Honey Cut novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: The Study

Kit goes down to Niall at 2 a.m. wanting him, and they finish what the altar started, until Kieran knocks: Dunleavy's is on fire.

At two in the morning I gave up on sleep.

The bed was too big and the room was too quiet.

Every time I closed my eyes I saw Niall's hand on the doorframe and heard him say not tonight, not ever.

I had heard men say a lot of things in a bar.

I had never heard one say that and mean it.

I put on his white dress shirt from the chair, the one he'd left behind when the housekeeper packed my bags, and I opened the door.

Kieran sat in the straight-backed chair on the landing with a paperback open on his knee.

He looked up.

For a second his eyes went down the length of the shirt to my bare legs.

Then straight back up, and the book closed in his hand.

"Miss Dunleavy."

"Kit."

"Kit." He said it carefully, like it was breakable. "He's in the study. Second floor, end of the hall."

"Are you going to stop me?"

"No."

"Are you going to tell him I'm coming?"

A short pause.

"No," he said.

I went down the stairs barefoot.

The study door was open an inch, with lamplight spilling across the floorboards.

Niall stood at the window with his back to me, jacket off, sleeves rolled, a glass of whiskey he wasn't drinking in his hand.

The harbor lights shone through the glass.

"I told you to lock the door," he said without turning.

"I know what you told me."

"Go back upstairs."

"I saw your face at the altar."

His shoulders went still.

"When I tore up the paper," I said. "When your uncle called me a stupid girl. You looked at me like I'd handed you something. You've been looking at me like that for two days and not touching me."

He set the glass down on the sill.

"Kit."

"I'm not afraid of you."

"You should be."

"I'm not."

He turned around.

He looked at the shirt, his shirt, my bare thighs below the hem.

The muscle in his jaw jumped under the grey stubble.

"I decided in the pub that you would have the whole say in this," he said. His voice was rougher than I'd ever heard it. "I decided it before I knew what you looked like when you tore up a contract."

"Then say nothing and let me have it."

I crossed the room.

I took his face in both hands, and it was hot, and I went up on my toes.

For one second he held absolutely still.

Then his arms went around me and he lifted me clean off the floor and kissed me.

It was not careful.

It was a kiss like he'd been holding his breath for nine years, his mouth hard and hungry on mine, his beard rough against my chin.

I made a sound I'd never made, and he swallowed it.

He walked me backward until the edge of the desk hit the backs of my thighs.

Papers slid.

A lamp went over and he didn't look.

"More," I said against his mouth. "Your hands. All of it."

He groaned, low in his chest, and set me down on the desk.

His hands pushed up under the shirt and found my hips.

He stopped, breathing hard, thumbs pressed into my skin.

"No underwear," he said.

"I was coming to find you."

"Christ."

He took the shirt in both fists and pulled it off over my head.

I sat naked on his desk in the lamplight with my pulse in my throat.

He looked at me for a long time.

His eyes went over my breasts, my belly, my hips, the soft curves of me that the bar apron had always hidden, and nothing in his face was gentle.

It was something much hotter than gentle.

"You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen," he said.

"Then touch me."

He knelt.

I felt it before I understood it, his big hands pushing my knees apart, his mouth on the inside of my thigh, the scrape of his beard.

"Niall."

"Say it again."

"Niall."

His mouth found me.

I had been kissed before, but never by a man who kept his eyes on my face the whole time and learned what I liked by listening.

His tongue moved slow and then not slow, circling my clit, then flat and hard.

My hands went into the stubble on his scalp and held on.

I heard my own voice saying his name, and nothing else, and I felt him smile against me.

He slid two thick fingers inside my pussy, curled them.

I came apart on the desk with my head thrown back, shaking, a cry I couldn't stop filling the room.

He didn't stop.

He eased me through it, slower, until I was gasping and weak and pulling at his shoulders.

"Up," I said. "Come up here. I want you inside me."

He stood.

He had his belt open before I finished speaking.

His cock came out thick and heavy and flushed, longer than I had ever seen.

I wrapped my hand around it and he shut his eyes.

"Kit, I won't last."

"Good."

I pulled him between my knees.

He dragged the head through my wetness once, twice, and the sound he made was ragged.

Then he pushed in.

It took a long time.

He was so big that I felt every inch, a stretch that burned and then turned to something deeper.

I hooked my ankles behind his thighs and pulled him the rest of the way.

"God," I said.

"Look at me."

I looked.

His pale eyes were wild.

He held himself buried in me, trembling, forehead pressed to mine.

"You're my wife," he said.

"Move."

He moved.

He fucked me on that desk, deep hard strokes that rocked the whole thing against the wall, my breasts bouncing against his shirt, his hand fisted in my hair and the other gripping my hip.

I met every thrust.

I dug my nails into his back and told him harder.

He gave it to me, and the pleasure climbed in me until I couldn't tell where I stopped and he began.

"I'm going to come," I said.

"Do it. Come on my cock, Kit."

I did.

It went through me in waves, my pussy clenching around him.

He groaned my name and drove in once more and came with a shudder, hot and endless, his teeth against my shoulder.

For a long minute neither of us moved.

His heart hammered against mine.

He lifted his head and kissed me, slowly this time, and brushed the hair out of my face with that tattooed hand.

"I wanted you at the altar," he said.

"I know. I saw."

"I told myself I'd earn it first."

"You're earning it," I said, and he laughed, a rough surprised sound I had never heard from him.

He was reaching for his jacket to cover me when the knock came.

Once, very soft, on the open door.

Kieran stood in the hall with his eyes carefully on the floor.

"Niall," he said. "I'm sorry."

"What."

"Dunleavy's is on fire."

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