Chapter 40 Zaria
ZARIA
The elevator chimes as the doors slide open on the fourteenth floor of the Killaney Trust building. My heels click against the polished marble as I step out, the sound echoing down the hallway lined with frosted glass offices.
It's been two months since I woke up in a hospital bed and learned what it meant to have a family.
My shoulder twinges as I adjust my bag, a phantom psychological pain the doctors said I'll probably have for some time. Not if Lyra has anything to do about it. She's making me do physical therapy. Three times a week of endless exercises with resistance bands and random movements.
The floor buzzes with the controlled chaos of a Monday morning. Assistants hurry past with stacks of folders, phones ring, and somewhere down the hall, I hear Keira's voice.
I pass a secretary who nods politely. She knows who I am now, as do most on this floor.
Callum's been here more in the past few weeks than in the months before, working alongside Keira to rebuild what Shadowharbor tore down. Permits. Licenses. Political connections that need mending. Without Cormac around now to sabotage everything, they've finally started to make some progress.
I turn down the hall and head toward Callum's office, which is behind heavy oak doors with fancy brass fixtures.
I don't knock. I never knock anymore.
He's on the phone when I pop my head in, his back to me as he stares out the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Boston. The city sprawls beneath him as he stands there in his tailored black suit like he owns every inch of it. Which, in a lot of ways, he does.
"I don't care what the zoning board says," he's saying, his tone firm and authoritative. "We had those permits locked down way before Shadowharbor pulled their little stunt. And need I remind you, they aren't what they used to be.”
He pauses, listening. I close the door behind me and turn the lock. He hears it and turns around, a small smile breaking through his stern face.
"Handle it," Callum says. "I don't pay you to bring me problems. I pay you to solve them. I've got to go." He hangs up.
"Zaria," he says, and my name in his mouth still does something to me, warming something low in my belly. "I wasn't expecting you until later."
"I got bored," I say, crossing the room toward his massive desk. I look down at all the papers scattered across the surface. "And you've been working too hard."
He leans back against the window, arms crossed over his chest, watching me. "Someone has to run the city."
"Mmm." I stop in front of the desk, my fingers trailing over the edge of a stack of documents. "Well, you look like you could use a little distraction."
His eyes darken, and the corner of his mouth twitches. "Is that so?"
I don't answer. Instead, I sweep my arm across the desk, sending some papers scattering to the floor.
Callum's eyes darken.
"Oops, I'll pick it up," I say, and turn around and bend over, my skirt riding up.
He's behind me before I can take another breath. I stand, grinding against him.
I turn around and look up at him. "Here you go," I say, and lay the papers on the desk.
He wraps his hands around me, his hand fisting in my hair as he pulls me against him. His mouth crashes into mine, not gentle, but claiming.
I moan against his lips, and his tongue sweeps into mine.
He spins me around, bending me over the desk. The wood is cool against my palms.
"Quiet," he says, his breath hot against my ear, as he hikes my skirt up. "There are people working out there."
His fingers hook into the waistband of my underwear and drag them down my thighs in one rough motion.
I gasp.
"Then you'd better make sure I stay quiet."
Behind me, I hear the clink of his belt buckle, the sound of his zipper.
"You came here to distract me," Callum says, his palm smoothing over my bare ass before delivering a sharp smack that makes me gasp. "So let's see how well you handle the consequences."
I feel the thick head of his cock press against my entrance, and his hand comes around and clamps over my mouth just as he pushes inside me, filling me completely.
The stretch burns. He's not gentle, doesn't give me time to adjust. But my body knows him now, welcomes the intensity.
"Fuck," he breathes, his hand gripping my face tighter as I moan into his palm. "You feel so good."
He pulls back and slams into me again, setting a brutal rhythm. With each thrust, papers flutter to the floor, and something, a pen holder maybe, or that expensive crystal paperweight Declan gave him as a joke, falls off.
I don't care, and neither does he. The only thing I can focus on is the feeling of him inside me, filling me so completely I can barely breathe.
His hand stays pressed over my mouth, muffling the sounds I can't control. His other grips my hip, holding me in place, keeping me exactly where he wants me.
"That's it," he growls. "Take it, baby."
I squeeze my eyes shut, overwhelmed by sensation. The desk edge digs into my thighs as my breath comes out hot and ragged. Outside the office, I can hear the muffled sound of voices, phones ringing, the ordinary rhythm of a workday carrying on while Callum Killaney fucks me senseless ten feet away.
The wrongness of it, the risk, only makes it better.
The hand on my hip slides around to my front, finding my clit and rubbing small circles that make my legs tremble.
My orgasm starts building fast, coiling in my belly. My body clenches around Callum, and he moans.
Electricity courses through me, and my eyes roll back. I'm so close I want to tell him not to stop, but I can't. His hand is tight around my mouth.
The pressure builds and builds until I can't hold it back anymore.
"Come for me," he orders as he slides in and out of me with such force my body is jolting forward from each thrust.
My hands scramble on the desk, trying to grab onto something, but the smooth surface gives me nothing.
I wind up crinkling a piece of paper as I shatter and see stars.
I come with a muffled cry against his palm, my body convulsing around him, and I squeeze my inner walls, and I feel his pace pick up.
A few thrusts later, he slams into me, burying himself deep inside as he spills his hot seed inside me.
For a long moment, neither of us moves. We just breathe together, his chest pressed against my back, his hand slowly sliding away from my mouth.
"Fuck," I manage to say.
He gives a breathless laugh. "Indeed."
He pulls out carefully, and I wince at the sudden emptiness. Behind me, I hear him fastening his belt. I push myself upright on shaking legs and tug my skirt back down, adjusting my panties.
I brush the hair out of my face, doing my best to look like I wasn't just bent over the desk of Boston's most powerful man.
He walks over to the bar cart, and I settle on the leather couch against the wall.
I watch him. He looks more relaxed now, the sharp edges of stress smoothed out, even if only temporarily.
He pours himself two fingers of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the afternoon light.
He doesn't offer me any. I don't drink, and he knows it. Instead, he brings over a bottle of sparkling water and sets it on the coffee table in front of me.
Small gestures. That's how Callum loves.
Not with grand declarations, but with remembering I prefer sparkling water to still.
With ordering Hawaiian pizza when I'm sad.
With twenty history books stacked in my own personal section of the library because I mentioned once that I used to dream about being a professor.
He settles into the armchair across from me, whiskey in hand, and takes a slow sip. His eyes never leave my face.
"I always like your distractions," he says with a smile.
"I always like distracting you," I say, and take a sip of water.
He takes another sip. "A bit random, but have you ever thought about getting married?"
The question hits me like a punch to the chest. I blink at him, certain I misheard.
"What?"
He smiles, perfectly calm, like he just asked about the weather instead of dropping a bomb in the middle of a Monday afternoon.
"Marriage," he repeats. "Have you thought about it?"
My mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
"Why?"
He sets the glass down on the side table and leans forward, elbows on his knees.
"We had a conversation once," he says slowly, "about you wanting to have kids. But never marriage."
I remember that conversation. Lying in bed one night after we'd slept together, when everything still felt fragile and impossible. I'd mentioned children in some abstract, hypothetical way, and he'd said something about not being able to imagine wanting that with anyone before.
Before me.
I shrug, trying to ignore the way my heart is racing in my chest. "I guess they go together. Well…" I pause, reconsidering. "They don't have to, but I'd like them to."
Callum picks up his drink again, takes a slow sip, and looks at me over the rim.
"Four kids?" he asks, smiling.
I let out a startled laugh. "Four kids? God, Callum, it's hard enough asking a woman that. I mean…" I press a hand to my chest, laughing despite myself. "I'm scared about the pain of having one, and you want me to go through it four times?"
He sets down the whiskey and comes to the couch, sitting beside me. His hands cup my face, thumbs tracing the curve of my lips.
"I want to have one hundred kids with you," he says, and then he kisses me.
It's nothing like the kiss from before, not hungry or demanding. This one is slow and sweet.
When he pulls back, I'm breathless and flushed. "Well, when you do that, I'm tempted to give them to you."
His smile widens. He stands, straightening his jacket, and there's something new in the set of his shoulders.
"I've got plans for you, Zaria. You just wait."
"Oh, I'd…"
A sharp knock at the door cuts me off.
Callum's expression shifts in an instant, soft warmth replaced by the cool mask of the Don. He walks over to the door, unlocks it, and pulls it open to reveal his assistant, a middle-aged woman named Catherine who's worked for the family for years. She looks apologetic but urgent.
"Mr. Killaney? There are some lawyers here. They say it's urgent." She hesitates, glancing past him to where I'm sitting on the couch. "They're looking for a Zaria Quinn. Or Zaria Donoghue?"
My stomach drops.
"What?" Callum's voice sharpens. I stand, my legs suddenly unsteady. "Where are they?"
"Conference Room B."
"Okay." He turns to look at me, and I can see him cataloging my reaction. Then he looks back at his assistant. "We'll be right there."
He closes the door and turns back to me.
"Do you have any idea what this could be about?"
I shake my head slowly, my mind racing through possibilities, each one worse than the last. I come up empty, though. Lawyers looking for me, using both names, the one my mother gave me and the one tied to Cormac.
"Should I be nervous?" I ask.
"No," Callum says, and walks over to me, putting his hand on my shoulder. "It's lawyers, not the police. Come on, let's go. If it goes south, I'll stop it, and they can contact our legal team."
I nod, not trusting my voice.
Callum takes my hand and leads me out of the office. The walk to Conference Room B feels endless. Every step brings a new wave of anxiety, a new question I can't answer.
Who would be looking for Zaria Quinn?
Who even remembers she exists?