself. I’m useless. Incapacitated. A mass of quivering jelly.
He bends slightly to accommodate my height, and his mouth comes down on mine as the tip of his cock nudges my entrance.