Manacled Hearts: an Age Gap Mafia Romance (The Sanctum Syndicate Book 3)

CHAPTER 30

Finnigan’s confession cleared some of the air, but revealing something like that about yourself, by force too, deals damage. We shared a shower in silence as we processed the heavy words. We dressed in silence, stealing stray touches as we passed each other. I put my makeup on in silence as he dealt with the gifts that were bought for us. And now we’ve been driving to Vincent’s in silence. It allowed me to think, maybe too much. He may be the playboy, but I’m the one playing him and I can’t believe I didn’t see it until now.

Maybe just as worse is that I’m playing myself too. I want this man. As much as I want a good job, a nice house, a better life for my sister and me. I want him there… to share it all with me. A pipe dream. And I can’t believe how stupid I was to pursue this without thinking of consequences, without making a decision about our lives first. I’ve never been selfish, never done anything just for myself, and this was a really, really stupid place to start.

But as I turn slightly, catching sight of the sharp line of his jaw, those almost boyish messy curls brushing against his ear, tense, full lips, and strong hands gripping the steering wheel and gear stick, I can’t help but stare. He is… mouthwatering. I know that beneath the cream shirt open at the collar is a strong, wide chest with the finest dusting of blonde hair, taut abs, and arms that beg for my nails to sink into them when he drives into me. But Finnigan Hennessey is so much more than that—he’s the man who always takes the time to talk to my sister, who takes care of us, checks on us, he’s the man who came after me when he knew my veins itched for poison, who took us in his home crowded with all the books he reads with fervent passion. He’s more than I ever gave him credit for.

And he’s pissed at me. Not because of the confession I pried out of him, but because he had to share it with someone who might be leaving him.

“Can I ask you something?” Maybe I am wielding that knife after all.

His hand twitches on the gear stick. “Go on.”

“Where are your parents? You’ve only ever mentioned them once.”

He frowns and looks at me as if to check if he heard me right, before he turns his attention back on the road.

“I told you before, on their yacht somewhere.”

“And you don’t care where?”

He sighs. “My parents are… interesting characters. They owned half of Queenscove, if not more, in real estate and other ventures. One day, about ten years ago, they decided they’ve done enough, sold off most of their businesses, transferred a few to my brother and I, and left to travel.”

“And just left you?” I blurt out without thinking.

Finnigan snorts and shakes his head. “My parents did many things without us throughout our lives. Ronan says they love us in their own way, but even he was surprised when they voluntarily showed up at his wedding.” He sighs yet again and continues. “Our parents didn’t raise us. They provided for us, yes. We had everything we needed and more, we were given anything we wanted if we asked for it, we went to great schools, and had any opportunity, but it wasn’t them who raised us. Even if we went on a holiday, it wasn’t them who spent time with us outside of meals at restaurants.”

I’m not sure how to take this. His upbringing was deeply different from mine. It wasn’t great, but it wasn’t bad either.

“I know, it sounds a lot like poor little rich kid, but it’s not money a kid wants, you know?” he says. “We want lo—memories. Memories with our parents, our family. Our grandparents were gone early, our only uncle lived far away, it was just us. Only, it was actually just me, Ronan, babysitters, and housekeepers.”

“I’m sorry…” I can’t imagine feeling so unloved. My heart breaks for the little boy who just wanted to spend time with his parents.

“I’m not sharing all this to feel sorry for me.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“You didn’t, but you still feel sorry for me. Don’t. I’m a grown man, Evelyn. I’m over it. I’ve been over it for a very long time. Long story short, I have no idea where they are. Last month they were somewhere off the West coast. From time to time they return to their house here, check in, spend a few weeks, then leave again.”

“Do you miss them?” I know the answer before I finish asking the question.

“No.”

My heart squeezes at the nonchalance of that word that should be loaded. He doesn’t even speak it in a cold manner, it’s just… blatant. I find it hard to imagine what that feels like when I miss my mother so much. My father even more, knowing he’s alive, but not… fully there. I yearn for their touch, their hugs, their sweet kisses. Most of all, I miss their laughter. They were amazing separate, but together they were incredible. I can’t imagine how Finnigan would have turned out if he had parents like mine. Would his life be different? Would he still be involved in this business?

“Do they know about The Sanctum?” Curiosity gets the better of me.

Once again he turns to me, frowning. “They’re on a need to know basis,” he answers anyway.

“What does that even mean?”

“My parents are businesspeople who built an incredible fortune and managed to retire before they turned forty-five. Not many people manage that by being upstanding citizens. Most of their business ventures were clean, but some… some were just as stained as what I do is. They aren’t even the only ones in Queenscove like that. They’re just the ones who rose the highest at that time. I’m sure Morrigan told you about her parents? But yes, they’ve heard enough about The Sanctum.”

I’m still reeling in from the information, and it takes me a minute to answer his question.

“Umm… briefly, I guess. I don’t think it’s necessarily something she likes talking about much.”

“Yeah.” He scoffs. “The way it ended might not be the type of story you share over brunch.”

“What do you mean? How did it end?”

He glances at me, the narrowing eyebrows spelling concern more than annoyance.

“Let’s just say… badly for her parents and ex-fiancée, but great for her.”

“Why do I feel like you’re sparing me from some gruesome details?”

“Because I am. Evelyn, I’m still unsure how much to share with you. How deep you want to be in this world of ours. Especially when you say you don’t know if you want to stay. You know so much already.”

“So what, you’re going to off me if I leave and I know too much?” I scowl as I spit those words at him, a bit too much disdain in my voice covering a tinge of fear.

But the man laughs. A sinful rumble that shakes that strong chest of his, messy curls bouncing against his cheek making me want to sink my fingers between them.

“No, Evie darling. Because I don’t want you to end up in trouble because you know too much. What you have seen so far scratches the surface. But we deal with threats to our power and people who think they can swoop in and take it from us, constantly. We are masters of blackmail, but there are many who try it on us too. We’re trained to deal with this. Our people are trained too. But you, sugar, you’re not. And the last thing I intend to do is share too much, get you in too deep, just for you to run away from me and for someone to catch you and hurt you for what you know.”

Well, when he puts it that way. My chest relaxes, and I didn’t realize how tense the subject made me until the breath left me with a heavy exhale.

“I’m not running away, Finn.” Though, I’m not sure I believe my words.

In the last few days I’ve felt like the only way to leave this place, if I do make a decision to do so, is by running away. Not out of fear for them. I’m scared of myself, of allowing the time for goodbyes that I know will threaten to change my mind about the decision. Because deep down I know leaving will be the last thing I’ll truly want to do.

“Are you not?” he whispers, but I’m not sure he intended for me to hear him, his head turned to his side window.

I bite my tongue, because I started this conversation in an attempt to smooth things over after upsetting him with the exact same topic.

“I’m sorry for assuming. Thank you for thinking of my safety, I guess.”

“It’s all I’ve been thinking about lately.” This time he intended for me to hear his whisper, and it brings a heated flush to my cheeks.

“Thank you.” I bite my bottom lip and that’s the moment he chooses to look at me again, his attention fixed right there.

“What else do you enjoy doing? Besides reading?” I attempt to distract him further.

“What’s with all the questions, Evelyn?”

“Well… you’ve learned so much about me, but I know almost nothing of you.”

He sighs again, but it doesn’t feel heavy anymore. “Swimming. Not in a pool, but out in the ocean. It helps me clear my head. I like the extremes… the early morning cool water, and the late at night warmth.”

Figures. He has a swimmer’s body.

“I never heard you mention going swimming.” My tone is dreamy, distracted, my imagination filling with strong naked shoulders… the wide expanse of his chest, all wet.

“I haven’t done it as often as I wanted to. I’ve had other… things keeping me busy.”

“Things… right.”

I imagine him looking like a god as he walks out of the sea, ripped lean muscles all over his arms and powerful, long legs, dripping wet. So, so wet. And that’s not the only thing long about him. I shake my head, squeezing my thighs together at the mental image.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

We’ve stopped at some traffic lights and he’s watching me, but I’ve lost myself in the image of him naked. His gaze travels down my body, to my joined thighs still tightly pressed together.

“Yes. Sorry, I was just—”

“Imagining me swimming?” he interrupts and heat flares over my cheeks.

“No, of course not! I was just thinking…”

“Thinking. Right.” a devastating dimple appears in his right cheek and my god, I want to lean over and kiss it. No, I want to lick it. All of him. Top to bottom.

Jesus Christ, Evelyn!

This is why I’m in this situation. This didn’t happen because of my selfishness, but my damn hormones. I let them take over, and now I’m worried his leather seat is going to have a damp spot on it. I always seem to worry about that. I have a problem.

“What else do you think about, Evie darling?”

My gaze whips to him, the change of tone, filled with innuendos, hitting a nerve deep in my core.

“What do you mean?” my voice staggers.

“When it comes to me, what crosses that dirty little mind of yours?”

“What makes you think it’s dirty?” I ask, half confused, half intrigued.

He sighs, chewing on his lip for a moment, then wraps his large hand around my thigh, as he starts driving again. The gesture startles me, but I’m sinking into the warmth either way.

“I have a confession to make.” He glances over for a second, before turning his gaze on the road, and continues when I don’t say anything. “I overheard—purely accidentally—a conversation you were having with Morrigan.”

“Umm… what conversation?”

“At Vin’s house. I was going to the bathroom and the window on the corridor was open. You were somewhere on the other side of it.” He says, squeezing my thigh, the gesture both reassuring and sensual.

“Okay…” This isn’t helping.

“You were confessing your fantasy about… control. Or the loss of. Being taken…”

My jaw drops, eyes widening as I attempt to turn in my seat to look at him, gripping the sides. “Oh my god! Finnigan!”

When the ball drops, I’m both mortified and furious, my nails digging into the leather of the seats, and an ache takes root in my temples. I was talking about my dubious consent fantasies.

“How much did you hear?”

“Enough…” He chews on his bottom lip again, turning his gaze on me.

I hate that my core is responding to the roguish look in his eyes, though my heart does too.

“You stayed through it all, didn’t you?” I say in disbelief. “You bastard! That was a private conversation!”

“It was and I am sorry. I walked past just as you said something that caught my attention and… I couldn’t help myself.”

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you—”

“I know, it was wrong of me. I honestly admit it. I admitted it then too. Though…”

“What?!” I snap at him.

“I did learn something.”

“What, that I have fantasies about being manhandled?!” I can’t believe I just said that.

Finnigan smirks, turning to me with a mischievous grin on his beautiful lips. “That too, and I found that information very useful, as you remember.”

Images flash through my mind of Finnigan moving through the shadows the first time he touched me, and it’s probably the hottest thing that has and will ever have happened to me.

“But that’s not what I was referring to,” he continues. “I learned something valuable about how you feel, or felt, about how you view yourself, and what you struggle with. It didn’t help much then, but now that the line is well and truly crossed, I will do anything in my power to make you feel… right.”

I remember the words I spoke to Morrigan that day. How I felt wrong for wanting to be in a non-consensual situation considering what I went through. That feeling hasn’t left me.

“And what if I don’t want you to?” I ask.

This time he doesn’t turn, but the hand wrapped around my thigh slides up, reaching the warm place between my thighs. The skirt isn’t quite in the way, but I still curse it as he cups me beneath it. As he applies more pressure, I realize the thin cotton of my panties is giving away the effect he has on me.

“Finnigan…” In my mind his name was meant as a protest, but as I grip the sides of the seat, a breath caught in my chest, it came out as nothing more than a desperate, whispered mewl.

“Your body says otherwise, Evie darling.”

He drives casually through the outskirts of Queenscove toward Vincent’s house in the forest, his eyes fixed on the road, but the tips of his fingers scrape against the fabric covering me. I press my back deeper into the seat, squeezing my thighs together, attempting to trap his hand there, though all I end up doing is press him harder against my aching pussy.

“My body could lie.” I finally gather my wits. “It responds, but that doesn’t mean it’s what I want.”

“Stop me then,” he says as a finger slides against the seam of my panties, goosebumps exploding over my flesh where he barely just brushes against it.

My thighs stay pressed together, though I don’t attempt to stop him further.

“If I say no, will you stop?”

“Jesus, Evelyn, of course. Though, I think we can work on your acceptance of yourself and desires, differently.” His finger slides over my skin, pushing my panties to the side, and finds the wet seam of my pussy.

I moan and roll my hips against the seat, my nipples hardening at the shudder that rips through me.

“How do you mean?” I ask on a breathy voice.

“Use the word no to fuel your fantasy. With me, you can enjoy it, play into it.” That wandering digit brushes through my core, and as the car swerves onto a bumpier side road, he drives into me, and a wanton cry spills out. “Relinquish the control and let it drive you deeper into pleasure. And for when you really want me to stop, we’ll set a safe word.”

“S—safe word.” I moan as he adds another finger, pushing into me in a maddening rhythm, not bothering at all to take it slow. Or drive the car slower for that matter, adding to the intense pleasure of it all.

“Yes. Keep it simple and use the word red, or choose a different one you prefer better. And if your mouth is covered, snap your fingers.” This conversation is slightly surreal with his fingers sunk deep inside of me.

But then they curl, and my thighs slide wide open allowing him all the access he wants and I need.

“Red…” I whisper, my hips bucking against the seat as my hands are desperately searching to grab onto something else.

“Red it is, then.” His thrusts grow harsher and my head drops against the headrest, eyes closed as I take his long, thick fingers.

Then the man rolls them, brushing against a part of me that makes my ass shoot up from the seat.

“So damn responsive, Evie darling. And so, so wet.” That boyish grin makes another appearance, and I swear I would jump him if it wasn’t for the whole driving situation.

The road turns darker, the high trees of the forest sheltering it from most of the sun rays, and I wonder who would hear me if I were to scream my ecstasy out there. It makes me want to do it, but Finnigan strokes me to the cusp of exploding, and not an inch past that threshold. I want to bathe in the pleasure of it all. It burns me from the inside, searing my nerves and turning me into a puddle of need and unbearable cravings.

“Jesus fuck, Evelyn. I could just—”

“I’m so close,” I interrupt in a breathy whisper, grabbing onto his forearm and squeezing it to me. “Oh, Finnigan, please…”

“You’re so beautiful when you beg. I almost don’t want to push you over the edge so I can enjoy it for longer.”

“Such a cruel man you are.” I moan, as the pad of his palm rubs in a brief, torturous motion over the bundle of nerves crying for his touch.

“Not as cruel as you in that sinful skirt and thigh-high stockings. I swear you dress just to drive me crazy. What I could do to you…”

“Then do it, for the love of god, make me—”

“Not sure you deserve it, Evie darling. Only good girls get to come, but you… you’re playing with me. With my desire, my emotions…” His words hold a harsh tone, but his fingers deliver the punishment. Such sweet, cruel punishment, holding me at the precipice of explosive pleasure.

A deep need for revenge for this situation grabs hold of me, and my hand shoots between his own thighs, landing on his stiff cock. He groans at the contact, the car swerving for a split second as he mutters a quick series of curses. We could crash for all I care, and I would still have only one thought in mind—earth shattering release.

I rub him over the trousers, reveling in the way he twitches under my touch, but it doesn’t seem like torture yet. I need more. My palm itches for this man and my movements grow urgent, alternating between stroking and gripping him tightly until he hisses under his breath. I like the noises he makes. The slight pain laced with longing. I have to have more of it.

Only, he seems even more determined to punish me, kneading the pad of his palm over my clit, as he finger fucks me with harsh, jerked strokes, threatening to drive me to the brink of lust-filled madness, but holding back just before I reach the precipice.

I retaliate, fumbling with his belt, then his zipper, and finally that one button keeping his beautiful cock away from my itching palm. And damn it how I itch for him. Finnigan is a different type of drug, an addiction I’m scared even he can’t keep me away from.

The moment I slide under his boxers and touch the bare, soft skin of his throbbing member, he shifts with a jerk backward in the seat, fisting the steering wheel like the object wronged him in some way. But it’s my core he takes vengeance on.

“Evelyn, are you trying to fucking kill me?!”

I stroke my palm up and down his shaft in response, satisfied when a few drops of pre-cum help me along the way. He can make of this what he wants, but he better not die on me, because the feel of him pulsing in my hand, his soft, slippery skin, might just be my new favorite thing. Though the man this cock is currently attached to isn’t really my favorite at the moment. Not when he strokes into me with demanding fever, bringing me toward the edge of the cliff that promises unbearable ecstasy, then pulls me right back on the ground before I get to plunge.

So I stroke him harder, faster, with erratic movements I can barely control or focus on as his fervid touch threatens to hypnotize me. But he responds all the same, shifting more and more in his seat, his quickening breaths audible over the roar of the engine.

“You’re gonna end us both,” he all but growls, though he doesn’t sound bothered by the prospect.

Then he pushes a third finger into me, and I cry out as I plant my palm on the ceiling of the car, my back arching from the onslaught of deliciously decadent feelings.

“Such a greedy little cunt you have, Evie darling.”

“Stop the damn car, Finn!” I demand, slamming my hand against the dashboard.

“Do you need to use the safe word?” he says, his tone leveling.

“I said, stop the car!” I punctuate the order with a tight stroke of his cock, flicking my wrist at the end, and watching his jaw drop on a sharp inhale, followed by inaudible curses.

The car screeches to a halt on the gravel as he turns his attention on me, his eyes deviously dark, pinning me with a passion that makes me tense and squeeze the fingers stretching me. That shifts something inside of him, his brows furrow, gaze turning feral, and I suck in a breath as the danger rolls off of him in waves. On my protesting whimper, he slides his fingers out of me, and in one swift motion unclips both our seat belts.

“Get the fuck out of the car, Evelyn.”

The order rips through me like a lightning bolt, and I’m not sure if I’m in control of my body anymore, because I comply in an instant. Our eyes are fixed on each other as we rush to the front of the car, stray sun rays hitting the blonde man like the gods themselves are licking his skin, and before I can throw myself into his arms, he grips my shoulders and turns me around. He presses my back to his front with his arm over my chest, hand under my chin holding my head tilted to him, and reaches behind me until he finds the wet fabric of my panties.

“Is this what you want? Turn me into a feral, uncontrollable creature around you?”

I don’t answer, too distracted when he presses his fingers back into me, and I shoot up on my tiptoes, seeking the car to steady myself.

“Because you managed it, Evelyn. I’m fucking feral for you, uncontrollable, only, you’re the beautiful creature at my mercy.”

He releases my jaw, and before I can complete a gasp, I’m bent over the hood of the car, my skirt thrown over my back, ass up in the air. I hear the faint rustling of a plastic wrapper, then a brief tear, before he pushes my panties aside and runs his fingers through my dripping core.

“Beg me to fuck you. Let me hear how beautiful you pray for my cock to stretch your soft, wet cunt.”

His crude words pull the dirtiest of moans out of my throat, and they spill off my lips too loudly, but in the middle of this forest, on Vincent’s private road, I don’t care.

“Finnigan, please fu—”

I cry out the rest of the word when his cock plunges into me on a harsh stretch. He holds my hips to him as I sink into the pleasure the ache brings.

“Oh God, you feel so good.” I moan.

“Like I was made for this tight, little pussy of yours.”

He pulls out and pushes back in on a powerful thrust, but this is not like our first time. He doesn’t pause. He doesn’t linger. He doesn’t wait to give me time to adjust. He drives into me in punishing strokes, fingers digging into my flesh as he pulls me to meet his hips each time he slams back in. I have nothing to hold onto, the edge of the hood just out of reach, but it doesn’t matter. He uses me like a puppet, controlling my movements or lack thereof, holding me just where he wants me as he fucks into me relentlessly, the rhythm quickening, the slap of skin on skin a depraved anthem that echoes through the trees along with our moans and grunts.

I’m quickly turning into a spent mess, unable to function beyond the ability to take all the pleasure he offers, my brain refusing to acknowledge the existence of anything else beyond the man who fucks me like he owes me punishment.

“I would apologize for how quick this is gonna be”—he says in a breathy grunt—“but you’re to blame, dirty Evie. You, with your talented hand, mesmerizing pussy, and sinful eyes.”

“Then punish me…” I cry out as he slams into me with enough force to drive me higher onto the hood, the grill pressing against the front of my thighs. My front is too hot from the engine, but it adds to the adrenaline, the intensity of the moment.

“I intend to.”

He releases me before his palms land on either side of me with a thud that might have dented his car, and fucks me until I my eyes roll back and my legs shake. There’s no space for either of us to reach for my clit, but the heat of the hood, the fabric of my skirt, and the intense friction is more than enough, because in the next moment I cry out, my whole body spasming against him. He thrusts through that orgasm, preying on the sensitivity of my core, even when I feel too tender to keep going.

Finnigan doesn’t care. He pistons into me over and over, his movements fast, but so precise. Enough that I feel another orgasm inching in, and I’m still in disbelief when he whispers into my ear.

“One more, my Evie. Come for me again.”

I don’t know if I can, but for him… I’ll try.

This time I force my hand between the car and me, and when I press two fingers to my clit, stars explode behind my eyes, and my body bursts into infinite goosebumps. Finnigan’s cock throbs inside of me, suddenly so much warmer, twitching and prolonging my orgasm until I’m entirely limp and spent.

As I lie there, waiting for him to rescue me since there’s not enough strength in my muscles to get up and drag myself back in the car, I wonder… how am I supposed to go back to my previous life, when this man is beyond my wildest imagination?

Memories of him will never be enough.

I need the real Finnigan Hennessey in my life.

If he’ll take me.