Chapter 19: Fifth Avenue Fling: Chapter 19

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.

I try to kiss him, but I’m too nervous and aroused. I swallow air, whimpering against his mouth.

He lifts my left leg and wraps it around his waist. I’m still fully dressed, including my Doc Martens.

He slides his hard, thick cock into my wet opening, and I gasp at the sudden sensation. My core flutters with pleasure.

“You okay?”

I nod, unable to form words.

His eyes hold mine as he pushes his cock deeper inside me. His mouth ajar, he lets out a shuddery breath, closes his eyes, and presses his forehead against mine. “Damn. I’ve wanted to do this since I first set eyes on you.”

The sight of him so worked up, the feel of him filling me up, his words… I’m in danger of collapsing on the floor.

“Fuuuck.” A growl rumbles from his throat as my muscles clench hard and territorial around him.

“Ahhh,” I moan as he thrusts. I can’t speak. All I know is that this is my new favorite feeling in the world.

His full lips fall open, and he groans my name. It’s the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard. “You feel so fucking good. Amazing.”

My hands roam all over his chest, desperate and amateurish. I don’t care.

His voice. His skin. His smell. I need it all.

My shallow moans and mewls are joined by his deep grunts. His eyes hold mine as he drives into me, hitting a spot so deep he can’t possibly get any deeper in me.

I grip his neck for support.

Killian Quinn is fucking me. Killian Quinn’s dick is inside me. I’m so full of him that I can barely remember my own name.

His mouth slackens, and his face softens as he loses control. Seeing him like this just pushes me over the edge even more.

I’m so close.

So, so close to exploding.

“I can’t hold it,” he says through a ragged breath. “I’m going to come. Fuck.”

He groans low and deep. His face strains, his jaw grinds, and a muscle in his forehead jumps as he tries to hold out, waiting for me to orgasm.

But he can’t.

His face contorts with a mixture of pleasure and pain, and his mouth hangs open as he releases into me with a final jerk, holding my hips in place so I can’t move.

I close my eyes and hold him tightly as his body relaxes against mine.

He drops my leg, but his cock stays inside me, keeping me pushed against the wall.

I let out a heavy breath, pressing my head against his chest.

Then something… changes. The air changes, the mood changes… he changes.

His whole body stiffens under my touch. He breaks the embrace, pulling out of me. Now he can’t even look me in the eye.

He clears his throat. “I’m sorry. This was a mistake.”

“W-What?” I stammer, trying to keep up with his words. “What do you mean?”

My heart thuds as I wait for him to smile.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he says, not meeting my eyes as he discards the condom in the bin and pulls up his boxers. His mouth forms a hard line. “Forget this happened.”

Is he for real?

I stare at him for a long moment, trying to figure out what to say, but he ignores me.

I feel sick.

“Are you going to look at me?” I cry.

When his gaze meets mine, regret stares back at me. He almost looks disgusted. It’s painful and ugly and… heartbreaking.

“I’m sorry, Clodagh,” he repeats, his voice thicker this time. “I’m really fucking sorry.”

He leaves me propped against the wall with sticky thighs and tears in my eyes, feeling more shit than I ever have in my life.

Luck of the fucking Irish.