Wild Embrace (Wilder Irish #11) - Mari Carr Page 0,17

on Halloween, the truth of the matter is, we’re probably both safer in here.”

Darcy giggled. “That’s a good point. God only knows what my poor dad has had to deal with tonight.”

She could have called her father. Ryder knew Aaron Young well enough to know he would have made his daughter his top priority. She didn’t. Instead, she rode it out, put on a brave face.

She was incredible.

He still held her face in his hands. He should drop them, should let go.

But…he couldn’t.

To make matters worse, Darcy didn’t seem to mind the touch. Her hands rested lightly on his wrists, and he got the sense she was trying to hold them in place.

She took in another deep breath, drawing his gaze to her lips. Her full, pink, soft lips. Her tongue darted out to lick the lower one, and Ryder couldn’t resist what he recognized as an invitation.

“Darcy,” he murmured softly.

“Yes?” she whispered.

“This has to stay here too.”

She frowned, confused, until he leaned forward and placed his lips on hers, kissing her.

He’d expected her to be shocked, to perhaps pull away…but Darcy did neither of those things.

Instead, she tilted her head, parted her lips, and allowed him to deepen the kiss, their tongues touching. He tasted the vodka they’d shared, felt the heat from her breath.

Her hands left his wrists, moving to rest on his shoulders, while he retained his grip on her face, capturing her low moan, the sound one of pure desire. Before he knew it, he was moaning as well, hungry for more.

Ryder felt as if he could devour her completely and still not have his fill.

It was a kiss.

Just a kiss.

Yet, it was so much more.

For several long, heated minutes, they explored each other’s mouths, tasted, touched, took.

Ryder had kissed countless women in his past, but it had never affected him like this.

Perhaps it was because it had been so long since he’d held a woman. Or because he’d sworn women off entirely, never expecting to kiss someone like this again.

Or because it was Darcy.

He dismissed that last thought immediately.

This couldn’t—shouldn’t—be happening.

“Darcy. We have to stop,” he breathed against her cheek, dragging his lips along the soft skin of her face to her ear. He’d released her lips, intent on pulling away, but he hadn’t managed to move an inch away before he was back, seeking, taking more.

“Don’t stop.” Darcy’s arm tightened around his neck, using her own mouth to explore him, placing kisses on his cheek, his neck.

Don’t stop.

Her words niggled at the back of his brain. A foggy memory? A dream?

An image of Darcy unbuttoning his shirt flashed in his mind. Of him saying, “Don’t stop.”

It never happened, so he pushed the thought aside and bit her earlobe, producing the cutest little squeak from her before he licked away the tiny spark of pain. He kept playing her words over and over in his brain.

Tied up. Held down. Spanked. Taken.

Ryder hadn’t been with a woman since Denise died. He’d genuinely believed her betrayal had killed that part of him. Because the honest-to-God truth was, he hadn’t had a hard-on in four years. Not once.

About two years after Denise’s death, a woman he knew through mutual acquaintances began making advances, letting him know in no uncertain terms she was interested in a casual affair. Ryder had thought the offer ideal. Sex with no strings, no emotions, no commitment.

They’d decided to meet at a hotel. However, it soon became evident that his heart and his dick weren’t into it. He’d made a lame excuse to leave, said an awkward goodbye, and never saw her again.

After that, he’d tried to discover if his problem had just been a lack of attraction to the woman, but countless experiments had proven the problem was his. He’d watched hours and hours of porn. Gone to a strip club for a work colleague’s bachelor party. Read erotica. His body responded to none of it.

And he’d found another reason for rage.

Impotence.

Or so he’d thought.

“Darcy,” he whispered when she pulled the hem of his dress shirt from his pants, her hands slipping beneath to touch his bare chest.

His dick had never been this hard, this thick. It was pulsing, aching. He was two minutes away from pushing Darcy to the floor of this elevator, pulling up her skirt, and pounding his way inside her.

Ryder fought for control, but Darcy kept stripping it away, piece by piece. She ran her fingernails over his chest, tangling her fingers in the light smattering of hair there,