“There’s only one woman I know who smells of ginger and honey.”

Me.

It was me.

Me and my stupid French-imported shampoo Ms. B got me addicted to.

Without warning, Sam tore the sunglasses from my face, yanking the wig off at the same time. My long, tar-black hair fell down my shoulders in thick waves, all the way to my butt. My blue eyes widened at him.

So screwed—and not in the way I was hoping for.

I coughed, probably choking on a desperate apology that my body refused to spit out. I knew he wasn’t going to hurt me—not physically, anyway—but I had no doubt he was going to punish me.

Revenge was Sam Brennan’s favorite language, and he spoke it fluently.

“Fitzpatrick,” he growled like a beast.

“Sam, I—” I shook my head. Merde! “Please. Just one time.”

“Spare me the bullshit. I’ll deal with you later. First, I’ll give you what you’ve been begging for for over a decade and remind you why you…” he bit my lip hard

“…do…” he grabbed my panties through my skirt, tearing them in one practiced movement—I thought it was impressive, especially as they weren’t exactly snug “…not…” he shoved two fingers into me in one go “…fuck…” he fanned his fingers open inside of me, stretching me so I became unbearably full—I shuddered violently with need and pleasure, my knees weak—I pushed toward him, buckling my hips, shamelessly begging for more “…with me.”

He bared his teeth, kissing me hard again as he fingered me mercilessly. Hungrily. Violently. Passionately. It was a different kiss. A kiss of pent-up lust. The kind that had built up for years from stolen glances and almosts. I felt the kiss in every bone in my body, in the cells on my skin.

Our mouths moved together, and I pushed my groin forward, signaling him to thrust deeper with his fingers, my nails sinking into his muscled shoulders through his shirt.

He withdrew from inside me and roughly grabbed my ass, hoisting my legs over his waist. He carried me to a nearby pool table, where he perched me on the oak edge, his erect cock poking my belly. Sam reached for his back pocket, pulling a condom and ripping the wrapper open with his straight white teeth.

“Are you a virgin, Aisling?” he asked, his index finger brushing my naked pussy now that my destroyed underwear were discarded somewhere on his office floor.

Even though I knew the question wasn’t unwarranted—I’d never dated anyone seriously, never brought a man home for the holidays or to official dinners, and was the shyest, nerdiest person he was probably acquainted with—the question left a hot, stinging sensation on my pride. Like he’d slapped my soul.

“Would it matter?” I snatched the condom from him, rolling it over his cock with shaky fingers. I was going to give this man the fuck of his life if it was the last thing I did. Ruin any other pussy for him.

“Not in the fucking slightest.”

“Then I suggest you find out for yourself.” My eyes leveled with his, and for a moment, his gray pupils rendered me speechless.

I’d met men. Many beautiful, successful, rich men. But they were all the same. Their posture, mild manners, and soft hands robbed them of the authentic masculinity Sam oozed without even trying.

He was carnal, raw, and dangerous, and there was no one else like him.

He knew it. I knew it.

Sam smiled his crooked, bad guy smile.

“So fucking smug. If you want to be taken, you’ll be taken the Sam Brennan way. No regrets. No repeats. And no fucking telling your parents, kiddo.”

With that, he turned me around so my back was to him, dipped his hand between my thighs, and borrowed my wetness, coating my rectum with my juices.

My eyes widened with surprise. I’d never had anal sex before. Sam pushed a finger into my tight hole while thrusting into my pussy at the same time.

With one, deep, fierce thrust, he was inside me.

I felt full, so full with Sam’s finger in my ass and his cock in my pussy. I let out a moan. My puckered nipples became so sensitive, the friction from my bra alone tipped me close to the edge. I threw my head back and grunted.

Don’t come on the fourth thrust. At least have the good grace to pretend you are not putty in his hands.

“Not a virgin, then.” He started moving inside me, holding my waist in place with one hand, playing with my rectum with the other. The friction between me and the pool table he screwed me against caused my clit to tingle. I squeezed around him each thrust, angling my body just right for deeper penetration, while I sneaked my hand between us, kneading his balls.

I’d only been with two men before Sam—both of them I’d met at university—and both were a calculated warm-up in my quest to get ready for the grand event, AKA Sam. Even my sex life was designed and planned to make him mine.

I’d dated the two Harvard prodigies I knew were experts in the sex field and coaxed them into teaching me all their dirty tricks. I took notes, morphing from a shy, fumbling newbie to a nymph in bed.

I’d bit and licked and teased and tickled where necessary.

Sucked and pushed and squeezed.

Not for them—for him.

But I hadn’t anticipated him making me feel this good. It was a total mind-fuck.

When Sam slid another finger into my snug hole, I began moaning more loudly, clutching the pool table desperately, losing control of my legs, almost caving in to the pleasure. He rode me hard, and when I felt the first spasm of an orgasm tingling from inside me, he pulled out, taking his cock in his hand from behind me and placing it between my ass cheeks, my anus coated with my juices.

“Well, well, little Aisling Fitzpatrick is all grown up, and she knows how to fuck like a porn star.” Sam laughed callously, trying to minimize this moment, to dismiss what was happening here.

Him.

Me.

Forbidden and wrong and still, against all odds, happening.

He eased into me slowly, mindfully, and even though it hurt more than I was willing to admit, I soldiered through the pain, sliding the rest of him into me by pushing my butt toward him, until he filled me to the brim.

There was intense silence, which I used to familiarize myself with the feeling of being full of him from behind. I felt him shuddering against my back with pleasure.

“Your pussy might be used, but this asshole has never been fucked. I can tell.”

I didn’t say anything because it was true, and the truth hurt more than him inside of me because it was a painful reminder of how pathetically in love I was with him. He leaned forward, still inside me, and brushed my hair away from my shoulder, his lips finding my ear.

“You had to leave me a first to take, didn’t you, Aisling Fitzpatrick? You poor, romantic soul.”

With that, he pulled out then thrust into me again in one go. I cried in pain, holding the pool table tighter, but after the first few rolls of his hips, the pain morphed into pleasure. Especially when he repositioned me slightly higher on the table so my clit was again teased by the fuzzy pool table. My fingers were still playing with him, rubbing against the sensitive spot between his balls and ass cheeks.

My whole body was on fire, and I clenched my ass cheeks, all my muscles quivering as my release began to wash over me again in forceful waves.

“I’m coming,” I cried out.