CHAPTER 24
The Pawn
I don’t remember much about my parents. I’ve been reminded that my mother wasn’t very social, which is probably where I get my introvert nature.
Father was a functional drunk, like an unfortunate number of Irish men.
He worked hard, and was known to be a funny lad…
while also a tank that brawled in pubs. But neither of them lived to see me grow up.
I ended up on Callum’s radar pretty early on, and he did his best to raise me like his own.
Once I started dabbling in useful trades…
I became one. I swore my blood. Inked my hand.
Sold my soul. I did his bidding for the sake of having a family I could call mine.
…But it never really felt like home…
Walking through the front door of the house that Bridget and I built…
that was unlike any other feeling I’ve ever known.
A place we don’t share with a hundred other people.
A place that feels like us. A spot like the Greys own, that has the energy to make a family dinner become something unforgettable.
Walls that’ll hear every laugh…and every fight.
Rooms that’ll keep memories safe for those moments we need to look back and feel something real.
It’s shiny. There’s a shit ton of red. Bridget’s stuff is still everywhere, and the dishes are never done unless I do them… but this. This is home.
And this is the first Christmas tree I’ve ever decorated.
It fucking shows.
“You can’t put another red one there, stupid. You gotta spread ‘em out.”
She walked right into that. I cut her a look, smirking and wagging my brows. It earned me an elbow to the stomach—as it usually does.
“Bridget, the whole tree is fucking red, love. You do realize that, don’t you?”
Emmy popped her head around the other side of the tree. Her adult teeth have finally grown in, and she looks like the most adorable, pain in the ass chipmunk I’ve ever seen.
“Swear jar, Uncle Dec.”
“Extra dollar for the word ‘stupid’,” Ruth added, moving the ornament I’d just painstakingly hung.
“We don’t even have a rutting swear jar!”
“You do, actually.” Seven shook a baby bottle as she handed Vivian a candy cane and shooed her away to hide it from Greg and Maggie. “It’s under the tree, wrapped in toilet paper because we’re classy bitches. Happy Christmas.”
Malek strolled into the living room, holding the baby in his arm and tucking a pink blanket around her as he raised her up and kissed her tiny head—a head full of red hair.
They named her Maeve. And Princess Maeve has turned every single one of us into mush.
Some part of me envies them, sometimes. It might be because every time I look at the little lass…
I see a piece of Bridget. I may not want it for a long time yet, and if Bridget’s taught me anything, it’s that the things worth having can’t be rushed.
My job now, is to live…and to keep my eagle eyes wide open so that all of us can continue to do so.
Through all the chatter, the spark of life, the craziness and the Irish insults…the blood…the skeletons in our closets. Through all our pitch-black darkness and the way we came together…I saw it. I saw it as I looked around the house that we built from all the ashes of what used to be.
Greg hoisted Vivian up to hang an ornament near the top of the Christmas tree, Maggie picking more out of the box that Em was digging through.
Vernon held tight to Miss Ruth, now fully recovered, as they watched us and their precious grandchildren make memories.
Seven and Malek sat close to each other on the sofa, feeding Maeve and squabbling over which one got to hold her while she eats… and it twinkled.
A penny Seven wore around her neck.
A reminder of how fucking lucky we are to have each other…
no matter what manner of madness brought us here.
I glanced over, wondering if Bridget was thinking the same thing…
and I got my answer. She stood at the fireplace, wearing her signature color and straightening a picture on the mantle.
I crept up behind her and slid my arms around her slender waist.
“Permission to come down your chimney?” I snickered quietly, kissing her neck as I buried my face into it. She snorted, her eyes following the hands I let rove towards inappropriate areas.
“We’ve got company, pervert. Some of them children, in case you need reminding.”
“They’re fine. I wanna be the first to give you a gift. If you’re feelin’ sentimental, then it’s the perfect time to sneak away. Please?”
She turned in my arms and tugged my beard, gripping my chin in her tiny hand. “You need a shave…and you have five minutes.”
“Generous of you, lass…I never last that long.”
I took her hand and led her away, leaving the framed photo of Callum and Eve behind us on the mantle.
With Bridget’s shop becoming a hit these last couple of months, it’s kept her from the house a bit more…
and given me enough time to pull the best fucking Christmas gift ever, out of my arse.
Don’t get excited. It’s not a skating rink she can wear on her painted finger…
but it’s still a statement. It’s also a promise that’s just as important as if I were asking her to marry me.
After all she’s been through, and all we’ve accomplished, it’s more necessary than breathing air.
I’ve worked hard to get this done. To get it right, and to get it in here without her knowing a thing.
There are a couple of unfinished rooms upstairs that we haven’t decided what will be used for.
Guest bedroom, probably. Maybe a library, or another office.
I’ve spent weeks trying to seem innocent and oblivious, focused on work, and not at all like I’ve used every moment she’s not in this house to build a room that exists for one reason, and one reason only.
You guessed it…a play room.
Bridget is a very adventurous…promiscuous…sexually driven deviant. An amazing, infuriating creature. Of course, she’ll love this. And she’ll, for damn certain, get entertainment and my money’s worth of pleasure outta this room of absolute fuckery…but that’s not what’s special about it.
I led her up the stairs, down the hall, and stopped her in front of the door, handing her a small, red leather box. She looked like she was about to throw up.
“Umm…what—is this?” I smiled and took my glasses off.
“Open it.”
“Declan, I—you know how much I love you, I just…I dunno if—”
“Bridget…open it. Just trust me.”
Her breath stuttered, and the pad of her thumb slid over the box, terrified to open it…
and I get it. I really do. I know she’s not ready for that kind of commitment right now.
Which is why this will end up so much better.
Not only will it solidify the notion that I’m in tune with what she needs…
it’ll also keep her confidence steady for whatever comes next.
She made huge moves this year. I need her to understand that I’m right behind her for all of them, and that she is who I think she is.
The box clicked open and her brows knotted.
“It’s…it’s a key,” she smiled. “How mysterious.”
I smiled like a slick git. “Maybe you should try it out on this here door.” She slid it into the knob and turned it. The door clicked open. “Lights will turn on when you walk inside.”
She looked equal parts intrigued, and terrified.
I followed her in, closing the door and locking it behind me…
and the dim lights came to life. Bridget gasped, her mouth dropping open when her eyes fell to the center of the room.
It couldn’t have gone better. There’s a lot…
to look at. A suspended red leather bed hangs from chains in the ceiling in one corner.
That wall is white tile with red handprints smeared across it for her psychotic taste.
In another corner, I painted the wall black and bought every realistic tree I could find to recreate Witherle Woods…
in case she’s a bad girl, and Batman needs to teach her a lesson.
One corner is built as close as I could get to my old room, where she first came to me and changed my entire life.
The rest of the room houses every kinky toy one could possibly think of, complete with a swing, suspended cuffs and a St. Andrews cross… for a different kind of religion.
But in the middle of the room…
“Every queen needs one,” I breathed, reaching around her and working my way down the buttons of her blouse. I ran my tongue up the shell of her ear and took it between my teeth as I slid the material down her shoulders.
“This is…fucking unreal. Are you kidding?”
I slipped her black leggings down, helping her step out of them and led her to the custom-built throne I had made for her.
Burnished and distressed, gold flaked and spattered with dark red paint to resemble the blood that she took for her name.
Red velvet upholstery in the same color as her favorite lipstick.
I turned her to face me, kissing her while I backed her up against the throne…
and lowered her down into it, dropping to my knees, and pulling my shirt over my head.
“I’m at your mercy, Bridget Byrne. I want you to know that. If you want the truth, I’ve been at your mercy ever since you found me in a crowded room full of better opportunity.”
“Dec…”
I pulled her red heel to rest on my bare chest and kissed her smooth pale skin from her knee to her ankle, slipping her shoe off.
“You didn’t have to choose me, lass. Even if I wasn’t your first choice…
I hope I’m the last. But I need you to know that I’m always gonna be loyal to you, no matter what our future holds.
I’ll be your lap dog. I’ll be your pawn; I’ll be your knight.
I’ll be your doormat. Your nerd, your tech guy.
I’ll be your fucking acolyte, Bridget. A disciple.
Whatever it takes to make me worthy.” I kissed her foot, switching legs and doing the same to the other before working my way up to cower between her thighs.
She stopped me.
Please tell me I wasn’t just the most over-eager son of a fuckin’—
“Stand up. Take your hair down.” I did, slowly…
and I dunno why I felt like my heart would fucking concave.
“Take your pants off and bring them to me.” I kept my eyes on her, doing as she asked, and she slowly spread her legs, showing a peek of that perfect pussy underneath red lace.
God, she looks good in that chair. One could say…
it was made for her. My prick stood proud as I inched forward, offering her my clothes.
She took ‘em…and tossed them to the floor.
Those blood-red fingernails scraped across my thighs, skating over my ass and digging into my flesh as she forced me forward and took my cock into her mouth.
There’s a lot Bridget does well, especially when it comes to buggering.
But this? This, she makes an art of. Some part of me feels like I should keep my hands to myself, but…
I’m finding it difficult. She hummed as her head bobbed, sending jolts of ecstasy through me, and I groaned…
my head slowly falling back as my eyes closed.
The head of my dick made a sound pop when it left her mouth, and she slowly stood until she was chest to chest with me.
“You’re wrong, you know. About a few things.”
“Am I? Educate me, Little Doe.”
She dragged her nails up my sides and kissed over my chest, biting down over spots and I hissed. “There was never a better opportunity, Declan. It was always you, even if I never wanted to admit it. And every queen doesn’t need a throne.”
“No?” I whispered, losing my mind in pleasure and pain.
“You know what she does need?”
My chest rose and fell, quicker and more shallow, now. “Tell me…”
She walked around me, turning me and I startled a bit when she shoved me down into the chair. “A king.”
Christ…I can’t fucking breathe.
“I’m not a king, Bridget…my ink is the lowest we’ve got.”
She dragged the straps of her bra down, popping it off, and I nearly salivated when she hooked her thumbs into the sides of her thong and bent over to take them down too.
I’m not responsible for the sound that came out of me when she climbed into my lap and situated a leg on either side.
Her hands took both my cheeks, and she leaned in for the most devastating kiss I think we’ve ever shared.
“If I wanted a knight…I could’ve had one.
Knights are too proud. Look at fucking Finn.
They’re never loyal where it counts.” I felt her warm cunt slide down onto me and I flinched, melting into her mouth when she kissed me again.
“My brother was a knight too. He walked away from his own house.” Her breath skated over my chin, clashing with mine and I grabbed the back of her head when she started riding me.
“I want the pawn. The one that has nothing to lose and devotes everything in him because he’s the kind of brave most men can’t handle.
” My fingertips dug into her thigh, and I gripped her cinnamon hair, whimpering when her gorgeous ass slapped against my legs.
“I want a real man, Declan…not some over-confident fucking boy.”
“Bridget,” I grunted.
“I want you.”
I’m really not gonna last five fucking minutes. Between everything she’s making me feel on the inside, and all the euphoria pounding away my sanity on the outside…Bridget Byrne has me by the fucking bollocks.
But hasn’t she always?
I would never say no to her, anyway. Not with something as serious as what she’s asking…I just need to know it’s real. After the last few months and the way they’ve played out…I’m finally certain of it.
“Yes,” I breathed, hanging on her lower lip while she fucked the breath outta me. “I’m yours, lass. Fucking always.”
I spilled into her. Every. Fucking. Drop. She tightened around me, rattling the throne when she shook, and her moan dragged through the play room like a goddamn symphony. I can’t feel my fucking legs.
“Merry Christmas, Mi’lord,” she grinned, breathless and spent…placing a kiss on the corner of my mouth. I grabbed her face and tried to taste the back of her throat before I answered.
“Merry Christmas, Mi’lady.”