Dirty Little Thing (4 page)

Warning: Ignition point hits hard and fast
for this Dom and sub as an Irishman discovers his delightful talent
for breath control, spankings and clothespins. You may just want
laundry day to come more often.

Everything about Avery was a complete
contradiction to the type of woman Kane usually found himself
spending time with. His girlfriends had always been calm and
reserved. Wore frilly dresses and spiky heels. Spent hours doing
whatever females did to their hair. They’d neatly hang up those
dresses before sliding into bed with him.

They fucked as restrained as they lived.
Hell, they didn’t even fuck. The word was probably too vulgar and
harsh. Avery fucked with wild abandon, giving as much as she took.
She was unapologetic and loud. Jesus, the sound of her voice when
she’d come each time he’d shoved her over the edge last night had
nearly undone him.

And he hadn’t even been inside her yet. What
the hell was his state of mind going to be like when he finally
buried himself in all that hot sweetness he’d only gotten a taste
of?

She made him want to tear off her clothes,
baring her to his gaze so he could stare at those glorious tits
while he slammed inside her. Over and over. Losing himself in the
sheer madness of their fucking.

Closing his eyes, relaxing as the hammock
swayed in the gentle breeze, he let his mind wander. He imagined
arriving at her house after a long day, seeing her emerge from the
surf at sunset, the glowing rays of the sun glinting gold through
her red tresses as she walked straight for him. He’d tell her she
needed to be nude by the time she arrived at his feet, her mouth
wet and hot as she dropped her knees to accept his straining cock.
Order her to bring him right to brink, but never climax, just so he
could bend her over the back of that tattered couch of hers and
fill her cunt. Drive them both fast and furious, commanding her to
come so he could feel the tight fist of her heat squeeze around
him.

“Now that is a fantasy I better be a part
of.”

Holy shit.

His eyes popped open, found Avery standing a
few feet away, leaning against the board she’d speared into the
sand. A smile turned up one corner of her mouth. For a brief
second, he feared he’d repeated the previous night and started
trying to manhandle himself. Looking down, he found his hands were
clutched around the rope, his knuckles white with tension.

“So?”

“Yeah.” He licked his dry lips, wondering
what the hell had brought on such thoughts. He didn’t normally
think that way. So…feral and raw. “You were.”

“Gonna share?” Panic iced some of the heat
curling through his gut. No way could he tell her what he’d been
thinking—wishing. Needing. Wanting. Talk about deviant
behavior.

Instead he grinned, releasing the weathered
hemp rope to reach for her hand. “You are a bad influence on my
self-control.”

“Bad influence is a matter of perception. I
think I’m a pretty good influence on helping you express hidden
desires. Embracing what gets you off makes getting off all the more
enjoyable.”

She got him off. In more ways than one.

“Thought you were gonna go ride the waves for
a few hours?”

“I was. Then I thought better of it because I
decided I wanted to ride you instead.”

Excerpted from Riding Irish Copyright 2014
by Sara Brookes. Excerpted by permission of Loose Id. All rights
reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted
without permission in writing from the publisher.