CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
TIERNAN
My wife was fucking with me.
She wore a sheer lavender minidress to her mother’s birthday. It hugged her breasts and waist snugly, flaring just above the navel to cover her growing tummy. Her supermodel-worthy legs were on full display, endless despite her short stature, shimmering with whatever cream she put on after her three-hour baths.
Lila looked both divine and royally pissed off.
She didn’t speak one word to me the entire length of the drive to Long Island. Didn’t greet me like she usually did, either. In our bedroom, with her legs spread, waiting for the first of at least three orgasms I awarded her each day.
Was it healthy for me to spend a few hours each night dedicated to the sole purpose of making my wife scream with pleasure? Doubt it. But it was fun. And fun was a concept foreign to me before Lila brought her sweet little cunt into my life.
“You gonna sulk much longer?” I momentarily tore my eyes from the road so she could read my lips. Her gaze was fixed on her window, and I knew she saw me in her periphery and decided to give me the silent treatment.
Was it nice that I denied her an orgasm this morning? No.
Was it the end of the fucking world? Also no.
Lila started making demands I never agreed to fulfill. Like giving her a full report of where I was, when, and for how long. Not only was it not in my nature to accommodate this kind of fuckery, but it wasn’t safe for her to know the details most of the time.
Granted, there were nicer ways to get my point across than leaving her high and dry.
Too bad I wasn’t feeling very nice at all. Especially when I was reminded of the baby in her belly.
Her pregnant stomach stood between us at all times, reminding me someone else touched what was mine, spilled his seed inside her.
We drove through mundane traffic and arrived at the Ferrantes’ gated community. By the heavy patrols and snipers, I gathered the Keatons were already here.
I parked at the fountain, surrounded by bulletproof vehicles the size of a house. I rounded the vehicle to open the door for my wife, who ignored my outstretched hand and strutted out on three-inch pink bottomed heels. Her bum was magnificent, her hair so soft I wanted to be buried inside it, and I resisted biting my fist as I followed her, swelling inside my slacks.
Servants opened the doors for us, and we were led to the candlelit drawing room, where champagne glasses were clanking. Antique furniture bathed in soft golden hues. Classical music floated from the surround system. Yet another luxury Lila couldn’t enjoy.
I detected President Keaton sitting with Vello and Luca in the far corner of the room, engaged in conversation. Francesca, his wife, was draped across his lap. It was a tacky look for a president and a first lady. And yet it was clear the Keatons didn’t spare one bleeding fuck what the world thought about them.
Chiara stood with Enzo. Achilles, Tierney, Sam, and Sofia were on the opposite side of the room.
I assessed Aisling Brennan. She had long black hair and sharp, elfin features. She was by no means a great beauty, but I suppose with her being a doctor and one of the richest heiresses in the States, Sam could swallow the disappointment.
If he felt such disappointment at all. He stared at her as though she was the most beautiful woman in the room.
Which, of course, couldn’t be true, because my wife walked in a few moments ago.
Speaking of, where was my little silvery moon?
I turned my head to watch her make her way to her mother with confidence I knew she didn’t possess. That never stopped Lila from facing her problems, though.
She signed to her mother, “Happy birthday,” and handed her the gift I’d purchased earlier in the day: a hand-painted majolica ewer dating back to 1870 Naples. It was beautiful and rare and obscenely expensive, just like my wife. Much like her, it was obtained in a less-than-kosher way.
I could’ve gotten my mother-in-law a piece of expensive tacky jewelry.
But if her relationship with my wife was salvageable, I wanted to try fixing it.
Chiara thanked her coolly and turned back to Enzo. Luckily, the latter had the good sense to gather his sister in a warm hug.
I watched as his hand rested on the small of her back, a burning
sensation slithering up my spine.
I knew he was her brother.
I didn’t care.
I did not like people touching my things. And I especially didn’t like it when said thing was my wife.
I contemplated saving Lila from the awkward conversation with her mother—or at least redirect any hostile fire my way—but then remembered I had my own pressing matters to tend to and sauntered over to Brennan instead, plucking champagne from a server with a silver tray on my way
there.
“Callaghan.”
“Brennan.”
“Meet my wife, Aisling.”
“Pleasure,” I lied. I didn’t shake her hand. I was fond of my wrist and had an inkling Sam, like me, wasn’t a fan of others touching his woman.
“Your wife is stunning,” Aisling gasped in disbelief, ping-ponging her gaze between us. Yes, I wasn’t much to look at these days, thanks to Achilles, but Lila never seemed bothered by that.
She always made sure I removed my eye patch when I came to bed, rubbing a soothing thumb along the indents it left on my skin.
“You’re very lucky,” Aisling added.
“Luck has nothing to do with it.” I took a swig of my drink. “I’d have claimed her as mine if I had to burn down the whole country.” I frowned, considering my ridiculous statement. “Canada, too.”
Eventually, I’d have seen her in broad daylight. Noticed her.
Once I had, I’d have made her mine.
Even if I had to slaughter every single Ferrante in my way with my bare
hands.
Even if she had to watch it.
She was an obsession. A compulsion. Martyrs had died for lesser causes.
I didn’t love her. But there was no denying we changed each other in ways that benefited both of us. I needed some of her tenderness. And she, in return, received a blank check to be who she truly was—a little fucked up, a tad violent, entirely a sexual woman who deserved to be satisfied often, and hard. With me, she could be a teenager. Messy. Emotional. Confused.
She could make small mistakes without worrying about the consequences.
“Are you going to stop staring at your wife at some point?” Sam shot me a concerned look.
“Logic dictates that, yes.” I tucked a hand into my front pocket. “But I wouldn’t put money on it, Brennan.”
We fell into boring small talk for a few minutes, most of it carried by Sam, who insisted on being civilized in front of his wife, before Achilles announced, “Enough of this bullshit. Let’s talk shop.”
“That’s my cue to leave you to it.” Aisling smiled, kissing her husband’s lips and moving toward the Keatons. Sam watched her go, his eyes dimming like he just said goodbye to his last ever sunset.
I turned to him. “Well?”
“Alex’s back.” He cut straight to the chase, switching to an entirely new persona. “Landed in Vegas eleven hours ago. With reinforcements.”
“What’s the head count?” I asked.
“Five, at least. Couldn’t confirm their identities, though.”
Probably from his gulag. Fresh warriors he had trained, then planned to
unleash here in the States.
“Is he making a move east?”
Sam shook his head. “That’s the good news. I think we have four, maybe five weeks before he’ll attempt retaliation. He needs to recoup. Get his ducks in a row. He just had an entire drug shipment stolen from the dock, so he’ll deal with that first. Next, he has a few turncoats he needs to off in his own ranks. He’ll probably strike after he’s checked those boxes, though. He’d want your head on a platter when he assumes his place as
pakhan. It’d be a nice touch if he has your skull when he makes the announcement.”
“No doubt.” I casually knocked down a vase full of roses on the fireplace mantel. A harem of maids hurried in its direction, sweeping the flowers and chucking them into the bin along with the broken glass.
I wasn’t in any hurry to die anymore. Especially not before I sank my cock into my beautiful wife’s cunt, which I planned on doing very soon.
“This means we have a couple weeks to start moving soldiers into his territory discreetly. Weapons, too,” I mused.
“And we know his life better than he does,” Achilles pointed out. “The blueprints to his estates and warehouses. The names and addresses to all of his first-rank soldiers. We can take them out simultaneously while we go after Alex and his brothers.”
“Are you killing the baby sister, too?” Sam asked. Katya was eighteen, maybe nineteen, and apparently harmless.
I nodded. “No Rasputin left behind.”
“Tiernan, how many soldiers do you think we’re gonna need?” Achilles
turned to me.
“Twenty, excluding you and me.”
We were going to lose some Camorristi. He knew it. So did I. It was the sacrifice Vello agreed to make when I married his daughter.
“It’s not just going to be us,” Achilles said. “My father said either Enzo or Luca is coming. I’m leaning toward Enzo. He hasn’t participated in many combats yet. This’ll be a good exercise for him.”
I flicked one look at the youngest Ferrante brother. He was talking to Lila, using sign language. He was as illiterate at ASL as he was in English.
But he was the only brother who seriously attempted it in the first place.
And she seemed to be the fondest of him.
“No.” I turned to look at Achilles. “We’ll take Luca.”
“Luca’s wife’s pregnant.”
“So is mine,” I deadpanned. “Enzo stays here.”
I trusted him the most to take care of Lila if something happened to me.
Luca was reliable, but too caught up in his own affairs. “And I thought Luca and Sofia were having troubles.”
“Not in bed, apparently.” Achilles lit himself a cigarette. “We’ll take the private plane. I have some weapons I’ve been meaning to try out.”
It was a shame Achilles wasn’t born in another century. He’d make such a prolific tyrant.
“They have a good amount of weapons, too,” Sam warned. “But we have the element of surprise. Alex is under the impression his enemies think he’s still in Russia. He flew in an intricate route, first to Germany, then to Peru, before landing in Vegas. He’ll only deal with you after he sorts out the failed shipment and find out which one of his men messed it up.”
Running a hand over my jawline, I asked, “How much does he know about Lila?”
“He knows you have a new wife, that she is pregnant, and that you spend all your nights in your apartment, meaning you aren’t visiting your whores anymore. I’m sure he deduced you’re fond of her,” Sam said flatly.
“He’s evil, not dumb.”
Achilles shot me a dirty look. “Are you fucking my sister, Callaghan?”
“She’s my wife, you moron.”
“That’s not a good enough excuse,” he volleyed back. “I’m paying you not to touch her.”
“Been wiring you the sum back for two whole months now.”
His sister’s pussy was priceless. He couldn’t pry me out of it using an entire Navy SEALs unit.
“Now I have no choice but to do the same to you.” He cast an evil eye my way.
“Your only way of fucking me is if I’m a corpse,” Tierney deadpanned, swaggering past us in perfect timing, hips swinging, holding a glass of pink champagne. “Because there’s no way in hell I’m letting you screw me while I still have breath in me.”
“I never said you needed to be alive for the occasion, Cumcake,”
Achilles said mildly. “You’d probably be tighter dead, with the number of assholes who went through you.”
Tierney laughed, knowing she had the upper hand when Achilles’s ears turned red.
Then a crew of servants appeared at the door and announced dinner was
ready. _______
Chiara Ferrante sat to the right of her husband, wearing a necklace that cost over two million dollars and a dissatisfied frown.
The frown was directed at her daughter.
Said daughter happened to take a seat in my lap, ignoring the chair next to me, digging her sweet little ass into my already painful erection to make a point. The point she was making? Never leave her dissatisfied and start something I had no intention of finishing.
The chitchat had ceased as soon as Lila assumed her position in my lap.
All heads turned to us. All but President Keaton’s.
“The caprese is divine,” he announced, spearing a tomato with his fork.
“Who made it?”
“We hire chef Ambrose Casablancas for special events,” Vello boasted.
The diminished man resembled an ugly baby bird. Pink and plucked, with plumes of white hair sticking randomly from his bald head.
Keaton raised an eyebrow. “I tried hiring him for an event at the White House. He said he doesn’t associate himself with politicians. I see he doesn’t extend the same disdain to criminals.”
“He says criminals at least have the decency to own up to their sins,”
Vello explained. “I don’t disagree.”
“He’s a cook, not the fucking pope,” President Keaton grumbled.
“Call him a cook to his face.” Enzo grinned into his drink. “See how that works out for you.”
Meanwhile, Lila pretended to readjust herself directly on my cock, leaning forward to reach for her glass of water and spreading her thighs just enough to nestle the length of me between them, then squeezed hard.
I suppressed a groan, my jaw tightening.
A second round of appetizers was ushered to the table. Tierney and Achilles were locked in some kind of who-blinks-first game. The air was thick with violent tension. I thrust my hips forward, teasing Lila’s opening through our clothes as I reached for a piece of calamari and popped it into my mouth.
“It’s unbecoming for a woman to sit in a man’s lap at the dinner table,”
Chiara finally signed to her daughter.
Lila flashed her a slow provocative smile. “He’s not just any man, Mama. He is my husband. I’m sure everyone at the table already knows he fucks me senseless every night.”
“What a terrible day to have eyes.” Enzo gagged on a piece of bread, coughing it into his fist. “Why did I go straight to the naughty parts when I started learning ASL?”
“Because you’re a pervert?” Luca offered indifferently.
“Because you’re mentally eleven,” Achilles guessed in unison.
“Wait, what did she sign?” Luca frowned.
Enzo rolled his eyes. “Put more time and effort into your ASL studies and find out, stronzi.”
Vello looked like he was about to expire on his lasagna.
“How dare you speak to me that way, and under my own roof?”
Chiara’s dark eyes singed like two burning coals.
“Did I do you a disservice?” Lila cocked her head, blinking innocently.
“Doesn’t feel very nice, does it? Imagine what the last eighteen years have
been like for me.”
“Burn.” Enzo coughed into his fist.
“Sign slower. I’m trying to translate all of this into English.” Luca scrolled on his phone, glowering.
“Maybe it’s best if we switch to another topic,” Francesca Keaton suggested cordially.
“Agreed.” Enzo shoveled food down his throat, turning to the president.
“Dude, isn’t your wife, like, fifteen years your junior?”
Jesus. The Ferrantes were a right mess. And here I thought my family was fucked up.
Keaton pinned Enzo with a look that could decimate armies. “Didn’t your big brother fuck your ex-girlfriend?” he retorted.
Achilles grinned behind his glass of wine. “She called him mid-act to dump him, I dicked her so good.”
“You did have an unfair advantage, Achilles.” Tierney raised her champagne in a toast. “Dick is your entire personality.”
At this point, Vello decided the best course of action was to start a new conversation. One in a language everybody spoke, and not about his children’s sex lives.
“President Keaton. It appears we have an…insect problem in this house.” The don cleared his throat emphatically. His way of informing him that the place was bugged.
“That’s quite unfortunate.” Keaton sat back, one arm flung over the back of his wife’s chair.
Francesca Rossi was a mother of three. Charitable, beautiful, and the most popular First Lady in the last twenty years. She was also the subject of many hit pieces in the media. Partly because she married her husband when
she was a teen and he was in his thirties. But mostly because she was a Mafia princess.
The Keatons never denied their affiliation with the Chicago Outfit.
Oftentimes, Keaton would strike deals with less-than- reputable fellas to get his way. We had one together, in which I cleaned Hunts Point’s streets of sex workers, instead opening off-the-grid brothels where employees were tested for drugs and STIs and got steady, fair pay under the table.
Overall, the American people were happy. The economy was strong, crime rate was relatively low, and the world wasn’t on fucking fire.
“What can be done about that?” Vello asked, while Lila artfully dropped her own fork. She bent to get it, grinding her pussy along my dick through our clothes.
My pulse drummed across the side of my neck.
I was very close to losing our little game.
Too bad I never lost, and an eighteen-year-old girl—no matter how pretty, how enticing, how good with a needle, a pistol, a cock—couldn’t change that.
“Not much.” Wolfe sat back, not an ounce of apology in his voice. He was playing with a lock of his wife’s brunette hair, and it sickened me, how other men pretended other women were attractive when my wife was in the room. “Have you tried pest control?”
He meant, of course, people like Brennan. Former fixers, sometimes dirty feds, whose sole job now was working for the likes of Vello and myself to ensure our places weren’t bugged.
“I did. They’re all useless.” Vello picked up his wine glass, staring into the crimson liquid. “I rather hoped you could…”
Wolfe tilted an eyebrow.
“Exterminate the type of insect plaguing my house.”
Wolfe’s mouth pinched in barely contained amusement.
“While history rewards high-risk presidents, I’m not dumb enough to test that theory by telling the head of the FBI how to conduct his business,”
Keaton said outright.
Luca gave the president a flat stare. “Throw us a bone here.”
“You’re asking for an entire damn skeleton,” Wolfe’s lilt sharpened like a knife’s edge.
His wife put her hand on his. His expression softened immediately.
“I will, however, suggest you look into a different couch in the drawing room,” Wolfe’s voice dropped an octave. “The current one doesn’t complement the curtains. And maybe freshen up all those chess pieces in your office.”
A satisfied smile pulled at the don’s lips. “What excellent suggestions.
Our place could use a little facelift.”
“You’d need to burn the entire motherfucking house, and it’d still be distasteful,” I muttered into my drink.
Brennan choked on a bite of his rare steak. Wolfe caught my eye, smirking.
“And you, Tiernan?” The president splayed his fingers over the pristine white tablecloth. “How’s married life treating you?”
“I’ve had worse ventures.”
“What a glowing endorsement.” Keaton grinned. “You know, it’s not all bad once one yields to their emotions.”
Lila had her back to me when I smiled, moving a hand over her magnificent hair. “Oh, I’m not one for pesky feelings. My wife is, at the best of times, a harmless hobby.”
Chiara’s fork clanked across her plate noisily.
Her chair scraped across the floor.
Vello reached for her shoulder, signaling her to stay put. She sat back, sending him a death glare.
I wondered when she’d pull the trigger and finally poison him.
I hoped it was tonight. The birthday dinner could use some entertainment.
More food rushed to the dining table. Everyone was in a festive mood.
Not me, though. I was laser-focused on Lila, who was still dry-humping me to oblivion. Determined not to let her have the last laugh, I pretended not to care, eating, drinking, and carrying on a dull conversation with Sam, Achilles, and Keaton.
The issue started when Lila found a rhythm that teased my length and crown just enough to mimic fucking to put me on the fast lane to a climax.
It was the way she rubbed her hips together over my cock that made it impossible not to come in my pants. My jaw flexed as I painfully bit down on a groan.
Precum gathered at my tip, and heat shot through my cock. Fuck.
“Excuse me.” I lifted my wife gently, placing her in my seat.
I strolled to the bathroom, the image of an unruffled prick. I bypassed the cabana near the dining room, choosing the bathroom on the other end of the first floor. I was about to slam the door behind me and tear my mickey off into the toilet when a small hand flattened against it.
My wife.
She smiled cheerfully. “Enjoying dinner?”
I yanked her inside and locked the door behind us, then descended upon her mouth like it was water in a desert. She pulled away, looking me square in the eye.
“I’m afraid I can’t allow that until you promise me two things.”
I would promise her the president’s balls for dessert to get a kiss at this point.
Still, I didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. Only stepped back serenely, showing her that I could—and indeed would—resist her. “It’s cute when you do
that.”
“Do what?”
“Act like you have power in this marriage.”
Any other woman would hurl sharp objects at me at this point. Not Lila.
She learned the game. And, although she was dealt a modest hand, she still made the most out of it.
“Don’t let your ego stand in the way of a good orgasm, Tiernan.”
I was going to indulge this nonsense, because she was the one who gave
me shit.
“What are your terms?”
“One—never use sex as a weapon against me,” she signed. “You don’t have to always touch me, but if you do, don’t leave me hanging intentionally. It’s disgusting and immature.”
I was getting schooled by an eighteen-year-old. One who handed me my own ass tonight and taught me a lesson.
Worst part was, I wanted to be my teacher’s pet.
“Acceptable,” I said laconically. “What’s your other demand?”
“Always tell me your plans. Where you’re going. Who you’re with.”
This posed more of an issue, since I sometimes visited high-risk places.
I didn’t want her anywhere near them.
But I wasn’t ready for this thing between us to end.
Whatever it was.
“Fine,” I rasped.
She nodded, satisfied, and then, like a rabid badger, flung herself on me, planting wild kisses all over my face until she realized I was perfectly still. I waited. She stepped back. Glared at me with the prideful hurt only a gorgeous woman experiencing her first rejection could feel. Poor Lila.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’ve some demands of my own.”
“Okay.”
People probably speculated what we were doing away from the table, and it wasn’t playing chess with Vello’s bugged pieces.
“Never blue ball me again.”
She nodded.
“And never, ever go anywhere I’m at unless it’s a place you know is safe for you—Fermanagh’s, your parents’, your brothers’, etcetera.”
“So you could cheat on me?” She frowned at me furiously.
I almost laughed. Unfortunately, I had no spare energy to muster since all my blood was in my cock right now.
I ate the distance between us in half a step, lifting her face up to mine.
“Tell me you’re jealous, and I promise I’ll never touch another woman again. It would be the first time I keep my word, but for you, I’ll do it.” My gaze dropped to her pouty, pink lips.
I hadn’t touched anyone. Not since that night with Becky. But I needed her to admit I wasn’t the only one going crazy here.
She tipped her chin up, examining me through hooded eyes.
“You make me jealous.” Her throat worked around a swallow. “You make me so sick with jealousy I can barely even stand it when you speak to other people. I’m jealous of the clothes you wear. Of the soap you use. Of the air you breathe. I hate so much that I like you. But the truth is…I do.”
True to herself, there was nothing cautious and measured about the way she said things.
She was intrepid and direct and much, much braver than I was. At least
in that regard.
And I was done fucking talking, anyway.
My mouth came down hard against hers, my fist instinctively tightening around her hair from behind. Her arms locked around my neck. The kiss was carnal and desperate. Greedy and wet and sloppy, and my heart picked up, and my entire bleeding existence enhanced.
I’d been reduced to nothing but desire because of this woman, and now I was sneaking in other people’s toilets for stolen kisses like a teenage fool.
I grabbed her ass and hoisted her up, wrapping her legs around me. She weighed next to nothing, even pregnant, and again the thought of her assault drifted into my mind.
It was always there, in the back of my head.
An obsession I couldn’t get rid of. A hunger that replaced my need to kill Alex and his siblings.
And yet, I’d been stalling getting that hard evidence against Angelo, instead jerking around exploring other less-likely options. Because Angelo
could take her from me.
More accurately, he could try.
And then I’d have to go to war with the Outfit, the Camorra, and the Bratva to keep her.
It wasn’t an ideal scenario, but one I was 100 percent prepared for.
She was mine. No replacements. No refunds.
“I want to have sex with you.” She spoke out the words into my mouth, our ragged, rough breaths meeting in the middle. “Now.”
God, I loved her voice. It felt like sunrays dancing on water. It fucking sparkled.
I couldn’t deny her. Much less wanted to.
But I wasn’t going to allow both of our first times to be in the bathroom where the help took their shits.
“Your bedroom upstairs. Now.” I bit down on her lower lip.
I released her momentarily. She grabbed my hand, unlocked the door, and pulled me up the stairs and to her room. My first time in her childhood shrine.
Uncoincidentally, it was a replica of what her mother had prepared in
my apartment.
Childish. Unassuming. Infantile.
Flamingo-feathered lamps, a mountain of throws, and a ceiling glittered
with stars.
And everything was so goddamn pink.
The setting was irrelevant, though. I locked the door behind us, seized the back of her head, and kissed her, slow and tender this time, walking her back to her bed while she clawed at my clothes, yanking my dress shirt from my slacks, unbuckling my belt, sinking her fingernails into my skin.
I broke the kiss and tilted her jawline with my thumbs so she would
look at me. “We need to keep it quiet.”
“Why?”
Why, indeed? Was there better revenge for her brothers’ taking my eye out than having the entire Ferrante household, guests and servants included, listening as I defiled their precious baby girl? But somewhere down the line, tormenting the Ferrante men became marginally less satisfying than… well, Lila herself.
And, fine, maybe I respected her. Enough to protect her privacy.
“Because you’re mine. Your moans. Your pleasure. Your words. No one else is allowed to hear them.”
Lila nodded eagerly, fusing our lips together again, falling to the bed and taking me down with her. Her legs opened for me. She didn’t wear any leggings.
Slipping a hand under her dress, I found a tiny pair of underwear, completely soaked.
“Lace,” I growled into her mouth approvingly. “I don’t remember you owning fine lingerie.”
“Your sister took me shopping. I told her I wanted to seduce you.”
Like she needed to seduce me. She could roll in pig shit and I’d lick her clean from head to toe.
Reaching between her legs, I used the tip of my pinky to drag her dress up, sensually slow. Lila’s breathing ceased and we both watched as a tiny, lacy white thong appeared, covering a pale triangle. The part that covered her pussy lips was cotton, and it was drenched with her juices. I slowly removed her underwear to reveal a trimmed little cunt.
I looked up. Blush crept onto my wife’s cheeks. “She told me to groom down there, too.”
I made a mental note to treat Tierney to her favorite funnel cake. And maybe an entire Miu Miu shop.
“Sure you want this?” I asked, glad she couldn’t hear my voice cracking
midsentence.
“I’m sure.”
She trusted me with her body.
With her secrets.
With her heart.
The first person who ever did. I wanted to earn it. To deserve it.
I removed her dress but kept her heels on, struggling to maintain a detached air. Once I was done, I took off all of my clothes. Even the goddamn socks. I wanted this to be…right. Then I stood before her and gave her a few seconds to take it all in. Her icy blues roamed my body, and she gulped. Then she pushed forward onto her knees and crawled across the bed, fisting my cock and giving it a stroke. The first time she had touched it
since the first night I ate her out.
I hissed in pain and looked away.
Still, I let her explore it.
She touched the tip first, her lower lip trapped under her teeth, then ran her slender fingers over the length of it, cupping my balls. I closed my eye and sighed. I had my dick hoovered by countless women whose damn job was to suck cock, and never was it this erotic, this satisfying, this… thrilling.
Lila kissed the tip of my cock, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I gently shoved her down and nestled between her legs. Hot. Wet. Welcoming. And I wasn’t even in yet.
I drank her in, wishing for the first time I had two eyes again so I could see more of her. There wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough of this woman. I ducked down to kiss her, and she met me halfway, sighing into my mouth, her fingers caressing my shoulders, my rib cage, my back. Soothingly, like she knew this was new and terrifying to me as much as it was for her.
I covered her entire body with mine, introducing her to the full weight of me before I was inside her. Giving her another chance to change her mind. My cock latched hotly against her hard, round stomach, and I quickly averted my mind from the baby inside it.
I didn’t want to fuck this up.
Do.
Not.
Fuck.
This.
Up.
Tiernan.
I froze, remembering my first time back in the gulag. Knowing I was only capable of taking a woman punishingly, like a gun was pinned to my temple. My breath hitched, and I slammed my teeth together, loathing myself for not being able to do this.
The most natural thing in human nature.
“Look at me.” She took my face in her hands, anchoring me to this moment. I was glad she couldn’t hear the thumping of both our hearts beating out of whack. And I was glad she chose to use her voice. It… soothed me. “You can do this. You escaped hell. You’re here now. And I will never let you go through it again.”
Before I could overthink it, Lila took matters into her own hands, rolled her hips, and scooped my cock into her, sliding it inside in one slick motion.
A grunt escaped me.
She felt heavenly, blissfully tight. Hot and wet and right.
We both stared at each other in surprise, getting used to the sensation.
The more I let myself feel it, the more divine it felt.
But I wasn’t all the way inside her, and she already looked uncomfortable.
Very carefully, I pressed deeper. One inch, and then another. Her throat worked around a swallow. I leaned down to kiss it. “Shhh, sweetheart.
Almost there. Take it all in for me, okay?”
She nodded, eyes glistening.
Another inch.
Finally, I was buried inside her to the hilt, my balls flush against her
tight rectum.
Heaven.
I started moving inside her. It felt like coming home. I watched her alertly, looking for signs of pain or distress. But all I found was a flushed, deliriously happy water nymph in an erotic vortex of passion.
One who couldn’t hear herself and moaned with abandon.
“Sorry, darlin’, I have to.” I grabbed a pink teddy bear from between her satin pillows and pressed it against her mouth to stifle her moans. She bit hard on it, her eyes rolling inside their sockets.
I picked up my pace, my balls tightening, my forehead slicked with sweat. She was close. So was I. Each time I plunged into her, the entire bed shook, the headboard banging against the wall.
She clenched around me, milking the orgasm out of me, and I lost the remainder of my self-control, of whatever chivalry I managed to scrape from the bottom of my godforsaken soul, and went wild.
I all but nailed her into the mattress, sinking into her again and again.
Deeper, faster, harder. Our gazes locked, the stupid teddy bear between us. I
tossed it aside. Kissed her ardently. I felt the walls of her cunt shuddering around my cock like an earthquake. Pulled my face back to watch her. She was moaning loudly again. I pressed my palm to her lips, keeping her quiet.
She grinned, licking my salty flesh.
Fuuuuuuuuuck.
I grinned back. Feeling…feeling. Shy, almost. Boyish. All those emotions I never got to feel when I was actually at the correct age to explore them.
We stared at each other, grinning like two fools who just conquered the world.
Because we both managed to do something we didn’t think would ever be possible.
Fuck the fear and trauma out of one another.
We won. Not the rapists, and the abusers, and Igor, and that faceless
asshole who took her that night.
We. Won.
We stayed like this—thrusting, bucking, arching, licking, laughing, until Lila turned serious. Her smile fell. She threw her head back and gave one sharp moan. She spasmed in my arms, her muscles clenching, ripples of goose bumps cascading down her perfect silken skin.
It was my cue to finally let go.
“I’m coming, sweetheart.”
She nodded, caressing my temples with a loving smile.
I came inside her, the satisfaction of doing so brutal.
I rolled over beside her as soon as I was finished, tossing an arm over my face.
We were quiet for a few minutes. Just panting and staring at the horrid, pink, starred ceiling.
She was the first to turn to me. “When can we do it again?”
I suppressed a laugh. “As soon as we get back home, I’m canceling my shit for the next forty-eight hours so we can practice.”
Her face lit up. “Good. It was fun.”
I wanted to agree but was too fucking stunned to do so.
She licked her lips, suddenly unsure. “You liked it, right?”
Oh, God, Gealach, if only you knew.
“That I did,” was all I could manage.
I put my hand over my mouth so she couldn’t see it but spoke the words audibly.
“You eejit bastard. You’re so fucking screwed.” _______
When we returned to the table, the chatter quieted down and all eyes swung to us. I had smoothed out my hair and suit to stoic perfection before we left her room, but Lila looked exactly like a woman who just got railed hard and fast while biting her childhood teddy bear’s bum to stifle the moans. Her hair was in complete disarray, her dress unevenly flung over her legs, lips swollen, and makeup smeared.
We sat down in undignified silence in our seats and grabbed our cutlery.
The food was cold, curling at the edges as it began to lose its freshness.
“Well, this is…” Enzo blew out a breath, chuckling good-naturedly.
“Definitely putting the nickname Deathless to the test. The fuck you doing, Callaghan?”
“Your sister,” I drawled, taking a sip of my wine. “Thought we were clear on that.”
Chiara looked ready to faint. Good. One less person to gawk at my wife.
“Ugh.” Enzo downed his wine like a shot. “I miss the person I was twenty minutes ago.”
“This really couldn’t have waited a couple hours till you got home?”
Luca scowled.
Lila twirled spaghetti around her fork and slurped it, ignoring the chatter by setting her attention on her plate.
“What my wife wants, my wife gets.”
“Even if that thing is a dead husband at the dinner table?” Achilles mused.
I pinned him with a look. “I don’t remember stuttering.”
Lila giggled, reaching for her glass of sparkling water, and my chest filled with stupid, disgusting pride. Because I made her laugh. I made her orgasm and laugh. She better fucking like me, or else.
“Mother Mary, I truly lost her.” Chiara clutched her giant diamond necklace. “Nothing in this…this hussy in front of me resembles the sweet child I put in this man’s hands only a few months ago.”
“Call my wife a hussy one more time,” I challenged, continuing to eat my meal calmly, “and her pretty little pink dress will turn red.”
“Chiara, zip it,” Vello barked. “Callaghan—no more disappearing acts while you’re on my property, you understand?”
“Loud and clear.” I flashed him a soulless smirk. “Next time, I’ll stay here and do it right in front of you.”
