Chapter Twenty-Four #2
I want to keep pounding her nonstop till she breaks or I do. I’d fucking kill her with pleasure if I didn’t rein it in.
She leans back on my chest, head resting in the crook of my neck, wet hair tickling my jaw.
“I fucked up,” I murmur, voice dropping low. Guilt, like knives, through my gut.
Her body tenses against me, water rippling. “Why do you say that?” Her eyes stay closed, but her breath quickens, pulse thrumming at her throat.
“That night at the fight. I shouldn’t have taken you.” My arms band around her waist, possessive even in confession. “I knew they’d raise hell.”
She shifts, not away, but to face me better. Water clings to her lashes. “Who? Your mafia friends?”
“Flanaghan.” No more lies. She’s my wife now. “He’s been off. I think he wants to lead the Consortium.”
She nods slow, like she’s processing it.
“Rules are ironclad,” I continue, thumb tracing her hipbone underwater. “No outsiders touch our world, office, documents. If they do? They meet death. We bury the secrets.”
“Oh.” Soft realisation dawning. Her eyes flick side to side, piecing the puzzle. “You married me so they wouldn’t kill me.” Disappointment laces her tone, and fuck, it stings.
I grip her chin, tilt her face to mine. “I fucked you like my soul depended on it. The Consortium?” I brush my lips on the tip of her nose. “Just lit a fire under my ass. You were mine the second you let me sink balls-deep, Autumn. Rules or no rules.”
Her lips curl with a soft smile, water dripping from them. She moves and straddles me in one fluid twist, knees planting outside my thighs. Warm water cascades off her tits as she rises; her cunt glides along my length, slick and teasing. I’m rock-hard now, throbbing against her.
“So Flanaghan wants the throne.” She rocks slowly, like torture.
I nod, hands gripping her ass, my fingers digging into her wet flesh.
“You married me to protect me.” Her hand dips under water, wraps my cock firmly, stroking root to tip. Veins pulse in her palm.
“Autumn.” A warning growl escapes my lips, but my hips buck involuntarily.
“And Declan? His brothers?”
“I needed approval. Witnesses.” My voice rags as she pumps faster, thumb swirling precome over the head.
“Flanaghan wanted me dead?” She stills, her hand frozen, eyes wide.
I lean my head back against the tub, water lapping my chest.
Fucking Christ.
“He knew I’d never kill you. That’d paint a target on my back before I would let anyone touch you.”
Her lips part, shock ripples through her.
“We thought the rule locked marriage inside our world.” Emotion surges. The idea of her blood on my hands? Unbearable. “But my great-grandmother—”
“Wasn’t Consortium.” She finishes, voice soft.
“Or rich.” I smile. “Just my great-grandfather’s obsession. His love.”
She rises higher on her knees, grips my cock, lines up. Sinks slow, inch by torturous inch. Her walls part, still swollen from before, gripping like velvet fire. I moan, guttural, hands vise-like on her hips.
“Autumn, for fuck’s sake.”
Her head snaps back, lips parting on sweet, broken moans as she bottoms out, ass flush to my thighs, water sloshing over the edges.
“Tell me I’m yours.” She locks eyes, rocking shallowly.
“You’re fucking mine, Autumn Brady. My wife. My everything.” I slam up, hard, claiming, water splashing wild. “Mine.”
I thrust over and over, hips snapping against her pelvis, waves crashing the tub sides. Grabbing her breast, I suck hard, tongue lashing the nipple, teeth grazing till she yelps. She fists my hair, pulls it, and it spurs me feral.
“Fucking mine.” I repeat like a mantra, pounding deeper.
“I’m—” Her voice cracks, panting, walls fluttering warning. “Yours.”
She shatters, the orgasm ripping through her, convulsing hard around me, milking me ruthlessly. Our juices mix with water; her nails cut into my shoulders.
I follow with a roar muffled in her neck, unloading deep, pulses flooding her again. My grunts tangle with her moans, a symphony of us.
I carry her to my bed, lay her down, and pull the silk sheets and blanket over her; she shivers. My chest burns just by looking at her. How the fuck did I end up here?
“Are you cold?” I ask as she curls under the fabric, only her eyes showing.
“Maybe if you let me put on my pyjamas.” Her voice muffles under the blankets.
I smirk. “I want to feel your naked body next to mine, all night long.” I turn toward the fireplace and light it up.
“Oh.” She purrs, and I watch her close her eyes, her little nose peeking out as she takes in the flames. I turn the lights off and head to the bed.
She lifts the blankets for me, a simple gesture that hits harder than any fight. I’ve never shared my bed with a woman before. To fuck in hotels, yes. But here, in my bedroom, in my bed, never.
I swallow hard and lie beside her. She curls into me instantly, her head on my shoulder, her hand on my chest, and I feel her soften. The glow from the fireplace turns her hair into something unreal. She looks like a goddess planted on this earth to push me past my limits.
Her breathing slows; she’s asleep. I’m wide awake. Part of me wants to move her away, get her out of my bed. I don’t do this. I don’t cuddle. I don’t share my room. I don’t—
Fuck me.
She’s my wife. And the way my heart is hammering, the way her warmth settles something inside me I didn’t know was broken.
Looking down on her, lying here, her ring over my heart. I place my hand over hers.
She’s mine. Forever.
A thought cuts through me, and I make a decision.
I’m going to kill John Flanaghan. For her. For us.