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Ceara D'Arcy had wanted Damon Bennett the first time she'd laid eyes on him. He was a cellist with the Philharmonic and she had been the featured soloist. But when they'd met she had been unable to pursue her feelings as he was married and she was in a committed relationship. But now? Things were different. They were both single and against her better judgment, she'd invited him over.
When Ceara heard the bell she almost flew to the door to open it. But she didn't want to seem too eager. And yet how on earth was she supposed to hide it? After their first date she'd been unable to think of anything but Damon.
Opening the door, she saw him standing there with an enormous bouquet of flowers in his hands. The white roses with red tips were winking at her from his arms. "Damon! You shouldn't have!" she said, acting like a little girl receiving her first party dress. She took the roses and kissed his cheeks, first one then the other, excitedly.
Damon was gorgeous, practically perfect, in fact. His unruly, short, black hair fell into his eyes, eyes so stunning they seemed to almost glow. They were ice blue and framed in a brown rim, and they were hypnotic in a way Ceara could hardly describe to her friends. They sucked her in, seemed to see straight into her very core, and then devour her at the same time. And his smile? It was a crooked, lazy smile that always touched his eyes and sent chills through her body.
As he let her kiss his stubbly cheeks, he slid his hands around her tiny waist and pulled her close to him, wanting to feel the contact of a firm, yet soft body against his own. She was in amazing shape, of course, but she was also round where a woman should be round and soft where a woman should be soft. The idea that he would soon be able to get his hands on those places made him slightly dizzy. “Mmm, but I did have to. Though I couldn’t find a rose that surpassed your loveliness. I did try,” he said smiling back at her, that cock-sure smile on his face once again.
She let him pull her close and her heart jumped several times, finally lodging itself firmly in her throat. Being that close to him was like being set on fire. And yet she couldn't say anything. Not yet. She just wasn't sure all of this was real. So much had happened to her since moving from Ireland, and her faith in love had been shattered so many times. And him? He'd lost the only woman he'd ever loved and had had to endure it all through the bloody newspapers. She'd read all about his tragedy. And even then her heart had broken just a little for him.
The embrace lingered for an eternity that Ceara didn't want to give up. For this one brief moment, she felt complete, whole; as if the part of her that had been missing was found. Yet she worried that this moment was fleeting. She feared that it was wholly one sided and that thought, the thought of having her heart broken again, made her finally pull away. Smiling, though, she looked at him. "Come inside while I put these in some water?" she asked, knowing that this would be the first time he'd been inside her apartment. It unnerved her a little to be honest. This place was her sanctuary and no one had ever been inside but her. And yet, asking him in was also the most natural thing in the world.
He let go of her reluctantly and crossed over the threshold of her townhouse, noting immediately how beautifully she’d had it furnished. It seemed as though beauty followed her wherever she went, but he thought it was perhaps her own beauty that made other things seem more delightful in her presence. He watched the way she walked, the swing of her hips, the way the soft tendrils of her upswept hair danced on her neck and shoulders, and he longed to touch that hair, to kiss that neck and caress those shoulders. He followed her inside as if pulled by an invisible cord that lead straight to the core of her sensual power. “You’re home is just as beautiful as it’s owner,” he said, his voice already husky with desire. He was unsure of her motive for inviting him over; thinking it was too late for dinner but never too early for…other things.
A true connection had been formed after their first date, and while Ceara's subconscious was worried that she'd created it from thin air, her soul knew differently. Damon spoke to her on a level that no man, woman or child had ever achieved. It was not planned or manufactured. It just was. Ceara wondered if this connection had always been there or was it new? Had they both ignored it when they'd worked together before? Had their connection gotten lost because of previous circumstances? It was something her mind was going to ponder long after the lights had gone out, when sleep once again eluded her. She couldn't help these thoughts from streaking across her mind as she walked into the kitchen, smiling. "Thank you, though I can't take credit. The place came furnished. I only asked for a sort of style, and a designer did the rest." Reaching up, she took a lead crystal vase down from a cupboard and began to arrange the flowers he'd brought her. Every moment or so she'd stop and inhale the heady fragrance of a flower, closing her eyes momentarily.
He watched her from the doorway, the way her delicate hands moved and arranged the flowers, almost caressing the fragile buds as if they would break at any moment. In his head flashes of those hands on his heated flesh danced before his eyes as he yearned to find out what how those fingertips would feel dancing over his body. Unable to control himself any longer, he silently crossed behind her and slid his hand over her shoulder, first up to her snowy-skinned neck and then down her arm, the warmth of her skin seeping into his fingers and making him more aroused than a single touch should. He turned her towards him, locking eyes with her. Leaning forward, his lips brushed her cheek leading a path to her ear. “You have no idea how enticing you are, pet,” he whispered, his voice ghosting her flesh and making the wispy loose hairs on her neck swirl on her skin. Leaning forward he took one of the roses from the vase and brought it to his nose, inhaling deeply as she had, his eyes never leaving hers.
Her reverie was cut short by the sensation of energy passing through her entire body as Damon's hand slid to her neck. She'd been caught in a vulnerable and highly intimate moment and Damon's touch did not violate it, but heightened it; made it more intimate than she could possibly have imagined. He seemed to fill up the whole room even though he was mere inches from her. She could feel his breath near her, fluttering over her skin in soft puffs. She watched him as he held the rose under his nose and inhaled deeply, never taking his eyes from hers. Without blinking, for fear the electricity between them would disappear like rain in the desert, she too breathed in the scent of the single rose in his hand. It was more sensuous and more personal than anything she'd ever done and she could not help the flush that crept up from her heaving breast to tint her cheeks pink. She watched the way his fingers brushed the soft petals of the rose and the fleeting thought about how those fingers would feel on her skin made her blush deepen.
There was no mistaking that blush and it made Damon smile. He thought of her writhing beneath him, her whole body flushed with need, as he explored her thoroughly. He took the rose and swept the soft flower over her glossed lips the imprint of her lips imbedded on the petals. The rose slid down her cheek, over her neck and stopped to play over her collarbone. He could see her breath coming in silent, needy gasps and it pleased him beyond measure. His other hand caressed the skin of her arm, feeling every hair stand on end as he passed over it. She was kindling, waiting to ignite and she had no idea of the power she held. Especially over him.
Wanting. It charged the air like a flame to a fuse. Desire so thick Ceara held her breath for fear of choking on it. Her body was alive with sensations that threatened to overwhelm her. She felt the heat from his body mingle with hers as he inched ever closer. As her eyes closed, trying to savor the moment, she heard a breathy moan and wondered where it had come from, not realizing it had escaped her own lips. She was desperate to touch him, to express through flesh what he was doing to her. But she couldn't will herself to move. She was breathing hard, like she'd just gone for a run and her knees were moments away from buckling. She wanted to touch the hand that gracefully caressed her arm, but she knew that one touch would ignite a wild fire that would burn out of control and couldn't be stopped. And she worried that neither of them was quite ready for that just yet. At least she feared she wasn't.
Oh, Damon was ready for it. He’d been ready for it for a long time; he just chose to ignore it. He’d wanted to bed Ceara the first time he’d seen her, but sadly they had not been in situations that permitted them to be anything but colleagues. She’d had a boyfriend and he’d been good and married. And Damon, while morally lenient in some ways, was not big on infidelity. So he’d watched from afar. And when she’d come back into his life, both of them heart broken and needy, he’d made his move. And that move had brought him here, right now, to this moment in time. Hearing soft moans from parted lips, he could tell her very being cried out for him. And he planned to take it. He planned to take her.
Laying the rose down on the counter he slid his hand to her hip, his fingertips pressing just so moving her body towards him with a silent command. She opened her eyes, feeling betrayed by her own body lustily obeying his unspoken order. Her blatant want had him aroused to the point of distraction. He edged her body flush against his, never once taking his eyes from her. His hands were splayed along her back making the skin under her shirt so hot it almost burned.
Every touch sent her senses soaring and she couldn't help pressing closer to him. She could barely stand up on her own, feeling her knees going rubbery the longer she stood there. Her body was reacting of its own accord and she couldn't control anything. She'd love nothing more than to let him devour her, but her prim Irish pride was trying to get hold of her brain. And her brain was losing. Her own traitorous hands betrayed her as they slid up the cotton sleeves covering his well-toned arms and she could feel the shift and tension in his arms as he held her. She’d never noticed how erotic the movement of a man’s muscles could be until that very moment. She gasped feeling the state of his arousal through his jeans. “Damon, I…” she said before his lips cut her off with a searing kiss.
Damon had dreamt of kissing those lips for days, weeks, even years though he’d not admit it. There is no way he would ever admit to wanting her while he was still married. But he had. And now? He could fulfill that dream.
Unable to resist her any longer he kissed her, his tongue sweeping out to lick the sticky-sweet gloss on her lips before tangling his tongue with hers. She’d parted her lips the moment before with a feeble protest and while her words may have been hesitant, the slow undulation of her hips against his was anything but.
The kiss made Ceara melt, and this time she really did buckle at the knees. She had to grab him before she hit the counter behind her. She couldn't believe it. Never in her life had a man made her knees truly buckle. She thought it was merely a myth used to make women seem helpless and simple. But it was real. The way he made her feel was not normal. Could his touch really send her to a place she's only dreamt of? She tilted her head slightly so that she could get more of his mouth. She couldn't believe he had the restraint he was showing. Surely he felt the passion and longing that filled the air around them.
He caught her with ease, using his body and his strong arms to hold her against him. He never let his lips leave hers, even as her knees gave out he just leaned down a bit more to kiss her more soundly, his passion for her rising to a fever pitch.
Tentative heat and moisture filled Ceara's core as his tongue once again courted her lips, seeking entry to her mouth. She had no answer to give him save one: she drew his tongue into her mouth licking and caressing it with her own, the knot of their tongues igniting a yearning in her body she’d all but forgotten. Tilting her head, she tried to get more of him. But no, no, it couldn't happen not this fast. Only one time in her life had she sought out sex for sex's sake and she regretted it to this day. To this day, part of her felt no better than a whore. She couldn't risk ruining this - not now. She knew there was too much at sake with Damon. This was a man she could care for and love and she could not make any mistakes. Mustering all her will, she broke the kiss, panting.
Why was she fighting this? The air was charged with their want ready to burst into flames and consume them at any moment. Damon, for one, did not want this end with either of them being left…unsatisfied.
She may have broken their heated kiss, but she made no move to pull away from him beyond that and he knew if he kissed her again, she would be lost. He wanted her to let go, to allow herself to be freed by her desire; to give in to it with wild abandon. He touched her face; fingertips skimming soft cheeks, running over plump kissed lips.
Ceara could scarcely trust herself to move. His hands were still on her and she felt that the moment he let go of her, some part of her would go with him. And she would gladly let him keep it, for she felt that a small piece of him was now forever locked in her memory. She watched him study her, her breathing, and the slight sheen on her skin. His kiss left her decimated and she knew she would not sleep tonight. She knew she would be haunted by his touch, his kiss, the way his eyes devoured her very soul.
Damon had no intention of letting her sleep that night, not if he could help it. He planned to make sure that after tonight, she would never yearn for the touch of another man. He planned to put his mark on her, claim her as his own.
"Don't fight what you're feeling, Ceara. Embrace it. Savor it. Let it fill you up until you feel as though you could die from the pleasure of it."
His words were almost as hot as his skin and she found her will to resist waning, losing steam with every word. She didn't want what she was feeling to end, but she was afraid that he would get under her skin and that if she had to get rid of it, she would be unable. But as he spoke to her, she realized she could no longer resist the desire of her heart, her body. She wanted him. Once that thought became clear to her, she decided to give herself to him.
Her answer was to lean in and kiss him again, moaning softly as she licked her way into his mouth. She pressed herself even closer, rolling her hips against his feeling how aroused he was. It lit a fire between her thighs and her body trembled with anticipation.
He smiled a devilish smile as she answered him with a greedy kiss. Christ, how he wanted her. And that kiss told him all he needed to know about her decision. She wanted him. And he would not deny her.
With deft hands, he tugged her top upwards. She lifted her arms above her head lithely, like a dancer posing. When her shirt was off, he pulled her back to him, kissing her with a hunger that threatened to overwhelm him. His hands touched the silky smooth expanse of her back and he felt her skin break out in gooseflesh. He ran his hands over the round, soft curve of her bottom, lifting her against the erection straining against the fly of his jeans. She moaned again and he felt himself grow even harder. Her voice alone could send a man to ecstasy but to hear her like that, moaning against him made it hard to control himself.
She felt slightly vulnerable being the only one with her shirt off, so she followed his lead and tugged at the black, long sleeved shirt he wore. He let go of her for what seemed like no time at all and when he was back, his torso was bare and begging for her to explore its dips and sinewy curves. Her hands did not hesitate as they dug into the toned muscles in his back, sliding down to let her fingertips flirt with the waistband of his jeans.
Unable to control himself much longer, he tore at the button of her slacks, desperate to rid her of the material that kept her desire at bay. He pushed the material down over her hips, barely aware of the soft sound they made as they hit they floor.
She breathed his name, the sound a heady mixture of a begging whine and a moan. Unable to stop herself, she raised one leg up, hooking it around his hip. It was wanton and needy, a silent plea for him to touch her. She gasped loudly when he obliged.
She was a creature made of passion and fire and he could not help but revel in watching her slowly come undone under his ministrations. Deftly, he swept his hand down between their bodies caressing skin so soft if hardly felt real. He ran his palm over the satin covered juncture between her thighs and was not surprised to feel the moisture seeping through the material. She was already wet and he was anxious to feel her arousal. He pushed the satin aside and slid a finger along lips so smooth they could only have been waxed. She was already so wet, he could practically feel it pooling. He slid a finger inside; seeking out her already engorged clit and rubbed it with long languorous strokes. He could feel her body tremble as she arched her back and let her head fall back.
He stroked further down, seeking out her center and slid two long fingers inside, noticing how his hand was drenched in her liquid heat immediately. As he fingered her, she was quick at work trying to undo the fly of his jeans. But she was also tormenting him as she worked, stopping to palm his stiff cock through the well-worn denim of his jeans. When she had the fly undone, she slipped her hand inside and caressed him through the cotton of his boxer briefs. He moaned and bit at her neck, making her groan in a wanton, wordless conversation.
She tugged and pulled at his jeans and then his boxers until he was naked. Moments later, she felt her panties tugged down her thighs and the clasp of her bra undone as if he had more than just two hands. She shrugged out of her bra and tossed it carelessly on the floor.
Looking at him with desperate heat, she nodded.
He lifted her up, setting her plump bottom on the cold counter before smiling and entering her in one fluid thrust. Slick heat enveloped him as he heard her cry out between clenched teeth. Slowly he began to pull back and thrust forward, his mouth capturing one perfect, puckered nipple in his mouth as his cock slid in and out in a primitive, needy rhythm.
Never in her wildest dreams had she thought that she would be here, letting Damon take her on her own kitchen counter, but right now, it felt as though this was exactly what was supposed to happen. He was thick and long, and filled her to the point of pain, but she would not give up the sensation of him sliding in and out of her for the entire world.
As he suckled her breast, she grabbed his ass in her hands and pulled him closer; a silent plea to go harder, faster, deeper. He could not refuse and he started to thrust in earnest, going deep and hard.
She could feel her release rising with every thrust. It pooled in her belly and spread out like wildfire threatening to consume her. "Please, Damon," she begged. "Please."
He could draw this out no longer and rode her hard, his orgasm building and his muscles burning with exertion. "Come for me, Ceara," he panted as if his command would send her over the edge. And it did. She came, the walls of her pussy clenching around him and sucking him deep with her.
Her climax sparked his own and he came violently, spilling his seed inside her, his vision whiting out in that moment where he felt closer to heaven than any other time.
They came together and came back down together, panting and gasping. Damon raised his head, and kissed her breast, her neck, her lips. "He was a fool to let you go Ceara. And I assure you, I am no fool." With that, he kissed her soundly, lifting her off the counter and wound his way through the maze of clothing on the floor to find her bedroom, where he planned to prove to her over and over again that she would never be without him. Never.
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