Chapter 25 Sean
SEAN
Iwake to sunlight streaming through the bedroom window and Maeve's warm body pressed against mine. For a moment, I just lie there, listening to her breathe, feeling the steady rise and fall of her chest. She's still asleep, her ginger hair fanned across my chest, one hand brushing against my waist.
Something shifted last night. I've had sex before—plenty of it—but it's never felt like this. Like I've given away a part of myself I didn't know existed, and now I'm standing here, exposed and vulnerable, and it’s fucking terrifying.
I've never felt this way about anyone. Never wanted to protect someone so fiercely while simultaneously wanting to run as far away as possible. The intensity of what I feel for Maeve is overwhelming, suffocating, and I'm certain—absolutely certain—that I'm going to lose her.
I’m not the kind of man who gets a happy ending. I was built on blood and violence and loss, and all I can think as I lie here with her in my arms is that the sooner I accept that, the less it will hurt when the inevitable happens.
But looking at her now, peaceful and trusting after a night unlike anything I’ve felt before, I can't bring myself to let go.
I can’t imagine never being inside her again.
Never again seeing her face the way it looked last night when she gasped and moaned for me, when she came on my cock, and I made her mine.
The way her skin looked marked with my cum.
The thought of never having her again makes me feel like my chest is hollowed out; the thought of anyone else taking her for their own makes me want to burn the whole world down just to make sure there’s no one left in it who can have her.
The warmth of her against my side is soothing, calming, like a balm. She’s the only woman I’ve ever fallen asleep with, the only one I’ve ever held in my arms like this. I can’t imagine it ever being anyone else.
Her eyes flutter open, and for a moment she looks disoriented. Then she sees me, and a slow smile spreads across her face.
"Morning," she murmurs, her voice rough with sleep.
"Morning." I brush a strand of hair away from her face. "How are you feeling?"
"Sore." She shifts slightly and winces. "But good sore. If that makes sense."
It does. I can see the evidence of last night written on her skin, the marks on her neck where my mouth was. There's something primitive about seeing my marks on her that satisfies a part of me I didn't know existed.
"We should get you in the bath," I tell her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "It'll help with the soreness."
"Only if you join me."
The invitation in her eyes is clear, and I feel myself hardening in response.
But my ribs are screaming, the knife wound in my side is throbbing, and I'm pretty sure if I try to have sex again right now, I might just bleed out.
Not to mention the fact that none of these wounds should be submerged in water.
Last night, I couldn’t let myself stop, regardless of the damage it might have done. My body is still a clamoring argument of knowing I need to give myself rest and wanting to bury myself in my wife at every opportunity, but I’m a little more clearheaded now, at least.
"Rain check," I say, pressing another kiss to her forehead. "I'm not sure my body can handle another round just yet."
She looks at me with concern, her hand gently touching the bandage on my ribs. "How bad is it really?"
"I've had worse." It's not a lie, but it's not the full truth either. The truth is that I probably should have gotten stitches for the knife wound, and I'm pretty sure at least two ribs are cracked. But I've learned to function through pain over the years. I can manage this, at least.
"Sean—" she starts to protest, and I shake my head.
"I'm fine, Maeve." I brush a finger along her jaw. "I promise. This is nothing new.”
She looks like she wants to argue, but instead she just nods and lets me help her out of bed.
The sight of her still naked does nothing to help my erection, my entire body throbbing with the desire to take her back to bed.
But I run a bath for her, adding some Epsom salts I find under the sink, and help her settle into the warm water.
She sighs with relief as the heat soaks into her muscles.
"This was a good idea," she admits, leaning back against the tub.
I sit on the closed toilet lid, biting back a groan so she doesn’t worry about me.
There’s something domestic about this moment.
It should feel strange and uncomfortable, but it doesn't. I've never done this before—just sat with someone, enjoyed their presence without needing anything else. It feels strangely good. It makes me wonder how I went so long without it, and how I’d ever manage again, if I were to lose her.
Yesterday, I was still insisting that we should get an annulment when this is all over. And deep down, I still think that she might regret staying. That I might not be able to make her happy. But after last night, I no longer know how I could bring myself to let her go.
Maeve’s eyes are closed as she lies in the hot, citrus-scented water, and I get up after a moment. “I’m going to see about making us breakfast,” I tell her, and she nods without opening her eyes.
“I’m starving.” She cracks one eye open. “Maybe we can work up an appetite for dinner later, if you’re feeling better.”
My entire body feels as if it contracts at the hunger in her voice.
I’ve had plenty of women over the years want me, plenty who’ve come on to me in bars with a clear lust in their eyes.
I’m not blind to how I look or the appeal of someone as dangerous as me.
But nothing has ever come close to hearing the desire in my innocent wife’s voice as she lies naked in the bath, wanting me again.
I don’t care if it kills me, I’ll give her whatever she wants later tonight.
I’m halfway through making bacon, eggs, and toast in the kitchen when the door opens, and Flynn walks in. “Hope you’re decent!” he calls out, before seeing me in the kitchen in just my sweatpants. “Christ, Sean, put on a bloody shirt.”
“I can’t lift my arms over my head,” I deadpan, motioning to the bandages around my ribs and my side. “So no, I won’t be putting on a shirt.”
“But you can fuck your wife senseless, yeah? Or did you back out of it again like a fucking idiot?” Flynn sets down three coffees, and I reach for one of them, giving him a glare.
“None of your fucking business.”
“So you did do it. Excellent.” There’s clear glee in his voice. “So glad to hear you lost your virginity last night.”
“Now you sound like an idiot.” I roll my eyes. “You know good and well—”
“Sure, but you never gave a shit about any of them before, did you?” Flynn grins. “So it was the first time.”
“As if you’ve ever given a shite about a woman you’ve taken to bed in your life.
” I glance at the closed bedroom door. “Now get the hell out of here and do a security patrol, or something. I want a day alone with my wife, and I don’t want to see you—” I push his coffee cup back toward him, “until tomorrow.”
“Fine, fine.” Flynn grabs his cup and turns back toward the door. “See you in the morning, Flannery.”
The door shuts behind him, and for a moment, there’s only the sound of grease popping in the skillet and the occasional gust of wintry wind against a windowpane. Then the bedroom door clicks open, and Maeve leans her head out.
“Is Flynn still here?”
I shake my head, plating the food for breakfast. “He left, but he did bring coffee. Come on, eat.”
“Oh, good. Then I don’t have to put more clothes on.
” She walks out in just one of my T-shirts again—hopefully with panties under it, for the sake of me not bending her over the breakfast table mid-meal—and I can’t help but stare.
Her hair is tossed up onto her head in a messy bun, and her pale cheeks flush prettily when she catches me looking at her.
She’s an entirely different woman from the pale wraith I met that cold evening when I showed up on her doorstep with the Council.
There’s life in her that wasn’t there before, and I can’t imagine ever seeing it fade again.
God help me, I don’t want to be the reason for it ever fading, and I’m so fucking terrified, every time I remember that she’s mine now—that I want her to be mine—that I’m going to fuck this all up.
We eat in silence for several minutes, other than Maeve pausing to tell me how good the food is. Then, after another pause, she looks up at me, her expression cautious.
"Can I ask you something?" I can hear the slight hesitation in her voice, and I look up, surprised.
“Of course,” I tell her, although I feel a twist in my stomach as I wonder what, exactly, she might want to know. Something about my past? About other women I’ve been with? I wouldn’t hide anything from her, necessarily, but there’s plenty that I’d rather not talk about.
"Last night, you said you've been alone your entire life. But you had your mother, didn't you? Before she died?" Maeve looks up at me with those luminous blue eyes, and the question feels like a punch to the chest.
But I can’t deny her the truth about this. There are other truths I owe her too, like the reason why Brennan is after me in the first place, and her.
"I did," I say quietly. "She was... she was the only good thing in my life. The only person who ever loved me unconditionally."
Maeve sets her fork down, her face suddenly soft. "What was she like?"
I close my eyes briefly, calling up memories I usually keep locked away.
"She was strong. The strongest woman I ever knew.
She worked two jobs to keep us fed and housed, never complained, never asked anyone for help.
She had this way of making everything seem okay, even when it wasn't. Even when we were living in a shitty flat in one of the worst parts of Boston, and she was working herself to death just to keep us afloat. "
“Boston?” Maeve blinks. “I thought you were from here?”