Free Ciaran (Bourbon & Blood) by Seraphina Donavan

of her nipples. First one and then the other was treated to the warm pull of his lips and the soft rasp of his tongue. It was followed with the firm pressure of his fingers, taking her to that ephemeral place between pleasure and pain. It was all yearning and eagerness and consuming need.
    “Ciaran, please!” she urged, as her hands left his hair to roam over his back. Her nails scored his skin and some part of her reveled in causing him that little bit of pain. “You’re killing me.”
    He smiled, but there was a tension in his face, in the tight line of his jaw and the clenching of his muscles. It told the truth of just how much it cost him to let the fire build in a slow, controlled burn rather than an all-consuming inferno. Hoping to urge him along, she reached for the clasp of her bra but winced as the movement pulled at her stitches.
    “Let me,” he said and stilled her hands. He sat up, lifted her against him, cradling her against his chest as he quickly disposed of the garment. Then he laid her back on the bed again. He remained sitting, his eyes raking over her body.
    The weight of his stare was like a touch—hot, heavy and painfully arousing. Her nipples tightened further, furling into taut, aching buds that begged for his touch. A soft sigh escaped her as he dipped his head to take one in his mouth. Without the impeding fabric between them, the heat of his mouth was scorching. His touch was surprisingly gentle, but heightened as her nerves already were, it took only the slightest pressure to have her writhing against him. She wanted to feel him inside her, to have his hardness filling her up and easing the ache that had settled low in her belly.
    Her hands roamed his back, his sides, tracing the ridged indentations at his abs, and then moved lower. When her fingers encountered the thick, hard ridge of his cock, she gripped him firmly with her fingers but traced slow, lazy circles with her thumb. “Don’t make me wait anymore, Ciaran.”
    He didn’t make her ask twice. He moved away from her questing hands just long enough to shed his jeans and the dark boxers he wore. When he came back down onto the bed, he hooked his thumbs beneath the elastic band of her panties and worked them slowly over her hips, careful of her injuries. Once they were both completely naked, he urged her onto her side and moved behind her. She could feel the hard press of his erection against her bottom as he draped her thigh over his.
    “Those stitches,” he said, his fingers tracing the edge of the bandage, “Have taken enough of a beating tonight.”
    “I just want to feel you inside me…I don’t give a damn how you make it happen,” she said, arching against him.
    His head dropped, and he brushed a gentle kiss to her shoulder as he shifted slightly. The head of his cock nudged at the slick seam of her sex. He moved against her, teasing her, sliding over her damp flesh, but never seeking entrance. A shattered moan escaped her, and it was all the encouragement he needed. He pressed more fully, parting her flesh, sinking into her in one long, slow push.
    Loralei uttered his name on a gasp and pressed back against him, taking him deeper. With Ciaran, it had always been wild, unfettered, bordering on a violent free-for-all as they wrestled all over the bed and tried to best one another. But this was different. Hindered by her injuries, careful not to cause further harm, they came together slowly, their bodies rocking gently against one another. His hands moved over her breasts, her hips, in soft, gentle strokes.
    Loralei pressed against him, savoring the heat and the sweat that slicked their skin. His mouth moved to her neck, his lips and teeth teasing her flesh as he surged into her again and again.
    Their breathing became labored, their movements more fierce, but the deep connection she felt to him, cradled against him as he carried them both to the edge, was unlike anything she’d ever felt. Her thighs trembled and her belly