16. Saar
Chapter 16
Saar
C orm lowers me to the floor. “What the fuck?”
He holds my elbow, so I can find my balance. The man is a walking contradiction. He yells at me while making sure I don’t fall?
I grew up being ignored and overlooked. I worked in the spotlight to find attention, only to realize that was even lonelier.
And now this? This gentle care and annoying control morphed into one.
“Why would you think I would give you something so intimate? Our first time, no less.” I snatch my arm away from him as if he burned me.
“And the only time, The Morrigan,” he warns. “You’re dripping wet; you just came all over my face; why would we need lube?”
Fuck. Heat rises to my cheeks. “Because that’s not usual for me. I’m not normally wet; it’s not easy for me to… to…” I don’t know how to say it, my eyes darting around the floor, hoping it will swallow me. “With my lifestyle, my sinuses are drier than normal, so are the tissues of my—”
He steps toward me, cupping my cheeks in his palms. “Sweetheart, I’m not going to hurt you. I’ll make sure you’re ready for me. I’ll slide in like my cock belongs to your pussy.”
I feel like an idiot. After the best orgasm of my life, I’m humiliating myself again in front of him. It must be the orgasm-induced fog.
As if he feels my hesitation—frankly, the mood is kind of gone—Corm pulls me closer and lowers his lips to mine. The kiss is different this time. Almost sweet.
And just like outside, for some incomprehensible reason, I feel safe. I feel safe in the arms of a man who can’t stand me most of the time, but who makes sure I eat well. Who doesn’t ridicule my endless mind spiraling while trying to figure out what I want. He simply listens, and calms down the storm in my head.
Before the wardrobe incident, in those few days, he might have believed in me more than I believe in myself.
And now he’s kissing me. Not with want or need—even though his cock is hard between us—but rather with reverence. It’s like every time I show him some broken piece of me, he rewards me.
A part of me knows it’s a false sense of safety. I can’t trust him, but I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want him to leave again and be with other women.
It’s like I need to prove to myself I can keep him here. If only for a brief moment. That I’m interesting enough for him to stay.
Fuck. I need therapy.
I moan as he deepens the kiss, his fingers sliding into my hair. His cock jerks between us, and my body ignites with a desire so strong, I stop thinking.
I twist my leg around his, and he cups my ass and lifts me up. As I wrap both legs around his waist, my core is now deliciously exposed to his length. I tilt my pelvis back and forth, and he groans into my mouth.
He carries me down the hall and stops at a console table in the foyer. He pulls out a condom from the drawer.
“I don’t even want to know why you would have them there.”
“That’s where I keep my wallet and keys. These are refills.”
I giggle, but then I cover my mouth. “Put me down,” I whisper.
He frowns, but places me gently on the first step. My pussy weeps at the loss of friction.
“What now?” he growls.
“Livia.”
Jesus, I won’t be able to look the housekeeper in her eyes. And I like her. She’s my only company in this huge house.
“I sent her home.” He snakes his arms around my waist and jerks me to him.
“You planned this?”
“I was planning to kill you.” He captures my mouth this time with urgency.
I woke up this morning to all the messages and likes of my post. It was unexpected. It was scary and empowering at the same time.
The confidence that all the reactions gave me didn’t serve me well. It made me feel like I matter. It made me feel like I have choices. It made me kiss Cormac on the patio.
Not only to shut him up. Not only because he is so fucking hot. But because I didn’t want to be the girl who waits for instructions, for approval, for agreement. I wanted to be the girl who takes what she wants.
Even if what she wants is the insufferable man kissing me currently, whom I have no business to crave.
My body strongly disagrees with that notion. I don’t want to buy into that reasonable stance anymore.
I’ll deal with the aftermath later, after at least one more orgasm. Pretty please. The last one clearly wiped out my brain.
I tug at his belt, and this time he doesn’t stop me. I fumble while he doesn’t stop kissing me, devouring me with his mouth, but finally, I trace the waistband of his briefs.
I pull away from him and gently peel his underwear down. His cock springs out, glistening with pre-cum. It’s huge and stiff. I stare at it for a moment. Mesmerized. And a bit scared.
“Wow,” I breathe, and he chuckles.
“Okay, sweetheart, this is not show and tell.” He tugs at my dress, pulling it over my head. “Beautiful,” he drawls.
His gaze roams down my bra-less chest. Oh my, I’ve been paid handsomely for my looks. People around the world have admired my pictures. I’ve been named one of the most beautiful people in the world at one point.
And never, ever have I felt like one. Until this man uttered the word, said it with his mouth and his intense eyes, I’ve never felt truly beautiful.
He’s not touching me, just admiring, and yet I feel it everywhere. Butterflies tickle around my stomach. Goose bumps and sweat pepper my skin. My entire body is ablaze.
It’s too much, so I quickly divert the attention. I sit down on a step behind me. Corm frowns at me, and I smile.
“Let me taste you.” I reach for him.
He steps closer, standing in front of me one step below. It’s not the best alignment, but something about having him between my spread legs while I sit instead of kneel makes me feel empowered.
I lean forward and grip his girth, my tongue darting out. I’ve never particularly enjoyed giving head. But I wrap my lips around his cock like it was the most delicious ice-cream.
His sharp intake of breath tingles through my body, and I feel it everywhere. It’s encouraging and rewarding. I take him as far as I can, helping myself with my hand, and he hisses again, his hands finding my hair.
His grip is almost painful, but not as agonizing as the need coiling in my center. Jesus, I might come just from sucking him off.
I don’t know if it’s all that pent-up tension, or simply an unprecedented chemistry between us, but my body is on fire. My heart is thumping, drunk on hormones. My core is clenching of its own accord.
“Fuck,” Corm groans, and pulls away from me. With no effort, he flips me around, and I’m on all fours, with my ass propped up.
He rips the wrapper and kneels behind me, nudging my entrance with his cock. I bow my head to deal with the sensation but also to look at what’s happening between my legs.
“Touch yourself,” he demands.
What? “You’re right there. I want your cock.”
A slap echoes through the cavernous room, and my ass turns ablaze. “What the fuck?” I protest, but fuck if my pussy doesn’t contract with pleasure.
“Touch yourself.” Corm grips my hips, probably bruising me. The only consolation is the strain in his voice. He’s barely hanging onto his control.
I reach between my legs and swipe my fingers through my folds. Jesus. Can I be already close to coming? Everything with this man is more.
More infuriating. More intense. More alive.
“Show me your hand.”
Part of me doesn’t want to lose the contact, but it seems if I want him to give me what I really crave, I’d better surrender to his whims.
I remove my hand and snake it around my opposite shoulder so he can see it. Corm leans forward, his body covering mine.
The soft fabric of his jacket slides around my torso as the heat of his body envelops me through his shirt. How is he still fully dressed?
He takes my fingers into his mouth and sucks. Oh, my God. I can’t. I can’t anymore. I push my hips back, desperate for him.
He chuckles. “I told you we won’t need the lube. Look at these fingers…” He kisses each of them. “Covered in your need for me. Such a good girl, Saar.”
Good girl.
I want to retort something at him, just out of principle. But this is such an honest transaction between us, I just accept what his words do to me.
Turns out, I hate his controlling ways outside the bedroom—well, staircase—but I welcome it when his cock is out.
He lets go of my hand, and I collapse to my elbows. Corm pushes just his tip in, and I stop breathing. He is too big. I close my eyes to deal with the burning sensation.
“You’re so tight, sweetheart.” He hovers above me and takes both my breasts into his palms, finding my nipples and rolling them achingly between his fingers. “Relax, Saar; let me in, baby.”
I don’t know why ‘sweetheart’ had no emotional charge for me, but his calling me ‘baby’ spreads through me like a sweet liquor, warming me inside and making my legs weak.
He pushes farther, and I gasp, adjusting to the onslaught of pleasure and pain. The latter subsides quickly as Corm finds my clit with his hand. He massages it, and I melt, letting him fully in.
He fills me to the hilt and stills. “Are you okay?”
I always knew Cormac Quinn would fuck like God, but reconciling this with the fact that he’s a considerate God overwhelms me. Instead of answering, I roll my hips.
He kisses me between my shoulder blades. It’s a tender kiss that surprises me, sprouting goose bumps all over my skin.
But that’s the last gentle gesture from him, because after that kiss he withdraws and rams back into me with such force, I almost fall flat on my face.
“Hold on for the ride, The Morrigan,” he growls.
He pumps in and out like this was an athletic competition. And of course, he is the winner. And thank God for that, because as he repeatedly hits the right spot like he had some secret compass to my body, I’m ready to build a shrine to his prowess and worship at it in my free time.
The echo of our bodies slapping and my moans hit the high ceiling and bounce off the walls. He fucks me like he hates me—probably true—but couldn’t help himself.
I’m on my knees and completely at his mercy, and yet somehow I’m an equal partner in this. Unlike in our real lives.
“I’m coming,” I whimper.
“Thank God.” His voice is strained as he pinches my nipple.
My walls clench, my toes curl as my body completely takes over, convulsing with the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had. He continues to thrust, but I’m lost, the reality blurred out into one amazing euphoria.
“Fuck, Saar,” he roars, and I feel him jerk inside me.
I drop my forehead, the coolness of the marble slowly bringing me back to reality. The metallic sound of his zipper snaps me out of my stupor. Is he going to walk away? Not if I do that first.
Not very elegantly, I scramble to crawl away from him.
He grips my ankle. “Where do you think you’re going?”
He scoops me up and carries me upstairs.
Still dazed, I consider how to get away from him. I’m up for more orgasms, but let’s be realistic here. The aftermath—as he rightfully warned me—is going to be awkward.
But it’s hard to think about retreating when his muscles envelop me, his scent deepening the hazy feeling.
And his gaze… it has always been intense. But the post-orgasm Corm is looking at me like I’m a goddess.
There is still a dash of disdain, like he doesn’t know what to do with me, but it wars with something softer, and very contradictory to that contempt.
He enters his bedroom and drops me onto his bed before he walks away.
“Where are you going?” Fuck, I hate the need in my voice.
“The condom is still on my cock.” He disappears into his bathroom.
He has large windows on two sides of his room, meeting in the corner. The drapes are open, and the dusk colors the sky in a multitude of hues. It’s beautiful and peaceful. Unlike my hammering heart and my wandering mind.
What have we done? Frankly, if he left me on the stairs I would be less concerned, because it would follow our hateful pattern.
But he brought me to his bed. Is it for round two, or is it a new dynamic? Count me in for the former.
The latter? I don’t think I can survive that. I may be all feisty with him, but is my sass enough to protect me from him?
The bathroom door clicks, and I turn my head. And all the thoughts and conundrums leave my mind immediately.
Completely naked, Corm prowls toward me.
“Stop.” I stretch my arm, sitting up.
He does, his eyebrows drawing together.
I swallow and stare. So I knew the man was a hunk. That his forearms are works of art. That his face is gorgeous.
But seeing every bulking muscle, every delicious ridge, every hard sinew of his torso? The broad shoulders and trimmed waist. His athletic legs. How much does this man work out?
I used to spend my time around beautiful people. Around very attractive men who model underwear, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen a better-defined chest or pecs. This is not even a six-pack. This is…
Shit. I rake my eyes to his face quickly. What am I doing? Ogling him. Based on the smirk on his face, he not only caught me—obviously he’s not blind—but he enjoys my gaping.
“Like what you see?”
“Mm-hm.” I nod, not even trying to cover it.
He walks over and gently pushes me on to my back. Only then do I notice a white hand towel in his hand. He spreads my legs and cleans me.
A lot of things that happened today shocked me, but even after the two best orgasms of my life, this may take the cake.
I blink and look away, covering my face, feeling strangely exposed. More than I was when he went down on me, or fucked me on the stairs.
My heart hammers in my chest, looking for ways to escape. When he’s satisfied, something rattles, and I hear liquid sloshing. I lift my arm, peeking.
“This will sting a bit.” His voice is almost apologetic.
He sprays something on my knee and, fuck, it smarts. He uses the towel to gently dab around my knee. I sit up, and shit, my skin is chafed.
“How did you even notice?” I lean forward and blow on it. I didn’t even know I was scratched.
“I see you.” He shrugs, throws the towel to the floor, and dives into the mattress.
Wrapping his arms around me, he arranges me by his side and takes my lips. Oh my.
I see you.
I don’t know what to do with that simple statement, so I channel my shock into the kiss. Corm’s hands roam up my rib cage, and I moan into his mouth as he cups my breast. I have small breasts, and his hand is huge, but somehow, it’s a perfect fit.
He dips his head and takes my nipple into his mouth. And while he ravishes my breasts, taking his time, I let my hands discover his body, his sculpted back, his brawny biceps, his firm ass.
This man is perfection. There is a lot to hate about him, but his body is a thing to admire.
“Oh,” I moan as he bites me playfully.
“Are you sore, The Morrigan?”
Jesus, that Irish accent. “Not enough yet.” I smile at him.
“Well then, let’s correct that.”
“I miss Coco,” I murmur into his chest. We’ve fucked so many times, I’ve lost count already. I’m thoroughly dazed and relaxed.
“Who is Coco?”
“The kitten.”
“You held her for half an hour and you miss her?” And there we go with his tone again.
“I had your cock inside me five minutes ago, and I miss that already.”
He slaps me playfully. “You can have my cock anytime.”
“Can I have the kitten?”
“No.” The answer is so resolute, I push away from him.
“Why not?” I lie on my back, folding my arms across my chest.
“Ethel said she is too young.” He turns to his side, propping his head on his hand.
“How do you know? You were out with Betsy when she said that.”
“I asked her during the tour.” He bites my shoulder.
“Why did you ask her?” I turn to him, all excited.
“Do you really want a kitten? We need to ask Livia if she is okay with that.”
“I will take care of her, not Livia.” I rake my fingers through his hair above his ear, rubbing his cheek with my thumb.
“Soon enough, you’ll have a job.”
“What job?”
“The one Nora offered you. Or something else. And who would take care of her when you move?”
My hand in his hair stops moving, the mention of the transiency of my stay here hanging heavily between us. It shouldn’t, but it does. Here I am feeling all clingy, and I hate it.
Corm sighs and runs his hand over his face, but he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t placate me. And I’m grateful. There may be no love lost between us, but at least we’re honest with each other.
My disillusion is only temporary anyway, post-multiple-orgasms-induced. I will snap out of it tomorrow.
“I’ll take the kitten with me.” I roll away from him, and he doesn’t follow.
The silence doesn’t get a chance to thicken because Corm’s phone pierces the air.
“Fuck,” he mumbles, and rushes to the bathroom where he left his clothes. “What?” he barks.
I roll my eyes, but there is a smile on my face. I kind of like that he is consistent in his assholeness. As I said, the hormones.
“I was busy.” He walks over and sits on the bed, his gaze scanning every inch of me.
I don’t know what the person on the other end of the line is saying, but despite his tensed jaw, his eyes are hungry and his cock twitches, already hardening.
“I don’t know, Betsy, I’ll think about it.”
I blow out air through pursed lips. Betsy Ham only means yet another public engagement.
“As I said, I’ll think about it.” He hangs up and pinches the bridge of his nose.
And I feel it in my bones that the fleeting peace between us has just reached its limit.
“You need to delete the post.” He walks to the bathroom like he’s just asked me to wear a different dress or something equally trivial.
I sprint out of the bed so quickly, I lose balance and fall to my knees.
“Jesus, Saar.” He rushes to me and lifts me up.
“Don’t touch me.” I jerk away from him.
He rolls his eyes and returns to the bathroom.
“I’m not deleting it.” I stand on the threshold, and he stops on the way to the shower. “Have you seen the comments? Many people related to my message. I gave them courage, or just encouragement. This is not about you and me anymore.”
He eats the space between us and backs me up to the door frame. “Isn’t it?” He breathes into my face, his nostrils flaring. “You’re in your new home, all fucking lonely? That’s your message? All the while you’re supposed to show the world I’m settling down.”
I push him away, but the man is a wall of muscles and doesn’t budge. “You care about the surface only. Media spin, your reputation. My post might have been sparked by my current situation, but it grew beyond that.”
Somehow, I slide under his arm and rush into the room, far away from him. “If I can inspire someone…” I try to control my volume—failing. “If I can speak up for people who feel isolated, trapped under the weight of expectations, or just sad, I will do it. I’m not deleting the post.”
“If you want to have a voice, stop being a chicken and take the job with Nora’s network.”
His words are like a slap. How dare he use my insecurity against me now?
I look around his room to wear something, but my dress is on the stairs. Shit, I don’t want to argue while naked.
I rush back to the bathroom while he follows me. I snatch his shirt from the heap on the floor. Sliding my arms into the sleeves, I wrap it around me.
He watches me, shocked. That’s a first.
“Saar.” He sighs. “I care about my business. You agreed to a deal; don’t you have an ounce of integrity in you?”
“I’m not your puppet. You don’t get to dictate how I feel or what I share. You wanted a perfect image, but I’m not going to pretend I’m something I’m not just to fit into your stupid narrative. Don’t you dare talk about integrity. Part of our deal was that you won’t control me.”
He throws his arms up in exasperation. “Here we go again. No control over your life, but that doesn’t give you a free card to jeopardize our deal.”
He marches to his closet and puts on underwear.
How did things go south so fast? “The post has nothing to do with you.”
He pulls a T-shirt over his head. “You claiming you’re lonely a week after our engagement has nothing to do with me?”
Okay, he may have a point. “That’s not what I meant. I was talking about the need to be someone else, to always perform. I just showed them the real me, and yes, that day I felt particularly lonely. But it had nothing to do with you.”
He balances on one foot, putting on his jeans. “You posted it after our argument in front of the shelter.”
“That’s not when… You know what?” I yank his shirt off my shoulders. “This was a mistake.” I rush to the door.
Away from this bedroom. Away from him. Away from this stupid arrangement.
“What did you expect, a happily-ever-after?” He follows me, pulling a T-shirt over his head.
I stop at my door. “Oh please, you’re incapable of happiness, and I don’t believe in ever-after.”
He snorts. “Of course not, with your daddy issues and inability to cut the cord from your brothers.”
The nerve of him. “Fuck you.”
“You just did.” He walks away, but turns before he reaches the stairs. “You can forget about setting a date now.”
“Are you for real?” My heart hammers in my temples, almost deafening me. I hug my torso, trying to cover myself, to protect myself.
“Yes, The Morrigan, as I said before, I’m not the one who needs the marriage certificate.” He jogs downstairs.
I run to the banister. “But you can’t afford a breakup either.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of the situation.” He grabs his keys and wallet.
“How?” Sudden worry sneaks into my voice.
“Betsy has a brilliant plan, actually.” He taps his forehead with his hand, saluting me on his way to the front door.
“What plan?”
“I would share that—”
“But?”
He opens the door and looks up. There is no warmth to his gaze anymore. No heat. No desire. No care. Just a stone-cold expression. “But I don’t fucking trust you.”