"Put me in, Mo Chroí," Brogan said, sounding like he was barely able to form the words. He reached over to the bedside table, grabbing a condom. He ripped it open with his teeth and then reached behind me. I looked over my shoulder fascinated and turned on by the sight of him sliding the condom quickly over his erection.
I scooted back a little and lifted myself up slightly and wrapped my hand around his cock, fitting it into the wet opening of my body. Oh God, yes. I moaned at the feel of him entering me, my vaginal muscles leaping in a small aftershock.
"Oh Brogan. God, God," I murmured, pausing and riding out the small, unexpected burst of bliss that the contact of our most intimate parts had brought on.
"Mo Chroí, I'm gona die a brutal death if I don't get in ya," he groaned out. I let go of his shaft and sunk all the way onto him, impaled completely as I leaned back and began to move slowly, letting out a satisfied sigh.
He gripped my hips and exerted pressure until he was moving me the way he wanted—slow at first and then faster as his head went back on the pillow. His skin flushed, his lips falling open, the muscles of his arms and chest taut with strain and glistening with perspiration, the rippled muscles of his abdomen flexing as he made masculine sounds of pleasure. So incredibly sexy. His erotic male beauty was utterly mesmerizing, and I sucked in a breath, wanting to memorize the way he looked in that moment. I was doing that to him.
As I moved, he muttered words in Gaelic, words I didn't understand but thought I knew all the same. Yes, yes, don't stop, please, oh God, I imagined was what he was whispering in that beautiful, mysterious language.
Brogan moved me faster and faster, his cock sliding into my drenched core over and over, his hips pumping from beneath until he slammed into me one final time, yelling out and arching his head back deeper into the pillow beneath his head.
I collapsed on top of him again, and he brought his arms around me, holding me as we both trembled, drifting back to earth, our breathing slowing, our thundering hearts finally returning to normal.
In a haze, I used my fingertip to trace a vein under the skin of his bicep and made a deep, satisfied hum in my throat, finally raising my head to look at him.
He looked drowsy and half drunk with pleasure. "That was . . ." He trailed off, not seeming to know how to continue.
"I know," I said sleepily, smiling against his skin.
After a few minutes, I attempted to sit up, our slick bodies peeling apart. I felt boneless and heavy limbed. Brogan scooted out from under me, moving me gently onto the pillow as he got up and went to the bathroom to get rid of the condom, I assumed. A minute later I heard the bath running and a few minutes after that, Brogan came back into the room, picking me up and carrying me to the bathroom where he deposited me in a tub of warm, bubbly water. I sighed out, leaning my head back.
The nurse, Margaret, had said to keep my stitches dry for twenty-four hours, but it'd been longer than that. I smoothed the waterproof Band-Aid down anyway, to make sure it was secure. It was obviously healing well—I hadn't thought of it once in all our . . . maneuverings.
"Are you going to join me?" I asked, my lids heavy.
Brogan dropped the towel he'd wrapped around his waist and stepped in, leaning back against the opposite side. For a minute we simply watched each other, something intense and erotic leaping between us. This was the most intimate moment I'd ever experienced. Brogan ran a wet hand through his hair, leaving it tousled and standing straight up.
I smiled. "You are so handsome," I said. He gave me a crooked, shy smile and I felt butterfly wings stir in my stomach. I tilted my head. "You must know."
He cupped a handful of water and brought it to his face, sputtering slightly and smiling at me, teasing. "The only woman I'm interested in appealing to is you," he said, his expression suddenly serious.
I gazed at him for a moment wondering how it was that this beautiful, complex man wanted me, wondering what it was about me that made him desire me the way he seemed to. "What does neeus mo mean?" I asked.
Brogan grinned. "It's spelled n-í-o-s m-o," he answered. It means more." He raised an eyebrow. I used my hand to swirl the bubbles in front of me, and he glanced down at one of my nipples poking through the water, his gaze darkening.
"What about ledehull?"
"It's three words, l-e d-o t-h-o-i-l. It means please." I licked my lips and his eyes moved to my mouth. So I'd been right about what he was saying. "I'm going to have to be careful what I utter around you," he said, a teasing gleam in his eye. "I'm far less safe than I thought."
"Far less," I agreed, smiling back. I sat up, moving toward him until I was lying over him, my face in front of his. His hands went to my ass and he rubbed it gently, bringing the water up and over my skin. "Teach me how to say something in Gaelic."
He considered me for a moment, moving a damp piece of hair behind my ear before saying something that sounded like, "Iss le Brogan may." I repeated it and his eyes moved over my face, his gaze somehow soft and intense at the same time, his lips tipping up as if very pleased. He leaned forward and kissed me softly, uttering something that sounded like, "Iss latsa mo chree."
"What did you have me say?" I asked, nuzzling my nose along his and letting out a small moan as his fingers massaged up my back.
He leaned toward my ear. "I had you say, I love Brogan's large, extremely competent penis." I let out a surprised laugh and shook my head, pinching his nipple lightly.