56. Aoife
Aoife
My pulse kicks up, but I force my expression to stay neutral. Eamon steps closer, the dim light catching the sharp angles of his face. His jaw is tight. His eyes dark and unreadable. I don’t know how long he’s been here or how much he’s seen, but I know one thing for certain.
I’ve been caught.
Keeping my voice steady, I say, “I can explain.”
He doesn’t say anything, just stares at me, his silence heavier than anger. I force myself to keep my breathing even as I continue.
“Ruairi refused to listen. Refused to back down, so I did what needed to be done,” I say carefully. “I had to do this to show him that I’m not someone he can ignore.”
Eamon exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “And you couldn’t have told me first?” His voice is low and controlled, but there’s something simmering underneath it.
Anger. Frustration. And something else. Something darker.
His gaze drags over me, slow and deliberate. Not just assessing—possessive.
Heat coils low in my stomach.
I see it now. It’s not just anger. It’s a different kind of hunger.
“You used my men,” he says, his voice like gravel as he steps closer, forcing me back toward the stone wall behind me. “You brought him to my castle. And you did it all without saying a fucking word.”
“You were out of touch, and it needed to be done.” My breath comes faster now, my body hyper-aware of how close he is. “I handled it.”
He lets out a dark chuckle. “Oh, I know you handled it. I stood there and watched you close the walls in on him.” His fingers lift to my jaw, tilting my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze. “I should be furious with you, Aoife.”
I swallow hard. “You are.”
His grip tightens just enough to make me gasp. “Not nearly as much as I should be.”
Then his mouth crashes against mine.
I gasp into the kiss, my fingers clutching at his shirt as he presses me harder into the wall, his body flush against mine. His hand slides down, gripping my thigh, hiking it up against his hip.
“Inside,” he mutters against my lips, pulling away just long enough to drag me toward one of the rooms.
I barely have time to register which one before the door slams shut behind us.
Then he’s on me again. His hands shove beneath my dress, fingers digging into my bare thighs, lifting me with ease as he presses me against the heavy wooden door.
His mouth is all heat and hunger, devouring me, claiming me.
“You like this, don’t you?” he murmurs, his voice dark and dangerous. His teeth graze my throat before he bites down. I arch against him, a whimper slipping from my lips.
“Like what?” I pant, already breathless and craving more.
“Power,” he growls, dragging his tongue along the mark he left. “The way it feels when you have complete control.”
His words send a shiver down my spine because he’s right.
I fucking love it.
I don’t get a chance to respond before he turns, carrying me across the room and tossing me onto the massive wooden table in the center. He grips my ankles, yanking me to the edge, spreading me wide beneath him.
“You think you can do whatever the fuck you want without consequences?” he asks, his eyes dark and predatory. Then, his fingers slip beneath the thin lace of my knickers. With one tug, he tears the fabric and tosses it to the side.
“Maybe,” I whisper. “What are you going to do about it?”
His answering smile is pure sin. “I’m going to remind you who you belong to.”
His hands are on me, rough and unyielding, as he slides his fingers through the sensitive flesh between my thighs, teasing, taunting, keeping me just on the edge without giving me what I need.
“Eamon,” I breathe, my hips rolling into his touch, desperate for more.
But he takes his time, tormenting me, dragging this out just long enough to make me ache. Without warning, he thrusts two fingers inside me. I cry out. My back arches off the table as he curls them, hitting the spot he knows will break me.
“You get off on this, don’t you?” he murmurs, his lips tracing along my jaw as he finger fucks me, his pace ruthless. “Manipulating your brother, running circles around men who think they’re stronger than you.”
I bite my lip, clenching around him, my breathing ragged.
“Look at me,” he orders.
I force my eyes open, meeting his gaze.
“Tell me. I want to hear you say it, mo chroí ,” he says, his voice low.
“I love it,” I admit.
A wicked smile curves his mouth as he drags the head of his thick cock against my slick folds. Then, he pushes in, slow and brutal, sinking into me inch by inch until he’s seated deep.
My head falls back against the table, a broken moan slipping from my lips.
Eamon doesn’t move, doesn’t thrust. He holds himself there, a deep, merciless stretch that has me writhing beneath him.
"You love being the one pulling the strings," he murmurs, his breath hot against my skin. "Making kings and monsters kneel without ever lifting a blade."
A soft, desperate sound escapes me as he finally moves, a slow, punishing grind that has me clenching around him, chasing friction, chasing more.
But Eamon is relentless. He drags it out, fucking me slow and deep, drawing out every whimper, every plea I try to swallow.
"You want to be worshipped for it, don’t you?" he taunts, his hand sliding up my body to wrap around my throat, a dark promise against my pulse.
"You deserve to be worshipped, mo chroí ."
He pulls back almost all the way, the loss so sharp I nearly sob, then slams into me hard enough to rattle the table beneath us.
My cry is swallowed by his mouth crashing against mine, a brutal claiming kiss that leaves no doubt. I’m his. And he’s going to break me apart piece by piece, not because he wants to ruin me.
Because he knows I'm meant to be ruined by him.
“Fuck, Aoife,” he groans, dropping his forehead against mine. “You drive me fucking insane.”
I scrape my nails down his spine, biting his shoulder as he pounds into me, the room filled with the sound of skin against skin. The raw, desperate rhythm of us.
My orgasm builds fast, spiraling tight, my body already too far gone from his teasing earlier. I feel the tension in Eamon’s body, the way he’s forcing himself to stay in control.
But I don’t want him to keep control. I want to see him fall apart. I want him to break with me.
“Don’t hold back,” I whisper, my lips brushing against his ear. “Give me everything, Eamon.”
His body tenses, and then he snaps. His grip tightens on my hips, his pace turning erratic, wild, ruthless. I cry out as pleasure crashes through me, my walls clenching around him, pulling him deeper as I shatter beneath him.
He groans my name as he chases his own release, spilling inside me and filling me completely.
For a moment, the only sound in the room is our ragged breathing. Then, slowly, he leans back, his fingers tracing along my jaw.
“No more secrets,” he murmurs, his voice rough. “No more going behind my back.”
I force my expression to stay soft. “I promise.”
Even though I know there’s more I’m not telling him.
Cian.
The name tastes like ash on my tongue. It festers in the back of my mind, a rot I can’t cut out.
I press my lips harder against Eamon’s, burying the lie between us like a blade hidden beneath silk.
Because some truths are too dangerous to speak aloud.
Some betrayals must be buried deep enough to rot before they’re unearthed.
And this one—this one swings lower with every beat of my heart until all that's left between us is ruin.