He Took Me to Catch the Rat, But the Rat Was Him novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: The Desk

In the study Aisling starts it, and Cathal takes her on the desk after she says it will happen once and she will never forgive him.

I walked around the desk and sat on the edge of it, in front of him, with my bare feet hanging.

I picked up his whiskey and drank half of it.

It burned all the way down, and I did not cough.

"My father hung up on me," I said.

"I heard him."

"He called me sweetheart and hung up."

Cathal said nothing.

He sat back in his chair, and the lamp lit one side of his face.

"You said you meant to have me before the new year," I said.

"I did."

"Then have me."

His eyes went to my mouth and came back up.

"Not like this," he said.

"Like what?"

"You're angry, and you're alone, and you're sitting on my desk."

"I'm sitting on your desk because I walked down here in my socks," I said.

"Nobody carried me."

I set down the glass.

"I've waited six years for someone in your family to come for me," I said.

"I'm tired of waiting for it."

"Aisling," he said.

"Are you a coward, Dwyer?"

He stood up so fast the chair rolled back and hit the bookshelf.

He was standing between my knees before I had finished breathing in.

I took his face in both hands, and I kissed him.

It was not gentle.

I bit his lower lip until I tasted blood.

He made a rough sound in his chest and put his hand flat on the back of my head.

His mouth opened mine.

He kissed me hungrily, and I pulled him in by the sweater until the whole length of him pressed against the desk.

His other hand closed on my hip and dragged me to the edge.

Papers slid off behind me and landed on the floor.

"Say it again," he said against my mouth.

"Say what?"

"That you want it."

"I want it," I said.

"I want your mouth on me, and I want you to stop talking."

He pulled the T-shirt he had lent me up over my head and dropped it.

I had nothing on under it.

He stood back one step and looked at me in the lamp, bare on his desk, and his jaw tightened.

"Christ," he said, very low.

"You're going to ruin me."

"That's the plan," I said.

He put his mouth on my breast.

He sucked hard, and then he used his teeth, a small sharp pressure that made me arch back on my hands.

I got my fingers into his short hair.

"Harder," I said.

He gave me harder, and his other hand slid up my thigh and stopped just short of where I wanted it.

"Cathal," I said, and then I bit the word off.

I would not say his first name.

"Dwyer," I said.

"Please."

"Please what?" he asked.

"Touch me."

He ran two fingers through me slowly, and I was so wet it made a sound.

He heard it, and his mouth came off my breast.

"Look at that," he said.

"You've been wanting this since the sacristy."

"Since you slapped me," I said.

"Since the church."

"Liar," he said, and he smiled for the first time.

He pulled out the chair and sat in it.

He hooked his hands under my knees and dragged my hips to the very edge of the desk.

"Lie back," he said.

I lay back on the oak with my feet on his shoulders.

His mouth closed over my clit.

My whole body jerked.

He licked me in slow, flat strokes, then fast ones, then he sucked.

I heard a sound come out of my own throat that I did not know I could make.

"Too much?" he asked, his mouth still on me.

"Not enough," I said.

He pushed two fingers into me and curled them, and found the place that made my back come up off the wood.

"There," I said.

"Right there, don't stop."

He did not stop.

He worked his tongue over my clit and his fingers inside me, harder and faster, until my thighs shook against his ears.

I grabbed the edge of the desk with both hands.

I came with my head thrown back and his name stuck behind my teeth.

He kept going through it, slower, until I pushed at his shoulder and swore at him.

He sat back with his mouth wet and his eyes black.

"One," he said.

"I'm not done with you," I said.

I sat up, grabbed his sweater, and pulled it off over his head.

He was broad and lean, with a scar across his ribs and a gold St. Brendan medal on a chain.

I put my mouth on his collarbone and my hand on the front of his jeans.

He was hard, and he was big, and he pushed into my palm with a groan.

"Take it out," I said.

He opened his jeans with one hand.

I wrapped my fingers around him, hot and heavy and slick at the tip, and I stroked him once, slowly, base to head.

He put his forehead against mine.

"Aisling," he said, rough and warning.

"I want your cock inside me," I said.

"On this desk."

"Right now."

He pulled my hips to the edge with a hand that shook, and the head of him pushed against me.

I locked my ankles behind his back.

He went in slowly, one long inch at a time, and I felt every inch of him stretch me.

I made a sound against his neck.

He stopped, buried to the root, and held still.

"Look at me," he said.

I looked at him.

His gray-green eyes were wide open and unguarded, and he was breathing hard through his open mouth.

"You feel like that," he said, "and I'm supposed to hate you."

"Then hate me," I said.

"Move."

He pulled back and drove into me.

The desk lamp rattled on its base.

He fucked me hard and deep, with one hand twisted in my braid.

His other hand went under my hip to tilt me up to meet him.

Each stroke hit the place inside me his fingers had found.

"Harder," I said.

"Fuck me harder, Dwyer."

He gave it to me, with the desk knocking against the wall and my heels digging into his back.

"Say you're mine for tonight," he said, rough in my ear.

"I'm mine," I said.

"I'm only mine."

"Not for long," he said, and went deeper.

I reached between us and rubbed my clit in quick circles while he fucked me.

He saw me do it and made a low sound.

"That's it, show me," he said.

"Come on my cock."

My second orgasm hit fast and hard, and it tore a shout out of me that the whole street could have heard.

I clenched around him, and he swore and pulled out of me before he could lose himself.

"Turn over," he said.

"Hands on the desk."

I turned, and my knees were weak, and I put my palms flat on the cold oak.

He stood behind me and ran his hand down the length of my spine to the small of my back.

"Look at you," he said.

"Bent over my desk with your thighs still wet from my mouth."

"Then finish it," I said, over my shoulder.

He wrapped my braid twice around his fist and pulled my head back, not hard, only enough to arch my back.

He pushed into me from behind in one long stroke.

I cried out, because from that angle he reached everywhere.

"Mine," he said, low, into the side of my neck.

"For tonight, you're mine."

"For tonight," I said.

He fucked me with long, deep strokes at first, and then faster, with his hips slapping against me and the whole desk shuddering.

He reached around with his free hand and found my clit, wet and swollen, and he rubbed it in hard little circles.

"Again," he said.

"You've got another one in you."

"I can't."

"You can," he said.

"Come for me, Aisling."

He bent and set his teeth against my shoulder, and the small sharp bite tipped me over.

I came with my forehead against the desk and my fingers clawing at the wood.

I clenched on him so hard he groaned out loud.

"Fuck," he said.

"Fuck, I can't hold on."

"Then don't," I said.

He lost his rhythm.

He thrust deep, once, twice, and his whole body locked against my back as he came, with his mouth open on my shoulder.

He stayed there, shaking, with his face in my hair.

Neither of us moved for a long while.

The whiskey glass lay on its side, and the lamp had gone crooked.

I slid off the desk onto legs that shook under me.

"That was once," I said.

I found the T-shirt and pulled it on.

"It's one time, and it's never going to be anything else."

"All right," Cathal said.

"And I'll never forgive you for any of it."

"I didn't ask you to."

He took his sweater from the floor and put it around my shoulders, over the shirt.

I was shaking, and it was not from the cold.

"Go to bed, Aisling," he said.

"Phelim comes for breakfast at nine."

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