Chapter 15
Rian
Isabelle’s dark hair is everywhere as I watch her sleep. I'd usually be out the door, but I can’t tear myself away from my wife just yet. A few months ago, I would have laughed in the face of any man who said I’d be married. I had every intention of eventually finding a woman I loved and making her mine, trying to replicate the love my parents had. And a part of my heart knows Isabelle and I will be that, perhaps not anytime soon, but we will be. O’Callaghan men only need one look at a woman before they determine she’s his.
Her eyes flutter under her lids as I trace my finger along her collarbone. I drag it down the dip of her tank top, her nipples hardening and poking through the thin material. Leaning forward I pull the top down, suck a nipple gently into my mouth, and knead her other breast.
She moans, her hand tangling in my hair before she gasps awake.
“Rian?” she asks, and I look up at her, circling my tongue around the bud and pinching the other. I skim my hand down her stomach and into her sleep shorts, caressing her wet slit.
Isabelle’s eyes slide down my naked body, to where my angry cock is hard and leaking. She blows out a breath and her fingers push her shorts down. It would be easier if she slept naked like I usually do, but I won’t push her on it yet. I pull my hand out and tug them the rest of the way down. Settling my hips between her open legs, I rub my tip at her entrance then thrust in.
We both moan when I bury myself deep. Her brown eyes stare up at me and I can’t look away as I pump into her. Since the first moment I touched her, I’ve felt her on a different level. Everything about her burrows into my skin and seeps into my bloodstream, and I crave her with my entire being.
“What are you doing to me?” I whisper, resting my face in the crook of her neck. Her fingers pull at my hair, her hips arch to match each of my thrusts. She tightens around me with an airy whimper that echoes in my ear when I switch angles.
“There we go. Come for me, Isabelle,” I say on a groan. I don’t know if I’ll ever get enough of her.
Her pussy flutters around my cock, squeezing it so tight that black dots spot my vision and I’m lost to the sensation. I come hard, struggling to breathe as I spill inside her cunt and flood it with my cum. Sick desperation clings in my heart that I could be getting her pregnant, and I want it so badly that I pulse another wave of my seed into her womb. I’ve never really thought of children until the reality of Isabelle becoming my wife made me possessively want it.
I pull out as we’re both coming down from our highs, and I flop down on my back next to her, waiting for my breathing to calm.
Isabelle stares up at the ceiling with me before a small laugh escapes her throat. “Why is sex that good with someone I don’t particularly like?”
Leaning up on my elbow, I smile down at her. I know she isn’t really asking me. “Maybe because you know you shouldn’t enjoy it, but you do anyway.” I push off the bed and walk to the bathroom, wanting to rinse off before getting ready for the day.
She follows me silently, our eyes unable to stay off each other for more than a few seconds as the water warms. I hold the door open for the shower and she slips inside. My heart beats wildly in my chest as she turns so the water cascades down her back. Her head is tilted back, eyes closed as her fingers run through her dark hair. My attention falls to the small rivulets of water as they run down her chest, framing her round breasts, and her hard pink nipples. My cock twitches with the primitive desire to claim her as mine again.
Her eyes open, not surprised to find me watching her before her gaze locks over my shoulders. Something flickers over her face and then she sighs.
“Can you hand me my shampoo?”
I give her the bottle, frowning at her expression. “What’s wrong?”
Isabelle is quiet for a few moments as she washes her hair, only glancing at me when I turn on the other shower head. It’s not one I’ve used before, but I have a feeling she doesn’t want to share just yet.
“Seeing full bottles of the brands I use is just a reminder that this isn’t a real relationship, but a well executed plan. I’d forgotten for a moment.”
My fists clench and I grab the body wash, lathering down my body in quick jerks. “This is real, Isabelle. Our marriage is real. What you make of it going forward is on you.”
She rolls her eyes before we return to finishing our shower in silence. I can’t help but smile when I see her watching me wash my cock and a light flush stains her cheeks. Once we’re both done, I hand her a towel and walk into our large closet after drying off. At my request, Deirdre hung most of her clothes on the empty side, and Isabelle follows me a moment later.
My eyes snag on a familiar shirt, and I grin wider. “You kept it?”
Her gaze follows mine and she yanks the shirt from the hanger, tossing it to me. The shirt she wore while she fled my apartment. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
I catch it with a smile and pull it over my head. She rolls her eyes and gives me her back, not acknowledging me further.
As we get dressed, she’s still silent, though I know she feels my eyes on her. Isabelle is the type of beauty you don’t easily forget. Not a woman who strikes you at first glance, but one that transforms the longer you stare. The soft, gentle nature of her face in contrast with her vibrant and expressive eyes, the curves she keeps hidden under loose jeans and sweaters. The silky, dark hair that she throws up in a bun or ponytail. I prefer her fresh face, but put some makeup on her and she’s so stunning I lose my breath.
“You want a tour?”
I don’t have time to waste with the information Sebastian gave us, but I can’t pull myself away from her just yet. I only managed to step away after our wedding because my pride fueled me as much as my anger, and the need to hunt Sebastian gave me the strength to leave her satisfied and sated.
Isabelle glances at me, brushing the last section of her damp hair and shrugs. “Does it include coffee and some food?”
A smile lifts at my lips. “It can.”
“I guess, might as well get comfortable in my gilded cage.”
My annoyance spikes, but I keep my composure. “That’s the spirit. I love the enthusiasm.”
She flips me off and slides into a pair of slippers. I’ve cut off men’s fingers for being that disrespectful, but something about my little wife doing it, I find amusing. I offer my hand and she stares incredulously before brushing past me. My teeth dig into my bottom lip as I watch her walk in front me. The soft leggings that cup her ass have my cock hardening. She pauses at the top of the stairs, turning to face me, and I drag my eyes up to hers.
Isabelle arches an eyebrow, but the flushing of her neck and cheeks gives her away. She likes that I admire her body. She probably likes how it affects me as well.
Nodding for her to continue down the stairs, she frowns and glances over the hallway leading to the other wing of the house.
“This is our wing, Isabelle. Everything on the other side doesn’t concern you,” I tell her. I could have softened my words, but I have no other explanation of why I want to keep her away from my father's rooms besides I don’t fully trust her yet. Either way the conversation wasn’t going to be pleasant.
She scowls at me. “ Our wing . Do you know how pretentious that makes you sound? Most homes don’t even have second floors and you’re dividing the house into separate wings.”
Ignoring her comment, I lead her to the kitchen first. Deirdre looks up as I enter. She wipes her hands on her apron and rushes to me, kissing my cheeks. “Congrats, my boy. I can’t wait for this house to be filled with babies.” Peeking over my shoulder, Isabelle looks away from us. I clear my throat and step aside to introduce my wife.
“Isabelle, this is Deirdre. She runs the house, we just live in it. Anything you need, ask her.”
Deirdre doesn’t hesitate to rush to Isabelle and kiss her cheeks too, before pulling her into a hug. Isabelle looks up at me, startled by the affection.
“Finally, another woman of the house. We’ve been waiting for the day, my dear.”
“Um. Hi. It’s nice to meet you.” Her furrowed eyebrows give away her confusion and I suspect she didn’t think anyone would be so welcoming. “I…” She trails off and her eyes widen as she takes in the kitchen. Isabelle’s mouth opens in stunned awe and she walks away from both of us. Her fingers drag along the granite surface of the large island before she reaches up, touching the hanging stainless steel pots and pans.
Deirdre smiles as Isabelle continues to completely ignore us and rummages through the cabinets.
“Oh my god,” she whispers and spins to face me. “I think I’m in love with your kitchen.”
My eyebrow raises. “Just my kitchen?”
“You have things I’ve dreamed of owning, but it’s not worth the cost to the restaurant when seldom used. And we couldn’t really afford it at home either,” she says with a frown, looking back at one cabinet full of appliances.
I clear my throat. “Anything you want, Isabelle. I’ll get it for you.”
Sadness deepens on her face and I look at Deirdre for any type of understanding of what’s upsetting her.
Shutting the doors gently, she sighs and comes back to my side, a fake smile pasted now. “Sorry I got carried away. I’m not used to…all that.” Isabelle waves around and I clench my jaw, knowing she’s putting up that barrier again.
“This is your home now, too.”
Her expression doesn’t falter. “Of course.”
I decide not to push her for answers, not wanting to ruin our day by arguing.
“What’s for breakfast?” I ask the older woman who has been watching the entire exchange with amusement.
Deirdre clicks her tongue. “It’s not done. Here’s some pastries and coffee I made for the boys.”
She waves her hand to the other side of the counter and I walk over and grab two cups.
“The boys?” Isabelle asks.
“Probably Cillian and Cormac getting a head start to Manhattan.”
She takes a sip and snags a raspberry tart. “Are you going to New York too?”
“After our tour, yes.”
“So you’ll be there a lot? Do you have a home there?” She’s been to my penthouse in Jersey City and now this one in the suburbs of Westfield.
I roll my tongue over my lip. “Yes.”
Her eyes narrow. “So you’re leaving me here?”
Shaking my head, I watch her curiously as I take my own food and sip the coffee. I can see the conflict on her face before she succumbs to whatever debate she’s having in her head. She sets the cup down and faces me fully.
“If you have a mistress?—”
I step closer to her, trapping her against the counter with my arms on either side of her. Her attention flickers to Deirdre, who is ignoring us. Leaning forward, her gaze locks with mine and she swallows.
“I promised you fidelity, Isabelle. I will keep that promise and return to our bed every night. If I need to spend time in Jersey City, Manhattan, or wherever the fuck I need to be, I’ll ensure you’re with me.”
Her pulse is beating wildly in her neck and I push away from the counter, even though I want to kiss her lips desperately.
“Let me show you the house.”
She clears her throat and takes one more sip before following me out. We exit the kitchen to the large formal dining room. It’s simple compared to the one I’ve seen in the photos I received from some of the women I’ve sent in to check in on Luca for me.
My mother designed the room for practicality instead of extravagance. It’s why the walls are all a soft beige, leaving the details of the molding attached in even squares with some decorative corners applied inside. When Isabelle’s head tilts up to take in the large crystal chandelier, I smile at the dark green ceiling. My father expressed how silly the idea of painting a ceiling was, but couldn’t deny how good it looked afterward.
“We don’t use this room often since my mom passed and my father fell ill, but I’d like to again.”
Her curious eyes glance at me. “For family dinners?”
I nod.
Isabelle looks at the long, dark oak table again. “Can I ask why?”
“You can always ask me anything. I’ll be as honest as I can be,” I say, putting my hand on the small of her back to lead her into the sitting room. The old plush chairs are worn in from my mother’s social parties, and while there isn’t a layer of dust to show the length of time since it’s been used, the atmosphere is dull and lifeless.
“My mother…was the life of the party.” I move away from Isabelle, picking up one of my mother’s favorite books still lying on the small nook bench in front of the large window. The spine is worn from use, and I swallow down the ache in my throat. “I was their miracle baby after multiple miscarriages, and even then…my birth left her unable to try again. Otherwise my parents would have filled this house with as many kids as they could have.”
Isabelle stands next to me, looking out the window into the backyard and then down at the book.
“So she filled it with family in other ways?”
My lips pull at the corner of my mouth and I hand the book to her. She takes it hesitantly. “ The Secret Garden . I would have never guessed this is your favorite bedtime story,” she says.
I smile this time, laughing softly. “It’s not. It was my mother’s. A library full of stories, but she always came back to that one.”
Isabelle frowns, flipping through the pages gently. “Why?”
“She told me once it reminded her not to always judge circumstances for what they may look like at first glance.”
Her hand pauses and then she shuts the book, clutching it to her chest, but her gaze is averted away from me.
“When people found out how hard they tried to have other kids, they usually pitied her. But she said that while she may have only birthed me, her home was always filled with her kids.”
“Cillian, Aodhan, and all of them?” Isabelle asks, her fingers stroking the cover.
I suppress my sigh and move toward the hallway, leading to outside. I haven’t spoken about her in so long that it feels foreign to my tongue, like a forgotten fable I’m grasping at the lost memories to tell. “Yeah, they’re my brothers in every way but blood. My mother always enjoyed cooking, too. I’ve had her garden kept up.”
Her head snaps up to meet my eyes. “Like a full garden?”
Stifling my amusement, I shrug. “I couldn’t tell you. Greg takes care of it all. I'll introduce you two.”
A smile pulls at her lips. “I’d like that.”