she was clinging to him, riding him with every stroke, every
push and every well-timed thrust. His fingers were digging into her buttocks, welding
her to him as he pushed into her sleek moistness. He could feel her nails scoring the
flesh of his back but the minute pain only spurred him on.
54
HardWind
As the first tiny squeezes began along the length of him—milking him as Star’s
inner muscles fluttered—Dáire broke away from her greedy mouth and buried his face
along her neck, gasping for breath as he felt his own climax hovering within his reach.
Star stiffened and her legs grasped him tightly as her release spread over her in
waves of pulsing delight. She ground her lower body against him in an effort to scratch
the itch that was consuming her. His cock was huge, hard, pressing almost painfully
against her center. She felt every spasm that flexed his staff when he came. Every tug,
every jump, every little ripple as his cum spurted deep inside her, prolonging her own
contractions, extending the tremors of passionate delight that rocked through her lower
body. She quivered, her entire body nothing more than a mass of putty in his proficient
hands. Limbless, she melted into the bed, arms thrown wide as though she were a
virginal sacrifice, her legs limp, lying alongside his as she collapsed in fulfillment.
Dáire lay upon her, no energy left to heave himself up, roll himself off her sweaty
body. He was as drained as he could never remember being with no strength left to
move. His full weight was upon her and the realization of that hit him at last. He started
to slide off her, but she would not allow it, instead, throwing her arms around him to
hold him to her.
“I’ll squish you,” he whispered.
“I love the feel of you on me,” she said. “I love your weight pressing me down.”
“I’ll hurt you.”
She allowed him to shift just a little so that his entire heaviness was not crushing
her beneath him. He still lay between her legs, his groin against hers, the side of his face
pressed to her shoulder. She was stroking his damp hair with one hand while the
fingers of her other hand dragged in lazy spirals along the biceps of his left arm.
While thunder boomed now in the distance as the storm moved farther inland, they
lay quietly—each lost in their own thoughts—until sleep gently reached up to lure them
back.
55
Charlotte Boyett-Compo
Chapter Six
“I always go over to Pensacola on Sundays to see Jillian,” Star told him the next
morning as she dried herself off in the shower. “Do you think maybe we can spend the
night over there tonight?”
Dáire leaned over the sink and spit a mouthful of foamy toothpaste into the bowl.
“Sure,” he said, scooping water up in his hand to rinse his mouth. He dried his lips on
the hand towel hanging beside the sink.
“I need to call Del and let him know I won’t be in tomorrow,” she said then paused
in drying her arms. “Or the day after.” She looked at him. “I really don’t know how
long we’ll be gone.”
“Did they say how long it would take to do the donation?” he asked.
“A couple of days of recuperation if all goes well,” she said. “You’re in good health,
aren’t you?”
“Far as I know,” he replied. He had yet to call Gentry, and he knew if he told her
about the bone marrow donation all hell would break loose. His body wasn’t his own—
it belonged to The Cumberland Group. There was a chance they could try to prevent
him from giving his daughter the bone marrow.
Star stepped out of the shower—leaving the water on for him—then wrapped the
towel around her. “You didn’t catch anything when you were on your last assignment,
did you?”
“Nothing that wasn’t cured while I was in Paris,” he answered. He padded over to
the shower, bumped her with his hip before climbing inside. “Unless you count the bad
case of depression I brought back with me.”
Star swiveled her head
push and every well-timed thrust. His fingers were digging into her buttocks, welding
her to him as he pushed into her sleek moistness. He could feel her nails scoring the
flesh of his back but the minute pain only spurred him on.
54
HardWind
As the first tiny squeezes began along the length of him—milking him as Star’s
inner muscles fluttered—Dáire broke away from her greedy mouth and buried his face
along her neck, gasping for breath as he felt his own climax hovering within his reach.
Star stiffened and her legs grasped him tightly as her release spread over her in
waves of pulsing delight. She ground her lower body against him in an effort to scratch
the itch that was consuming her. His cock was huge, hard, pressing almost painfully
against her center. She felt every spasm that flexed his staff when he came. Every tug,
every jump, every little ripple as his cum spurted deep inside her, prolonging her own
contractions, extending the tremors of passionate delight that rocked through her lower
body. She quivered, her entire body nothing more than a mass of putty in his proficient
hands. Limbless, she melted into the bed, arms thrown wide as though she were a
virginal sacrifice, her legs limp, lying alongside his as she collapsed in fulfillment.
Dáire lay upon her, no energy left to heave himself up, roll himself off her sweaty
body. He was as drained as he could never remember being with no strength left to
move. His full weight was upon her and the realization of that hit him at last. He started
to slide off her, but she would not allow it, instead, throwing her arms around him to
hold him to her.
“I’ll squish you,” he whispered.
“I love the feel of you on me,” she said. “I love your weight pressing me down.”
“I’ll hurt you.”
She allowed him to shift just a little so that his entire heaviness was not crushing
her beneath him. He still lay between her legs, his groin against hers, the side of his face
pressed to her shoulder. She was stroking his damp hair with one hand while the
fingers of her other hand dragged in lazy spirals along the biceps of his left arm.
While thunder boomed now in the distance as the storm moved farther inland, they
lay quietly—each lost in their own thoughts—until sleep gently reached up to lure them
back.
55
Charlotte Boyett-Compo
Chapter Six
“I always go over to Pensacola on Sundays to see Jillian,” Star told him the next
morning as she dried herself off in the shower. “Do you think maybe we can spend the
night over there tonight?”
Dáire leaned over the sink and spit a mouthful of foamy toothpaste into the bowl.
“Sure,” he said, scooping water up in his hand to rinse his mouth. He dried his lips on
the hand towel hanging beside the sink.
“I need to call Del and let him know I won’t be in tomorrow,” she said then paused
in drying her arms. “Or the day after.” She looked at him. “I really don’t know how
long we’ll be gone.”
“Did they say how long it would take to do the donation?” he asked.
“A couple of days of recuperation if all goes well,” she said. “You’re in good health,
aren’t you?”
“Far as I know,” he replied. He had yet to call Gentry, and he knew if he told her
about the bone marrow donation all hell would break loose. His body wasn’t his own—
it belonged to The Cumberland Group. There was a chance they could try to prevent
him from giving his daughter the bone marrow.
Star stepped out of the shower—leaving the water on for him—then wrapped the
towel around her. “You didn’t catch anything when you were on your last assignment,
did you?”
“Nothing that wasn’t cured while I was in Paris,” he answered. He padded over to
the shower, bumped her with his hip before climbing inside. “Unless you count the bad
case of depression I brought back with me.”
Star swiveled her head
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