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Dublin Cycle

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In hindsight, it was completely inevitable. She had it coming from the moment she sat down next to him in the bar—hell, she had it coming from the moment he opened the door of her van, and looked at her all smug and cocky from behind his sunglasses.

But tonight was definitely a turning point—with him accepting, if not her offer to talk, but at least her company, letting her in a little and daring to show her that he, too, was vulnerable. And so they talked, maybe not exactly about what she had originally meant to talk about, but they talked and exchanged bittersweet smiles and laughed at lame jokes, and she soon found herself leaning closer and placing her hand on his knee and flirting with him without meaning to—but then there was that glint in his eyes that told her it was not at all unwelcome. And then he was leaning in too, casually covering her hand with his on the counter, drawing small circles on the back of her hand with his thumb with surprising gentleness.

A look, a touch; and it was enough to make her desire stir.

So yeah, it was absolutely no surprise that, when they finally decided to turn in for the night, she was moaning into his mouth as soon as they were out of the bar.

(Honestly, she has no idea who made the actual first move—one moment he was opening the door for her and slipping his arm around her waist in the most respectable manner, and then the next her hands were fisted in his shirt and she was thrusting her tongue into his mouth.)

(So yeah, she might have made the first move.)

It was a smaller miracle that they got to her hotel room—hers, simply because it was closer than his—before they started all but ripping off each other’s clothes.

As soon as the door was closed behind them, he was backing her against it, pressing her against the wood, taking her face in his hands and kissing her with fervor, biting her lower lip, then moving down and sucking on the column of her neck, making her knees weak. She sighed and panted as he worked on her, her hand on his head, fingers buried in his short, dark hair, pressing him closer. When he bit into the flesh where her neck and shoulder met, with just enough force to cut off the circulation for a moment, then lapped at the spot, soothing the sting, she moaned out loud and pushed herself against him.

As great as it was to stand there and make out, it was soon becoming not enough. She needed to be closer to him—as close as she could get. She needed to feel his hands on her, needed his bare chest pressed against her, needed him deep within her… God, she needed him.

Urged by the hot wetness pooling between her legs, she slid her hands down his back until she reached the hem of his shirt—tucked in so messily, in a way that was doing things to her—, she pulled it out and inched the fabric up, slipping her hands under it and splaying her fingers on the warm skin of his lower back for a moment, before pulling the shirt even higher, leaving no doubt about her intentions of getting it off of him.

He reacted with the same swiftness and determination as he always did. His hands moving from her waist, he grabbed the hem of his shirt, and, taking half a step back, he pulled the garment off and threw it away in one fluid motion, revealing the smooth skin and hard muscles underneath.

She barely had time to marvel at his naked chest—and there was a lot to marvel at—when he was back on her again, this time reaching for the bottom of her shirt and pulling it off of her, almost aggressively with desire. She raised her arms obligingly, helping him to get her rid of it, and as soon as it was off, not even waiting for him to turn back towards her as he tossed her shirt away, she reached behind her back and unclasped her bra (her stupid, polka dotted bra that so didn’t match her panties; now she really wished she had put on something sexier). By the time his gaze turned on her once again, she was already pushing the straps off her shoulders, letting the garment fall to the floor in front of her feet.

She saw his pupils dilate and his Adam’s apple bob as his gaze fixed on her breasts (she couldn’t help the smug grin that appeared on her face), taking in their fullness and her dark nipples, standing erect from arousal (hah—she’d always known he was a boob man). Then he moved again, swift, like a predator attacking his prey, his hands cupping her face, his mouth on hers, kissing her without mercy, making her moan and whimper.

Impatience soon getting better of him, his hands slid down; he grabbed the top of her thighs and lifted her, squeezing her ass and crashing her body against his, holding her high enough that he could wrap his lips around her nipple, making her scream. Not pulling away for a moment, he carried her over to the bed and dropped her on the soft mattress. Bouncing slightly, she sat up, just in time to see him pull the zipper of her boots down, pulling them off her feet, before reaching for the button of her jeans. Helping him, she lifted her hips, biting her lip and breathing heavily as she watched him all but yank her pants down her legs along with her panties, leaving her stark naked on the sheets.

Then there was a pause; a short one, but a pause nonetheless, during which he stood up, and just watched her, unveiled arousal in his eyes as his gaze skimmed over the curves of her body. The pure hunger and need written on his face made her bit her lip in anticipation and clench her thighs together, seeking some kind of friction.

“You have no idea how long I have been dreaming of doing this,” he said, his voice deep, hoarse with lust.

She couldn’t restrain herself from cocking an eyebrow at him and giving him a mischievous, challenging look.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

 That was enough to break the spell—the corners of his mouth pulling into a half smile, he reached for his belt, not taking his eyes off of her for a moment.

But before he could have gotten the belt unbuckled, she reached out and put her hand on his wrist, stopping him.

“Let me,” she said, looking deep into his eyes.

Still sitting on the edge of the bed, she slowly lowered her gaze and leaned closer, then put her lips just under his navel, kissing the surprisingly soft skin there, drawing a line on his stomach with her tongue (she felt his muscles twitch). She heard him let out a long breath, then with one of his hands on her head, his fingers buried in her hair, she pulled away, gave him a seductive glance from under her lashes, and then slowly pulled the end of his belt free.

Despite the desire thrumming inside of her, urging her to get him naked as soon as possible, she took her time; unbuckled his belt slowly, popped the button whilst looking up at him and licking her lips, then pulled his zipper down, almost tooth by tooth. Finally, slipping her fingers under the waistband of his bulging black boxer briefs, and pulled him free.

She had to sit back for a moment.

Because… it was… wow. She had always known that he must be packing—big, tall guy like him, with such a confidence, she knew he had to be… sizeable. But what was right in front of her eyes was beyond her expectations. Aroused and fully erect, his cock stood impossibly long and thick in front of her, the tip the purplish head gleaming slightly, the veins along his shaft standing out.

Her mouth suddenly dry, she swallowed hard.

He was easily the biggest guy she’d ever been with—while she had never thought that Miles was lacking in this department (although he did have some issues with technique that often left her unsatisfied, to be honest), his size paled in comparison to Grant’s. So much that she couldn’t help but wonder—was he even going to fit?

Grant, with his acute awareness of her even in his pleasure-addled state, sensed her momentarily lapse of focus.

“Is everything alright?” he asked with surprising clarity, slight concern in his voice, as he moved to kneel in front of her to get to the same level as her.

Blinking and still staring at him (he was sort of beautiful), she placed her hands on his hips, on the straining cords of muscle, stopping him.

“Of course,” she said, looking up at his face with cheeky, disarming smile playing on her lips. “It’s just…” she wrapped her fingers around his shaft, giving him a confident pump, making his breath hitch, “I’ve never thought you were porn star-quality, at least as far as size go, that’s all.”

Somehow having—at least partially—regained his composure, he looked down at her with a cocky, smug smile on his face—oh, she was so going to get back at him for that.

“And here I thought you’ve already gotten a decent look at it,” he said, wrapping his own fingers around her hand, as if to encourage her to feel his thickness, and to have an idea what was waiting for her.

For a moment, she had no idea what he was talking about (to be honest, she had much more exciting things to focus on), but then it clicked—the glasses. He knew about the freaking glasses. That bastard.

“Maybe less talking and more action, please?” she told him, lacking any sharper retort. “I’m about to combust here, and if you don’t do something about it really soon, I will have to take care of it myself.” And, just to prove her point, she spread her legs a little wider, and slipped her fingers between her folds, letting out a sultry moan as her fingertips brushed against her clit. “And neither of us would want that, right?”

He got the hint; with fire in his eyes, he quickly removed all his remaining clothing, leaving his pants pooled on the floor, and, finally as naked as she was, he climbed over her, making her crawl back towards the middle of the bed. His knees between her thighs, his hardness pushing just slightly against her core (driving her mad with desire), he lowered himself and kissed her once again, hungrily and with bruising need, making her moan.

“I am going to make it so good for you,” he promised in a hoarse whisper.

She was just about to make some comment along the lines of he’d better not promise things he cannot deliver, but he was faster than her. He moved down her body, first kissing down the column of her neck—robbing her of breath—, then took her nipple into his mouth once again, sucking at the hardened nub. Her back was already arching from the bed at this point, but he held her down, and continued his journey downwards, trailing his lips along the flat planes of her stomach.

She cried out loud when he slipped two fingers into her core and curled them.

And then his mouth was on her too, tongue lapping against her clit as his fingers moved inside of her in a teasingly slow rhythm. She bucked her hips against him, trying to get closer to him and get him to move faster, but he held her down, pinning her to the mattress. With her pleasure-addled brain she slowly realized what he was doing—he had no intentions of making her come, at least not yet; he was just working her, getting her ready, warm and wet and welcoming, for the main act.

And he really did raise his head from between her legs a couple of moments later, leaving her panting, wanting, aching, her core dripping.

Then he was climbing back up on her body once again, one hand pulling her left thigh up, opening her up, while his lips sought out hers, kissing her with urgency, leaving the taste of herself on her tongue. She could feel his hand moving between them as he broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers.

“Are you ready?” he asked quietly, his voice strained, as if it took all of his self-control not to just pound into her. Oh, she couldn’t wait.

“Yes,” she breathed, her voice barely audible as she searched for his lips with half-closed eyes. She heard him moan, as if the mere thought of being inside of her caused him pleasure, then his fingers were on her clit, and he was sliding his cock between her folds, coating it with her juices, readying himself for entering her.

“Wait!” she said suddenly, led by a sudden idea, right before he could have pushed inside of her. He stopped right away, his body tensing with concern (it amazed her, time and time again, how considerate, how attuned to her needs he seemed to be). Not wanting to worry or torture him, she gave him a cheeky, confident grin. “I want to be on top.”

The confusion disappeared from his eyes right away, and was replaced by pure lust. One corner of his mouth pulling into a half-smile, suddenly he put his arms around her, and swiftly throwing his weight around he switched their positions (making her squeal), until he was lying on his back, with her straddling his thighs.

“Wow,” she chuckled, throwing her hair behind her back. “How nice is the view from here,” she said, putting her hands on his chest, splaying her fingers wide, slowly sliding them down.

“Believe me—it’s better from here,” he countered, eyes fixed on her breasts as he rose a bit, supporting himself on his elbows, and took one of her nipples into his mouth. It was very much like the first time he had done that—as if an electric current had gone through her body, making all of her nerve endings tingle in the best possible way. She arched her back, letting out a moan so loud it would have made her embarrassed on any other day.

What was in this guy that turned her on so much?

She had no idea—well, she had several ideas—, but she was sure of one thing: she couldn’t wait any longer.

As he let go of her nipple, she placed her hands on his shoulder, and pushed him down, until he was lying flat on the bed once again. Then she grinned cheekily at him, and took his hard, throbbing member into her hand, giving him a hard pump, making his breath hitch.

And then she was rising on her knees, inching slightly forward, until her opening was right above him, letting his head slip between her outer folds, massaging her clit.

It was already so good she was losing her mind—and, from the look on his face, it was a sensation they shared.

“Let me,” this time it was him who said that, one hand high on her thigh, the other on his shaft, steadying himself. She nodded, letting go of his cock, and putting her hands on herself, parting her lips slightly so she could feel him slip inside her and could guide him, help him along, have him where she wanted him the most.

There was one last moment of doubt—could she take him? All of him?—, and then she was sinking down on him.

She doubted she had ever been more aroused, she was ready and dripping, and she was taking him in slowly, inch by glorious inch, but he was still big, biggest that she’d ever had, and he was stretching her to her limit, almost to the point of pain, making her moan and forget about herself. Once fully sheathed in her, filling her completely, he was reaching parts of her no-one had ever reached before.

She sat motionless for a moment, panting, her chest rising and falling rapidly, as she fought the urge to move while trying to get used to his size—giving her body time to adjust, to accommodate his girth, because she was half-sure if she started riding him like her body was urging her to, she’d come undone along the seams.

He was still, too; his hips buckled slightly once or twice, and he was groping the top of her thighs, his fingers digging into her flesh with such a force she was sure he was going to leave bruises, but he remained still, giving her all the time she needed—even though she could see on his face how hard it was for him.

And then she started moving—rocking gently, testing the waters, angling her hips carefully, so he’d slip out an inch before sliding back in, the tip of his cock hitting her walls just the right way. In the end, it was easier than she had expected it to be—once experienced what it was to have him inside of her, her body welcomed him; it still pinched a bit, but the sensation was fading fast. Her juices coating him, he moved easily inside of her, making her feel like this, this experience was what she had been waiting for all her life—as if they had been created to fit, destined to be each other’s (as cheesy as it was).

Soon, he was moving too, matching her rhythm as she sped up, rocking her hips and bouncing up and down, the two of them almost separating, his hardness almost slipping out of her before he slammed back in, hitting spots that were making her cry out, loudly and wantonly, her head thrown back (in the back of her mind, she was grateful that it was happening in the hotel—they was no way they could have done it on the Bus without everyone knowing).

One hand still on her thigh, almost at her hip, the other having found its way first to her hair, burying his fingers in her locks for a moment before his palm slid down to her breast, squeezing the full, fleshy mound, he somehow took the reins, even from under her. Soon, he was dictating the rhythm, his hips moving wildly, ramming into her with great precision, making her eyes flutter closed and fireworks burst behind her eyelids as she threw her head back and sighed and moaned and cried.

“That’s it,” she heard him say, not stopping or slowing down for a second, his voice strained and low and impossibly arousing. “Don’t hold back—give me everything you’ve got.”

He’d trained her well—she obeyed orders now (most of the time), and she obeyed now, speeding up even more, her movements becoming erratic as she slammed back down onto him forcefully, squeezing her walls around him until she lost sense of where she ended and he began. He was a part of her now, deep, deep within her, lifting her to heights she’d never visited before.

And then—it was over. The tension that had been coiling in her body eased suddenly, snapped like a rubber band, pleasure running though her nerves in overwhelming waves, reaching the tips of her fingers and making her scalp tingle and her toes curl and her whole body shiver and tremble as she cried out, spasming around him and squeezing him from the inside, ripping her away from reality from one long, never ending moment.

She was marginally aware of her orgasm triggering his—he held her hips even tighter, fingers digging into her soft flesh, as the tendons on his neck strained and he grunted, his hips stilling for a moment before he gave her a couple last, powerful, punctuated thrusts, spilling his seed deep inside her.

When she was finally coming back from her high—she had no idea how long it actually lasted; longer than usually, that she was sure of—, spent and her bones feeling like jello, she just collapsed on top of him, trying to catch her breath.

It took her a while to start forming coherent thoughts again, but when she did, she was sure of a couple of things. One: Grant Ward’s chest made an excellent pillow. Two: she was so going to feel it tomorrow. Three: this was just about the best orgasm she had ever had—counting both those she had been given and those she had to thank herself. And four: somebody was caressing her back, and it felt really, really good.

“Um…” she murmured against the warm skin of his chest, still panting a little, her eyes closing slowly in contentment. “You should know that I think you’ve just ruined every other man for me. Shame on you,” she said, trying to sound snarky, but honestly, not really succeeding. She was way too sated and comfortable and happy to snark.

He laughed—a deep, vibrating sound just under her ear—, meanwhile she felt him reach down and ease himself out of her. She let out a protesting little moan at the loss of contact; she had to find a way to get him back inside of her, and soon.

“That’s good,” he said at last, his voice low, seductive, “because I’d hate to share you anyway.”