Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Bryan
T he hum of the refrigerator is louder than it should be.
That’s what I’ve come to realize after sitting in this damn hotel suite for the last two hours, listening to it kick on and off while Kieran and I pretend to be productive. The truth is, we’ve been running the same hamster wheel all morning—checking the farmhouse security feeds, scrolling through our phones, checking the farmhouse security feeds….
The two agents who rolled up to the farmhouse this morning left. No Siobhan. No activity. Just two tight-faced suits stepping into a black sedan and driving off.
I got the plates—zoomed in and cleaned up the image on the laptop before sending it off to Finn. If there’s something to find, he’ll find it.
But other than that, it’s been crickets.
Kieran sits slouched on the couch watching his laptop, boots propped on the coffee table, a bag of crisps in his hand. He’s been unusually quiet, only breaking the silence with the occasional “for fuck’s sake” when the monotony gets to be too much.
I’m about to say something to kill the silence when his burner buzzes on the table.
He snatches it up in one smooth motion and scans the caller ID. “About fucking time. Mick says our order has arrived and is quality checked and ready to go.”
I peg Kieran with a look. “Where and how does your arms dealer quality check RPGs? Seems to me that would be raising red flags and drawing attention.”
Kieran chuckles. “Mick’s day job is as a demolitions expert. He does ‘controlled construction takedowns’ of old buildings and structures. He preps a condemned structure, fires the RPG, and follows up with other explosives to mask the blast signature. The man is paranoid AF but he’s a genius.”
That actually is really smart. “Grand, then let’s go get our firepower.”
Kieran grabs his keys, shaking his head. “Not we, bossman. Me. First off, you need to keep an eye on the cameras and watch for Siobhan. Secondly, Mick’s not a trusting bloke. He’s liable to spook and ghost me if I don’t show up alone.”
I narrow my eyes. “I don’t like it.”
Kieran snorts, shrugging into his leather jacket. “You don’t like being left out of the firepower fun. Don’t worry. You can inspect the product when we go out tonight with the drone after dark.”
I grunt. “I don’t like it.”
Kieran scoffs and claps a hand on my shoulder. “It’s over an hour each way. I’ll verify the product, get the banking info, and call you to transfer funds once I’ve got eyes on the gear. I’ll be back here in time to order burgers for dinner.”
Okay, so maybe he’s right and I’m bored as shit and jonesing for something to do. Kieran can take care of himself. I have no doubts about that.
I move aside with a grunt. “Fine. Call me with the transfer info. I’ll be waiting.”
He nods and opens the door. “And keep your eyes on that feed. If Siobhan pokes her head out, we’ll have what we need to make tonight that much more exciting.”
“Wouldn’t that be grand?”
“It would.”
Kieran is out the door and I latch the deadbolt behind him. Bringing the laptop to the table, I sink down on the bench seat and stare at the farmhouse.
I watch the wind stir the trees, the birds scatter from the chimney, and the armed mercs walking the porch, the yard, and the perimeter.
Come on, Siobhan. Show your face.
I dare you.
* * *
Harper
Victory tastes like danger—and maple bacon.
The former is from the list of names and dates I got from the ever-so-helpful Ms. Greaves. The latter? Well, that came from a very successful morning grocery run.
One that also included wine, lube, and a three-pack of condoms that practically leapt into my basket the second I saw them.
I save the contact sheet in the folder for now and push back from the little desk. Normally, I don’t take breaks mid-day when I’m in full investigative mode, but I’ve got other plans for the next couple of hours.
Big, broody Irish plans.
I heard Kieran leave a few minutes ago, saying he’ll be gone for a few hours. And like my dad always says…
Make hay while the sun shines.
I strip off my clothes, slide my arms into the leather straps of Bryan’s shoulder holster, and adjust the rig so his gun rests snug against my left side boob.
I’m not afraid of guns. I’ve been to the practice range enough times with my father and brothers that I’m capable, if not competent.
Not that the gun is the point—at all.
This is a visual meant for him—my girls are framed by the worn leather he always wears. Enough to tease, and hopefully entice.
I glance one last time in the mirror, then grab one of the condom boxes and strut out of the bedroom like I own the bloody place.
Bryan is at the table, his head down, his focus on the screen of the laptop. He glances up as I enter.
His eyes widen.
Laptop forgotten.
His mouth fall opens—then shuts again with a visible swallow. Perfect. That is exactly the reaction I was hoping for.
I grin like the cat who brought her own cream and hold up the box of ‘for her pleasure’ condoms. “I got more than bacon when I went shopping this morning.”
He blinks once. Then chuckles, the sound low and appreciative. “What happened to two or three boxes?”
I toss the one in my hand onto the table with a dramatic flick of my wrist. “I’ve got two more in the bedroom.”
A flash of heat ripples across his expression, but he reins it in like he’s trying to be good. I do a slow turn, runway-style, and glance over my shoulder with a wink. “How do I look? I’m going for sassy gangster girl.”
His smile slips, replaced by something harder. He slides the laptop to the side and leans forward onto the table. “Don’t take who and what I am lightly, Harper.”
I still. Not fully, but enough.
Enough to feel the shift in him.
“It hasn’t come up,” he says, “but given yer need to know, I’m sure ye looked into me by now.”
I turn to face him, lifting my chin. “Of course I did.”
“And?” His voice is quiet now, dangerous.
“And what? I know what I’ve read in reports—and I know what I’ve seen this past week. You’re dangerous, but I’m not afraid of danger. You kill bad guys, but you killed to save me. It would be hypocritical for me to judge you when I couldn’t be more grateful.”
“Yer not one of those women who seeks out the bad boy for a wild ride, are ye, trouble? I wouldn’t respond well to that.”
I swallow and shake my head, wondering if this whole seduction idea was a mistake. “I’ve been straight with you about everything. I believe in justice more than laws. I get that your family legacy comes with a lot of baggage, but that doesn’t make you evil.”
He stands, slow and measured, his gaze burning into mine. “Don’t romanticize me, trouble. I’m not one of the good guys, not some fucking modern-day Robin Hood. I don’t steal from the rich and give to the poor.”
I laugh softly. “Could you imagine trying to fit your body into tights? No. You’re definitely a jeans or leathers man, through and through.”
Something flashes behind his eyes as he stands, but he doesn’t break. “I beat people to get answers. I snap necks when it’s cleaner than a bullet. I torture men to find missing girls. That’s who I am.”
I step in close, right up against him, the leather between us creaking. “I understand who you are. You know what I am?”
He stares down at me. “What?”
“Wet,” I whisper, dragging a finger down the center of his chest. “And wanton.”
His jaw tics, restraint hanging by a thread.
I reach down, press my hand against the front of his jeans. “Now, are you going to bend me over this table… or should I take matters into my own hands?”
His growl vibrates against my neck. “Don’t say I didn’t warn ye, trouble.”
He grips my hips, spins me fast, and presses a firm hand in the center of my back. The wood of the table is cool against my upper body and a startling contrast to the heat radiating off his body behind me.
“Wanton, ye say. Let me test how wet ye really are.” His free hand slides over my ass, his fingers finding the wet heat between my thighs. A growl rumbles from his throat as he uses his foot to widen my feet. “Well, ye weren’t leadin’ me on. Yer practically drippin’ for me.”
I press my cheek against the table, my breath coming in shallow bursts. This. This is Bryan letting his darker side show. And it’s freaking hot.
He’s not being gentle with me, not this time. If he thinks this will scare me off, he’ll be sorry to learn that it’s doing the opposite. He’s giving me everything I want—or hopefully he will be soon.
The metallic jingle of his belt buckle being unlatched sends a shiver down my spine. The sound of his zipper being lowered brings an almost Pavlovian response from my core.
Knowing that he’s freeing his cock…
That he’s going to be inside me any minute…
My desire goes wild. Desperate.
“Open yer wee box of rubbers and pass me one so I can give ye what yer drippin’ for.”
Yes, sir. I reach for the box. I try to pull the tab open, but it doesn’t give. I don’t know if there’s a clear plastic sticker on it or something, but I haven’t got the attention to spare and nothing is going to stop us now.
The cardboard doesn’t have a chance.
I shred the box, foil wrappers spilling out and raining on the table. Swiping my hand through them, I grab a handful and pass them back.
His body shakes behind me, but I don’t care if he’s laughing at how desperate I am. I’ve been dreaming about his cock in me for days now.
I want him and I’m not ashamed to admit it.
He doesn’t say a word and accepts the condoms.
Bent over the table with both my hands flat against the surface and my legs spread wide, I’m more turned on than I’ve ever been.
“Ye look fuckin’ sexy with not a stitch on but my gun holster and bent over for me to take ye from behind. I’ll be replayin’ this moment in the shower for years to come.”
The hum of the street beyond the window fades, swallowed by the pulse pounding in my ears. The tear of the foil wrapper makes my pussy clench and another rush of moisture warms my core.
Then silence.
Then him.
The hand pinning me to the table slides down my back, slow and sure, tracing the line of the holster still strapped around me. He palms the curve of my ass with both hands, squeezing—separating—before he hikes my hips up a bit and pulls me toward him.
A thrill shoots through me.
“Yer certain?” His voice is deeper than I’ve ever heard it before.
“I am,” I say, breathless already.
One of his hands grips my hip, anchoring me. The other skims forward, fingers slipping between my thighs. Two fingers push inside my pussy and my insides clamp down, throbbing.
“Och, yer pussy is greedy today, trouble. Yer fucking drenched.”
I know. There’s nothing to be done about it. He brings something feral out in me.
I want him—my body wants his.
He pumps his fingers inside me, teasing me enough to make me moan. I’m seconds away from begging, my entire body trembling with need.
“I love how yer body weeps for me, trouble,” he growls, leaning in, his lips pressing just below the leather strap where it crosses my spine. “It’s going to make this so good.”
“So good,” I breathe.
He pulls his fingers out and I mourn the loss, but then I look back and see him suck his fingers—coated in my arousal—into his mouth. A deep rasp of pleasure tears from his throat and he meets my gaze. “A feast fit for kings. Let’s put that cream to use, shall we?”
Stepping tight against the back of my thighs, he draws the head of his cock through my folds and slicks himself. Then, he presses at the entrance of my pussy and hesitates. I groan and press back, wanting him inside me.
The gentle pressure of his presence makes me feel unhinged. I need more. “Please,” I pant. “Don’t tease me.”
Thankfully, he takes pity on me. He pulls my hips as he sinks into me from behind, thick and slow, stretching me in the best kind of way.
My breath catches and I brace myself against the table, my back arching as I take him deeper. His fingers tighten at my hips as he buries his cock to the hilt.
When he’s fully inside me, his powerful thighs pressed tight against mine, he lets out a long, ragged sigh. “Och, ye squeeze me so tight—it’s like ye were made for me.”
Like we were made for each other .
Because he’s right, the way he fills me is beyond perfection. Or, at least, I think so until he starts to move…
Pure, mind-blowing pleasure.
From the first thrusts, he fucks with purpose—like he’s as out of control as I am. He grips my hips with bruising force but the pleasure overrides the pain by a long shot. The air is filled with the sounds of skin-on-skin, my throaty cries, the table legs scraping the floor. Hard and steady, he rocks into me, hitting something delicious deep inside my belly.
I’ve learned the true meaning of the Dublin Beast.
Because with his cock thrusting inside me, he’s everything I hoped he would be. And it’s not just the rhythm or the power of him railing me—it’s the way his hands grip me, rough and possessive every time he bottoms out.
Like he can’t get far enough inside me.
Like his dark and possessive nature is claiming me.
Pleasure coils tight inside me, building fast and hard. I press my hands against the table, my pussy rippling around his cock as my orgasm takes hold.
I arch my back, meeting every hammering thrust as I scream his name.
The orgasm crashes over me, shattering reality.
He follows a heartbeat later, his hips driving deep one final time as a rough curse breaks from his lips. Shouting something in Irish, he spills into me, holding me so tightly we might never come apart again.
Fine with me.
* * *
Bryan
I give Harper every fucking thing I’ve got, the manic need to lose myself inside her finally easing enough that I can almost breathe again. Having her naked and bent over the table wearing my Sig Sauer holstered against her bare breast is something I didn’t know would turn me into a ravenous beast.
But it did—it’s fucking hot.
This woman isn’t afraid of anything. The more I let her see the real me, the wetter she got.
I’m in real trouble here.
Friends who fuck was supposed to keep things simple, to allow us to burn off the sexual chemistry we share while understanding that this is very temporary.
She’ll go home.
I’ll go home.
We’ll resume our separate lives.
Stepping back, I pull out of Harper and all the roaring heat in my body drains out of me and leaves me cold. The thought of this ending has me tangled up inside—and that’s all the more reason to not let myself get carried away.
Turning away, I remove the used rubber, wrap it in a piece of paper towel, and toss it into the kitchen bin. I’m so up in my head, it takes me a moment to register what I’m seeing when I see Harper straightening off the table.
Fucking hell.
My fingerprints are already bruising the flesh of her hips and the front of her luscious thighs have a patch of red abrasion where I fucked her against the table.
My heart sinks and I stagger forward, dropping to my knees in front of her. “Fuck, Harper. I used you too hard. I’m sorry. You should’ve stopped me.”
She snorts a laugh. “Why would I stop you? That was the best sex of my life. Nothing you did was unwanted.”
“But you’re bruised and welted.”
She shrugs. “Worth it.”
I’m not sure if I’m angrier at her for giving me a pass or me for letting my beast out and hurting her. “Don’t do that. Don’t let me off the hook.”
She lets off another soft laugh and moves to stand before me. Placing her hands on my hips, she tilts her head back to meet my gaze. “I love a great workout. Do you know how many times I’ve come home from kickboxing or a hockey practice with bruises? Every time.”
I scowl. “I don’t hurt women.”
She shakes her head. “I’m not hurt. I’m not a girlie girl. I loved that you lost control. If you remember, I was right there with you.”
“Maybe, but?—”
“—And if I wanted you to stop or to let up, do you think I’d shy away? If you were truly hurting me, I could throw you off and assert myself at any time.”
“Aye, well, that’s true. You’ve done that on more than one occasion.”
She reaches behind my head, linking her hands. The position pushes her breasts against my chest as the scent of sex and sweat muddles my mind.
And just like that, my cock thinks it’s round two time.
Harper brushes her lips against mine. “Don’t tarnish what we just shared. I loved every second of it. And since you wore a condom and there’s sticky warmth running down the inside of both my thighs, you can’t argue with me. You lit me up.”
Stepping back, she goes over to the table and gathers the foil packages strewn wildly across the table. “But if it makes you feel better, you may now fuck me in the bedroom on a mattress.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh. “If it makes me feel better? You’re willing to put yourself out to soothe my worries? That’s very kind of you.”
She shrugs. “I’m Canadian. We’re a very kind and giving bunch.”
With her hands filled with shiny foil packages, she steps into the bedroom, giving me an extra waggle of her wee bum for good measure.
How am I supposed to keep her at a distance when everything about her makes me want to take her home and chain her to my bed for the rest of her life?