The scent of her arousal fills the room and I’ll never smell anything sweeter or more intoxicating.
I reach for her hip with my free hand, the silky fabric of her gown smoothing under my fingertips. “Don’t move.”
She stays slightly raised from my lap, doing as she’s told. Oh, how perfect she would be in bed.
I slowly push a third finger into her and her head drops back.
“Look at me,” I snap. She does as she’s told. “I want to see the look on your face when you come.”
Her plump lips part and she sucks in a breath.
I pump my fingers into her at a punishing pace, sure to press against her clit with my thumb every time I do. The sound of her wet sex while I finger-fuck her makes my pants bust at the seams.
She cries out and her eyes drift closed. After another few seconds I push my fingers into her one last time and circle her clit with my thumb. She tenses around my fingers and cries out, leaning forward and gripping my shoulders tight, her fingernails digging in through the fabric of my shirt. More wetness coats my hand and her hips jerk a few times before she collapses against my chest, breathing heavily.
Jesus, that was one of the hottest moments of my life and neither of us was even naked.
“Garrin…”
“Shhh.” I run my free hand up and down her spine as I free my other hand from under her skirt.
The compulsion to know what she tastes like is too great, so I bring my fingers to my mouth, licking them clean.
I’m so fucked. She tastes better than anything I’ve ever experienced, and it doesn’t escape me how easily I’ll become addicted.
Isla drifts off in my arms, and as much as I want to lie down with her, I can’t stay here tonight. Not only is the physical temptation too great, but I’m softening toward her. My hard, impenetrable exterior is becoming as permeable as the flesh on my bones. She’s seeping her way into my bloodstream, and I’ll soon be an addict if I don’t get some distance.
I slowly shift her off me and drag a pillow under her head, careful not to disturb her. Whether it’s the alcohol from earlier or emotional exhaustion, I can’t be sure. Slipping out of bed, I stand at the side and pull the covers up over her.
She must be uncomfortable in that gown, but I’m not going to undress her without her knowledge. So I slip from the room, quietly shutting the door behind me and retreating to my own bedroom.
There’s zero chance I’m going to get any sleep anytime soon. First, I’ll rub one out in the shower, and then I’ll have four fingers of scotch to try and take the edge off. Hopefully then I’ll be able get the siren in my apartment out of my head.
23
Chapter Twenty-three
Isla
I roll over and feel something tug around my waist. I try to ignore it and get back to sleep, but the roll from one side of the pillow to the other has my brain in free fall. I inhale a deep breath and push back the nausea that accompanies my pounding head.
My mouth feels like I swallowed a bag of cotton balls. Oh my God, I’ve never been this thirsty in my life.
Slowly I push up into a seated position and crack my eyes open. The room is dim, just a small amount of lighting peering in through the crack in the curtains.
It’s enough for me to see that I’m not in the bedroom I grew up in at my parents’ home.
I take in my surroundings and remember that I ended up at Garrin’s last night. Then I remember what we did. Or more accurately, what he did to me. Warmth pools between my legs as the array of sensations float back through my memory. It was the first time—ever—that I was intimate with a man and able to relax enough to be in the moment and enjoy myself. And my gut says I have Garrin to thank, not the champagne.
But he’s not in bed with me now.
Maybe he’s an early riser?
Slow enough not to jar my head, I slip from the bed and walk over to the adjoining bathroom. I do my business and wash my hands at the sink. Glancing up, I spot my reflection in the mirror.
Oh jeez, I look like hell.
Worse than hell, actually.
I finger-comb my long locks until they’re half acceptable and wipe