7. Eoghan
Chapter seven
Eoghan
G oddamnit. I fucked up. I shouldn’t have told her about Tommy. Or maybe I shouldn’t have done it in the first place. No, fuck that. I did what felt right. She wasn’t in danger at the time, and I wanted to make sure it stayed that way. Cataldi wasn’t the sort of man I wanted to underestimate. My brother and Ozzy did, and it nearly got their women killed. I wasn’t going to allow that with Gemma.
She’s not your woman, you numpty.
Yeah, fuck that little voice, too. She might be pissed right now, but there’s no denying the heat that exploded between us was unlike anything I’ve ever felt before, and I damn well know she hasn’t either.
I grab my phone out of my pocket and dial Tommy’s number as I watch Gemma’s car make a right turn onto the next street.
“Hey, boss.”
“You have eyes on Gemma?”
“Yup.” I watch his car follow her onto the street.
“Okay. Make sure she gets back to her apartment then you can take off.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Cataldi’s out of the picture. There’s no reason for you to stay on her.” That’s been the case for the last couple days. I should have called him off earlier…but I didn't. Part of me liked the idea of knowing he was keeping an eye out for her. The other part knows my light stalking is wrong and blah, blah, blah . I rarely listen to that voice, so I don’t see the point in starting now. Gemma is most likely on the lookout for a tail, and honestly, I don’t wish her wrath on anyone. If she spots Tommy, I have no doubt she’ll have some very choice words for him, and then me, as soon as she’s done filleting the poor guy.
“Whatever you say, boss. I’ll meet you at the bar tomorrow?”
“Yeah. Time to get fight nights back up and running.”
“Okay, have a good night,” he says and hangs up.
I was on my way to having a great night until I opened my fat mouth and decided to try that whole “honesty” thing my brother is always going on about. That sure bit me in the ass in spectacular fashion.
Instead of stewing on the events of the evening, I decide to make my way to Clovers for a nightcap. The bar is busy as hell when I walk in. Good for business, but not so great for my mood. Instead of making the rounds and shaking hands with some of our regulars, I head to my office and sit behind my large oak desk. There are expense reports stacked on my desk that need my attention, but the bottle of Irish whiskey in the left bottom drawer is what’s calling my name right now.
My phone alerts me to movement outside of Gemma’s apartment, and I pull up the camera feed to see her walking inside. A moment later, I get a text from Tommy telling me she’s home safe and that he’s heading back to his place. I thank him and let him know tomorrow afternoon would be a better time to meet than in the morning. Tonight, I’m drowning my idiocy with whiskey.
Staring at my phone, I think about why Gemma was so pissed. I’m not stupid. I’m well aware of the fact that having Tommy on her was an invasion of privacy—just like having a camera pointed at her door so I can monitor who comes in and out or tracking her credit cards falls under that umbrella. Thank God I didn’t mention that part. Do I regret what I’ve done? No, not particularly. I wanted information on her and what she was doing. It’s not like I’m doing any of it to be creepy. Just curious.
Curiosity killed the cat, dumbass.
Jesus, my inner voice is really fucking rude tonight.
Since some people are apparently touchy about privacy and all that shit, I pull up the app that’s connected to her camera and log out. There. Now she can’t get mad at me for spying on her anymore. Not that I would tell her about it in the first place. Not after her reaction over Tommy.
I take a swig of whiskey directly from the bottle. Gemma can have her opinions about what she finds acceptable, but like she said, she didn’t grow up in this life. If there’s even a chance her life could be in danger because of her connection to the Amattos or my family, I’ll do whatever the hell I think is best, regardless of her opinion on the matter. She doesn’t understand this life—not fully. I’m not going to make any apologies for caring about her safety. Now, my obsessive tendencies with the camera and tracking her credit cards? Well, I’m not going to go down that road.
The fucking abyss I found myself falling under when I touched my lips to hers is playing over and over in my mind. Though I relish in the burn of the whiskey as the next swig travels down my throat, I’m suddenly angry that it’s washing the taste of her from my mouth. I need another. And not of the alcohol grasped in my hand.
Screw it.
I put the cap back on the bottle and shove it into its place in my desk drawer, slamming it shut for good measure. My body bursts from my chair, causing it to slam into the wall behind me, and I make my way across my office. Yanking open the door that leads to the small hallway, I shut off the lights, lock the door behind me, and set the alarm. Then, with sure steps, I make my way back through the bar and to my car with one destination—and one need—in mind. Another taste of her mouth. That’s the only thing that will calm the swirling in my gut that no whiskey in the world could touch.
When I pull up to Gemma’s apartment building, the lack of security irritates the hell out of me. I know, thanks to her bank statements, that she makes plenty of money; she could live in a safer building. Not that she’s in a bad neighborhood or anything, but there’s no doorman, for Chrissake. Anyone who knows the code—like I do—could have access to her building anytime they want. I’m here proving that very point as I punch the code in the small vestibule to gain entrance to her building.
See, anyone could do it.
I pull my phone from my pocket and dial Gemma’s number as I make my way up the stairs to her apartment on the third floor.
“What do you want, Eoghan?” she asks when she answers.
That’s a loaded question. “To apologize.”
She remains silent on the other end.
“You still there?”
“Yeah. Sorry, I was stunned speechless.”
“Cheeky woman,” I growl into the phone. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t clear it with you when I called Tommy to keep an eye on things while I was busy with….stuff.” Alessia has said before that Gemma doesn’t know details about the world we live in and prefers it that way. “But Gemma, I’m not sorry I did it.” I’m not entirely sure what her heavy sigh means because her face is on the other side of the door I’m now standing in front of.
“Eoghan. There are so many reasons why this is a bad idea. Why that kiss tonight shouldn’t have happened. You thinking it’s okay to put a protection detail on me without telling me is just one.”
“You have a lot of ideas about why this is wrong, but that kiss was anything but a bad idea, and you damn well know it. That kiss…” I let my voice trail off. “When your lips met mine, I nearly cried from relief. All the feelings, all the attraction we’ve been dancing around for weeks, finally boiled over in that bathroom. It was inevitable and unexpected at the same time; you know what I mean? Even I wasn’t prepared for how perfect you fit against me, or how delicious your mouth tastes.” She doesn’t say anything, but I hear her breathing on the other end of the line, so I know she hasn't hung up on me. “I went to my bar after I left the restaurant. I figured, since you ran out on me, I’d drown my mood in whiskey.”
“So you’re drunk? That’s why you’re calling me?”
“Far from it. I stopped drinking after two shots. Ask me why,” I command.
She’s silent. Of fucking course she is.
“Ask me why, blondie.”
Her huff of annoyance brings a smile to my lips as I take a step closer to her front door.
“Fine. Why did you stop drinking?”
“Because it washed the taste of you from my mouth. I need another, blondie.”
“Eoghan,” she says with a groan.
“Open your door.”
I hear her footsteps and watch the shadow fall over the peephole of her door before it disappears just as quickly.
“Open the door. Please.” I’m practically begging at this point, but fuck. I’m desperate for her, and knowing she’s just on the other side of this slab of wood is killing me. She disconnects the call, but for several long moments, there’s no movement on the other side. If she thinks I won’t stand out here all night, she obviously knows nothing about how far I’ll go or how long I’ll wait to have her mouth on mine again.
Gemma finally takes mercy on me, and her door opens, revealing her in a white silk robe, her full breasts heaving against the thin fabric. Her hair is tied up in one of those messy buns on top of her head, and her cheeks are free of makeup; they’re rosy, as though she was either soaking in a warm bath or she can’t hide her body’s reaction to me. I like to think it was the latter.
I drink her in. The way she’s staring so openly at me. It’s in her eyes. The same need that made it impossible for me to not come here tonight and knock on her door. Or beg for her to open it. Whatever. I can admit that I’m not always a proud man, and there’s something about Gemma Dalton that has me throwing all that bullshit out the window.
“Hi,” she says, still holding the door.
“Hey, blondie.”
Standing there in her doorway feels monumental somehow. Like this is a do-or-die moment.
Luckily, I'm a doer.
I step toward her and wrap my arm around her waist, yanking her body to mine. She lets out a small gasp at the sudden movement, and I don't waste another second as I crash our mouths together, immediately tangling my tongue with hers. I shuffle forward a bit and she moves back, giving me room to kick the door closed with my booted foot. The scent of jasmine invades my nose, and I taste red wine on her tongue before I pull away and look her in the eye.
“How much have you had to drink?” She doesn’t seem to be intoxicated, plus she’s only been here for forty-five minutes tops.
“Half a glass. Are you the sobriety police all of a sudden?”
Her brow arches as I bring my right index finger to the edge of her robe and slide the soft material from her shoulder. My mouth replaces the silk that was just there, and I trail kisses across her skin to just below her ear, grinning at the goose bumps left in the wake of my lips.
“There’s no doubt in my mind that, at some point, you're going to try to make excuses for why you let me into your apartment—into your body.” My left arm glides down her perfect, round ass, and I press her closer to me so she can feel what she does to me. “Alcohol will not be one of those reasons.”
“You’re expecting me to have regrets already? You’re not really hyping this up very well.”
I lift my hand from her ass and bring it back down against her covered flesh. Hard. I expect indignation, but instead, lust dances in her ice-blue gaze.
Interesting.
“Do you ever shut that mouth of yours? Maybe I should take this sash and tie it around your mouth.”
“You love my mouth,” she says before her breath hitches as I trail my other hand to the front of her robe and quickly undo the knot at her waist. Her robe parts and I skate my fingertips from her navel, watching her muscles ripple as I trace a light line up her belly, then between her breasts, circling my hand around her soft neck.
“You're absolutely right, blondie. Now give me another taste.”
I yank her to me again and devour her mouth, whimpers and moans sounding as I plunge my tongue inside and battle with hers. Her hands find the buttons of my shirt, and she begins undoing each one while we greedily take and take from each other in a rough, claiming kiss.
When she finishes unbuttoning my shirt, Gemma breaks the kiss and practically rips the material from my body. I don’t miss the way her eyes travel over every hard plane of my chest and over the swirls of ink I have marked there and down each arm to my elbows. I may or may not tighten my abs and pecs while she examines the tattoos before her nails score over the hard flesh of my chest.
“Fuck,” she says, appreciating the hours of work I’ve put in to make my body the machine it is.
“Your turn,” I say as I remove the robe from her body. This is the first time I’ve seen Gemma completely naked, and holy shit, I might fucking pass out. Her pale skin offsets the rosy color of her hard nipples. There’s a small beauty mark on the side of her left breast, and I immediately decide I need to taste it. When my mouth goes to that spot, Gemma’s hands tangle in my hair, pulling at the short stands. I lick my way to her peaked nipple and swirl my tongue around the bud before pulling it into my mouth and sucking hard. Her fingers tighten in my hair, and my cock feels as though it’s about to punch itself straight out of my jeans. Goddamn, this is going to be over before it starts if I’m not careful.
Lifting my head from her sweet skin that tastes like whatever she was soaking in, I take her mouth in another bruising kiss. Gemma’s hand goes to the belt at my waist and she makes quick work of my zipper before her hand delves into my boxer briefs and squeezes my hard cock. My forehead is pressed to hers, and a hiss at the sensation of her hand around me escapes. Her soft chuckle vibrates through me before I grab her hand and rip it out of my pants then lift her by the waist, wrapping her legs around my middle. It takes five long strides to get to the couch on the other side of her living room, and I bend down before dropping her on the soft cushion. I sink to my knees and spread her muscular thighs, eying the place I want to be more than anything in this world. When my finger lightly trails up her center, her entire body shudders with the contact.
“Fuck, Gemma. I need to taste you before I bury myself inside you.”
“Then do it,” she says before biting her lower lip and staring at me in a challenge.
When I throw her legs over my shoulders and grab her thighs to pull her to the edge of the couch, she lets out a loud laugh. But as soon as my tongue parts the lips of her pussy, that laugh turns into a deep moan, bringing a wide smile to my face as I flick my tongue over her swollen clit in quick movements. Her hands grasp the cushion on either side of her hips, and I hear threads snap as Gemma writhes on my mouth. When I look up to her face, her head is thrown back with her mouth open as moan after moan falls from her lips. She’s right; I do love her mouth too much to ever do anything that would make it hard to hear her moaning my name with the occasional fuck, that feels so good sprinkled in.
It’s when I slide two fingers into her tight channel, curling them to graze that spot inside, that her words become incoherent, and her body seizes as she tips over the edge into ecstasy. I continue to lick and pump into her. My gaze stays on her face the entire time, and when she finally comes down from her orgasm, it takes monumental effort not to bang my chest and prance like a peacock. I did that. I put that look on her face. The stone-cold princess who said she would never give me a shot in hell just came in my mouth, and I fucking loved every second.
Gemma is a mess of satiated desire on the couch, practically melting into the cushions with a blissed-out smile spread across her pink lips. But I’m not done. My hands untie the laces of my boots, and I yank them and my socks off before standing to my full height. After shucking out of my jeans and boxer briefs, I pump my cock a couple times in my hand. The look in Gemma's eyes tells me she hasn’t had her fill yet either. She sits up and wraps her lips around the head of my dick and my hand tangles in her hair, my eyes rolling to the back of my head at finally feeling her hot mouth on my cock. She then swirls her tongue, making me nearly lose my shit and shoot down her throat.
“Fuck, babe. I’m not coming in your mouth before I get the chance to see those perfect tits bounce in my face while you ride me.”
I grab a condom from the pocket of my discarded jeans. What can I say? Luck happens when preparation meets opportunity, so I make it a point to always be prepared.
Sitting on her soft, gray couch, I lean over her and grab her by the hips, hauling her onto my lap. She lets out a small squeal, which I cut off with a kiss. Soon, she’s writhing wildly on top of me. The feel of her wet pussy sliding over my length along with her tits pressed into my chest as I devour her mouth is getting me so damn worked up I’m ready to say fuck it and slam inside her. But I refrain. I am a gentleman, after all. And neither of us is in the right headspace for that conversation.
I break the kiss and grab the condom sitting next to me. Gemma lifts her weight from my chest and settles herself on my thighs, giving me ample room to slide the condom down my length. My hand tangles in her hair again before I pull her close for a kiss as she lifts her hips, placing her drenched opening over the head of my cock. Our moans mingle in our kiss, and she slides herself down until I’m fully inside of her tight heat.
“Fuck,” she groans out as she lifts herself again and glides back down. Over and over, she rolls her hips on top of me and takes me deeper inside her delicious body. She’s controlling her pleasure, but there’s one thing missing as she rides me with her head lifted toward the ceiling, her eyes squeezed shut.
“Look at me, Gemma. Give me your eyes.”
When her wild blue gaze collides with mine, it’s as though a charged current snaps in place.
“Do you feel that?” I ask, pressing my forehead to hers as I continue to pump in and out of her from below.
“You feel so good, Eoghan.” Her eyes stay connected to mine, and though I want to watch her pussy take me over and over, I can’t look away from her blue depths.
“I’ll never get enough of you,” I growl, slamming my mouth to hers.
Her whimpers fill the room, and I know she’s close. Thank God, because I don’t know how much longer I can hold off.
When her walls tremble and clamp down around me, I let out a shout as my cock jerks, and I release myself into the thin latex. Gemma’s body goes taut, and her nails dig into the skin on my shoulders. I watch her fall over the edge with a high moan that’s music to my fucking ears.
As her breathing slows and the remnants of her orgasm have subsided, she realizes her nails have left grooves in my skin.
“Sorry about that,” she says, kissing the marks in an uncharacteristically tender gesture.
“I’m not.” My hands trail up and down her sweat-slicked back while I’m still seated inside of her. When she moves to get off me, I band my arms around her waist.
“I’m all sticky,” she says with a laugh, trying to get away.
“I don’t care. I like you like this.”
“Naked and thoroughly fucked?”
A chuckle vibrates through me. “Yeah. That. And here. With me.”
Gemma lets out a hum of agreement and settles back against my chest. We lie there for a few moments until I hear her phone vibrating somewhere in the distance.
“Ugh,” she groans out. “I’m not ready for the rest of the world yet.”
“Ignore it,” I say as I kiss the side of her head, smelling her sweet shampoo. “Fuck, I love the way you smell.”
She laughs. “That’s a first. I swear I don’t think I’ve ever had a man sniff me as much as you do.”
“What can I say? It’s the one sweet thing about you.”
She laughs and half-heartedly slaps my chest. “I need to go empty my bath. I’m sure you have to get home soon, too.”
The way she says it isn’t so much a statement as it is a question. As though she’s trying to gauge my reaction and how this is going to play out now that we’ve scratched the itch.
“Or,” I say, running my hand through her blonde locks, “we empty the bath, fill up your tub again, and I make you come a couple more times before I have you so thoroughly exhausted that you pass out in your bed. And then in the morning, you let me take you out to breakfast.”
Gemma shrugs her slim shoulder with her head still on my chest. “That sounds like a good plan, too.”
There’s no controlling the victorious smile that takes over my face. It could be the two orgasms or the fact she’s finally stopped fighting me, but I’m getting to see the soft underside of my blondie, and I have to say, I really fucking like it.
“Okay,” I say, tapping her ass with my hand. “Show me the way.”
We both groan a bit when she lifts off me, and I slide from her body. When Gemma walks over to where her phone sits on her kitchen counter, I shamelessly ogle her naked form. The way she casually stands without a scrap of clothing with the confidence of someone comfortable in their skin is waking up parts of me that were completely spent moments ago. I reach over to the small table next to the couch and grab a couple tissues, using them to remove the condom from my already half-hard dick.
The way Gemma’s jaw tightens when she looks at the screen on her phone doesn’t escape my attention.
“Everything alright?”
She looks over at me and pastes a smile on her lips. “Yup, just work stuff.”
There’s no reason to think she’s lying, but I haven't gotten where I am in life by not being able to sense when people aren’t being one-hundred-percent honest.
That’s the thing with Gemma, though. She may have let me into her body, but letting me into her life is going to take a hell of a lot more work and isn’t going to be accomplished in one night.
Good thing my father taught me the rewards of hard work always pay off in the end.
After breakfast at my favorite little diner that serves the best Belgian waffles on the planet, I leave Gemma with a kiss at her doorstep and head to the bar to get some work done. Tommy meets me for lunch, and we go over the plans for a fight night in a few weeks. I’m sure Javier will be ready to get in the ring by then, judging by the reports from the trainer I set him up with. Kid’s got talent and is going to make himself and my family a shit ton of money.
I’d like to say I’m able to concentrate better on the paperwork that has been sitting on my desk. People may think bars practically run themselves or that I’m only interested in the fight nights and having my own personal watering hole. But the bars my family owns make a lot of money, legal or otherwise, and I’m responsible for it all. My brother is the face of what the Monaghan organization has turned into, with our lucrative gun business and a successful underground casino, but we started in the booze business, namely bootlegging and speakeasies. Though what I do is a far cry from how things were run when liquor was outlawed, I like to consider myself as the one carrying on part of our family tradition. It's no walk in the park, but it’s always suited me and I’m happy with my role in our organization.
When I lift my head from the last invoice and sign the check to the distributor, the clock on my wall says it’s seven o’clock on the dot. The thought crosses my mind to pick up takeout and head home, but there’s somewhere else I’d rather eat and rest my head tonight, and it isn’t in my lonely apartment where a certain blonde won’t be.
I knock on Gemma’s door, wondering if she’ll hear me over the loud music playing in her apartment. I wait. Then, I knock again and wait some more. When I knock for the third time, the door finally opens, and Gemma’s flushed face greets me.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, eying the bag of takeout and the bottle of wine.
I hold up both items and smile. “Dinner.”
“I didn’t know you were coming over.” She hasn’t moved or opened the door farther.
“Because I didn’t tell you. It’s called a surprise. You’re familiar, no?”
“With the concept in general, yes.”
“Jesus, blondie, are you going to let me in, or am I going to have to get on my knees and beg?” I shoot her a wicked smile. “Not that I’m opposed to getting on my knees for you.”
She rolls her eyes and steps out of the way.
“Good call.” I walk through her doorway and lean down to give her a quick kiss. “Where are your plates?” I ask as I head into the kitchen, leaving her standing by her door with a slightly stunned and slightly confused expression on her face. She shakes her head and closes the door before following me and opening a cabinet in her small galley kitchen, pulling out a couple plates and two wineglasses. I’ve never been a fan of wine, but I know she is, so I figure I’ll give it another shot.
“We have Mongolian beef, kung pao chicken, fried rice, and shrimp lo mein,” I tell her as I pull each box from the bag.
“Yes to everything except the shrimp lo mein,” she says, pulling spoons and a couple forks from her drawer. It doesn’t escape my attention how domestic and right this feels as we move around each other, piling our plates before we head over to the small dining table next to her kitchen.
“You don’t like shrimp?” I ask, looking for any kernel of her life that I didn’t dig up myself.
“I hate seafood, especially shrimp lo mein.”
“Bad experience?”
“You could say that.” She doesn’t offer anything further, and I don’t push. Gemma is many things. Fiercely loyal to her friends, brilliant and sexy as all hell. But the one thing she isn’t is an open book.
“What did you do today?” I ask before taking a bite of rice.
“What I do every Sunday. Cleaned and caught up on laundry.”
“Do you always blare music while you clean?”
“Better than being in a quiet apartment.” She spears me with a questioning look as she takes a sip of the chilled white wine I brought. “Why did you bring me dinner?”
Leaning over to kiss her, I pull back with the taste of Gemma and wine on my lips. “Better than being in a quiet apartment.” She quirks her brow, and I shoot her a wink before digging back into my food. “We used to eat take-out Chinese every Friday night. It was the one night my mom didn’t cook, and my dad would come home with bags full of nearly everything on the menu from a place down the street from Clovers.” I smile, remembering sitting at our dining room table and slurping noodles with my brother and Cillian. Or seeing who could stuff the most spring rolls in our mouths at one time. “When we got older, my parents insisted on me, Finn, and Cillian being at the table every Friday night. I think it was their way of having one night where we made sure to be together as a family.”
“You grew up with Cillian?”
“Yeah. His mom went through a rough couple years, and my dad took him under his wing. He’s practically an honorary Monaghan.”
“He’s lucky he had your family.” There’s a hint of melancholy in her voice that makes me curious about how she grew up.
“What about you? Any brothers or sisters?”
Gemma scoffs and shakes her head. “No, thank God. It was just me and my mother.” The way she says “mother” tells me there’s a lot more to her story and it isn’t a happy one. Again, she doesn’t elaborate, and I don’t push. That’s not the way I’m going to get her to break down her walls. It’s going to take more than some takeout and sex for her to let me in. Though patience was never my strong suit, something about Gemma tells me it’s going to be so damn worth it when she finally opens up to me.
We finish our meal and have a seat on her couch; Gemma leans back into the cushions, her hand resting on her belly.
“God, I’m stuffed. Thank you for bringing me dinner.”
My fingers wrap around a lock of her bright-blonde hair, playing with the soft strands. “You done with your cleaning?”
Her head tilts toward me. “I just have to make my bed.”
I hum, considering her statement. “How ’bout I make you a deal?”
Her soft lips tilt in a small smile. “What?”
“I’ll help you make it if you let me sleep in it.”
“Just sleep?”
“I mean, if that's what you want—”
Before I finish my sentence, she throws her leg over me and straddles my lap. “It’s not.”
“Just to be clear, this isn’t why I came over.”
Gemma’s brow quirks when she feels the reaction my body has to her being pressed against me. “So you don’t want to take me to bed?”
“I sure as hell didn't say that.”
“Eoghan?”
“Yes?”
“Shut up and kiss me.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Though I didn’t come over with the intention of anything more than dinner and a night spent in Gemma’s company, I’m sure as hell not going to pass on spending another night making her scream my name. Only a saint could resist the blonde currently grinding herself on my hard cock, and that’s something I’ll never claim to be.