Chapter 8
CHAPTER
EIGHT
The phone call comes at five in the morning, dragging me from dreams I shouldn't be having about my boss's daughter.
"Conall." Tiernan's voice carries the rasp of a man who's been awake all night. "We have a problem."
I'm already reaching for my clothes. "What kind of problem?"
"The dock workers are talking strike. Mickey Donovan called an emergency meeting for eight. Says the port authority is breathing down their necks."
My blood chills. The docks are our lifeline—every major shipment flows through Mickey's crew. If they walk, we lose millions and draw federal attention we can't afford.
"I'll handle it," I say.
"No." Tiernan pauses, and I hear the weight of his decision. "Saoirse will."
"Sir?"
"She needs to prove herself to the men. They still see her as the little girl who used to steal cookies from their lunch boxes. Time they learned different."
I close my eyes. Saoirse has been back from Oxford for three weeks, and every day makes it harder to remember she's off-limits. Watching her take charge of family meetings, seeing her sharp mind dissect problems—it's like watching a goddess discover her power.
"Understood. I'll protect her."
"You'll do more than that. You'll make sure she succeeds. Because if she fails..." Tiernan doesn't finish the threat. He doesn't need to.
I arrive at the warehouse to find Saoirse already there, standing at the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the harbor. She wears a charcoal suit that hugs her curves like armor, her dark hair swept up to expose the elegant line of her neck. The sight of her hits me like a punch to the gut.
She doesn't turn when I approach, but her reflection in the glass shows eyes bright with nervous energy.
"Scared?" I ask.
"Terrified," she admits. "These men have known me since I was born. How do I make them forget the child and see the leader?"
"You stop asking for their respect and start commanding it."
She faces me then, and I'm struck again by how much she's changed. The shy girl who left for university has been replaced by a woman who could rule empires.
"Easy for you to say. You've had twenty years to earn their loyalty."
"I've had twenty years to serve your father. You're his blood. That means something."
"Does it mean something to you?"
The question catches me off guard. There's heat in her eyes, challenge mixed with something deeper. Something that makes my cock stir despite every reason I should keep my distance.
"You know it does."
"Do I? Because you've barely looked at me since I came home."
She steps closer, close enough that I catch her scent—vanilla and something uniquely her that drives me wild. I force myself to stay still.
"Looking at you is dangerous," I say.
"Why?"
Because I want to bend you over that desk and make you scream my name. Because I've imagined claiming you in every room of your father's house. Because you're the one thing in this world I can't have, and that makes me want you more than breathing.
"Because you're Tiernan's daughter."
"I'm also a grown woman who can make her own choices."
Before I can respond, car doors slam outside. Mickey and his crew have arrived.
"Time to be the princess they expect or the queen you are," I tell her. "Your choice."
She straightens, and I watch her transform from uncertain woman to Kavanagh royalty.
"Then let's give them a queen."
The dock workers file in like they're attending a funeral. Twelve men who've bled for this family, now facing an uncertain future. Mickey leads them, his weathered face grim.
"Princess." He removes his cap, the gesture respectful but patronizing. "Your father feeling better?"
"Much better, thank you." Saoirse doesn't move from behind the desk, forcing them to approach her. Power play, and a good one. "But as you know, family business doesn't pause for anyone's health."
I stand near the door—close enough to intervene, far enough to let her command the room. But watching her work is torture. Every gesture, every tilt of her head sends heat through my veins.
"We've got ourselves a real shit sandwich," Mickey says. "Port authority's threatening a complete work stoppage if we don't play ball with their new rules."
"What rules?"
"Random container inspections. Personnel file audits going back five years. Plus they want a quarter million in 'compliance fees' upfront."
I see the moment she processes the implications. Those files contain men on our payroll who officially work for the city. An audit would expose connections built over decades.
"I see." She leans back in her chair, projecting calm while her mind races. "And if we refuse?"
"Equipment failures. Delays. Accidents that cost us millions in penalties." Mickey's voice carries defeat. "They've got us by the balls, Princess."
Wrong thing to call her. I see her spine stiffen.
"Do they?" She stands, moving around the desk with predatory grace. "Because it seems to me they're offering us an opportunity."
The men exchange confused looks. Mickey frowns. "How's that?"
"They want money. We want efficiency. The solution benefits everyone." She stops in the center of their circle, commanding their attention. "We'll pay their compliance fees."
"Princess—"
"But," she continues, voice turning sharp as a blade, "in exchange, we want guaranteed priority handling for our shipments, advance notice of any federal oversight, and personnel files that develop convenient gaps when auditors come calling."
Brilliant. She's turning extortion into partnership.
"They might not agree to that," one of the younger workers says.
Saoirse's smile could freeze hell over. "Then we'll make it very expensive for them to refuse."
The temperature drops. Every man here knows what 'expensive' means when a Kavanagh says it. Not just money—careers, reputations, family safety.
"Here's what's going to happen," she continues. "You'll tell the port authority that the Kavanagh family is willing to negotiate. Mickey, you'll arrange a meeting with whoever's running this shake-down. I'll handle the rest."
"And if they push back?" Mickey asks.
"They won't. Because I'm going to make them an offer they can't refuse." She pauses, letting that sink in. "Literally."
Old-school. Brutal. Perfect.
Mickey straightens, and I see the moment he stops looking at a little girl and starts seeing a boss. "What do you need from us?"
"Business as usual. Let them think they're winning while I work out the details." She moves back to the desk, dismissing them with royal authority. "And gentlemen? I appreciate your loyalty to this family. It will be remembered when we discuss Christmas bonuses."
The men file out, murmuring among themselves. But their posture has changed—they're walking taller, energized by having a leader who fights instead of surrenders.
When the last one leaves, Saoirse slumps against the desk, the mask finally slipping.
"How did I do?"
"You were magnificent."
She looks up at me, and the heat in her eyes nearly brings me to my knees. "Was I? Because I was terrified the entire time."
"They couldn't tell. You commanded that room like you were born to it."
"I felt powerful." She stands, moving toward me with dangerous intent. "It was intoxicating."
"Saoirse." Warning in my voice, but she doesn't stop.
"I saw how you watched me. Like you wanted to devour me."
She's close enough to touch now, close enough that I can see the pulse racing in her throat. My hands clench into fists to keep from reaching for her.
"You have no idea what I want to do to you."
"Tell me."
"I want to strip that power suit off your body and remind you that underneath all that authority, you're still a woman who responds to my touch."
Her breath catches. "That sounds dangerous."
"Everything about this is dangerous."
"I don't care." She reaches up, her fingers tracing the line of my jaw. "I'm tired of pretending I don't want you."
"Your father?—"
"Isn't here." Her hand slides down my chest, making me groan. "It's just us, Conall. Just you and me and this thing between us that's been burning for years."
Years. Christ, she's right. I've wanted her since she turned eighteen, fought it when she left for university, nearly went insane when she came back a woman instead of a girl.
"Someone could walk in."
"The warehouse is empty. Security's watching all the exits." Her fingers work at my shirt buttons. "I checked."
"If we do this?—"
"When we do this," she corrects.
That breaks my last defense. I capture her mouth with mine, kissing her with years of suppressed hunger. She responds with equal passion, her hands fisting in my shirt to pull me closer.
I lift her onto the desk, stepping between her thighs as documents scatter to the floor. Her legs wrap around my waist, holding me against her heat.
"God, I've wanted this," she gasps against my mouth.
"You have no idea how many nights I've thought about you. How many times I've had to stop myself from coming to your room."
My hands slide up her thighs, pushing her skirt higher. The silk of her stockings against my palms makes me groan. She arches into my touch, desperate for contact.
"Touch me," she pleads. "I need to feel your hands on me."
I find the heat between her legs, already soaked through delicate lace. She cries out when I stroke her through the fabric, her hips grinding against my fingers.
"Fuck, you're dripping for me."
"I've been wet since I walked in here. Watching you watch me, knowing what you were thinking." Her voice turns breathless as I circle her clit through the lace. "Knowing you wanted to bend me over this desk and take me."
"Is that what you want? For me to take you right here where anyone could walk in?"
"Yes." Her nails rake down my chest. "I want you to fuck me like I'm yours."
I push the lace aside, sliding two fingers inside her wet heat. She's tight, perfect, and the sound she makes nearly brings me to my knees.
"You are mine," I growl, pumping my fingers while my thumb works her clit. "Say it."
"I'm yours," she gasps, riding my hand. "Only yours."
Her fingers work frantically at my belt, freeing my aching cock. When her small hand wraps around me, I nearly come right there.
"Christ, Saoirse. Your hands feel so good."
"I want to taste you," she whispers, starting to slide off the desk.
"Later." I catch her hips, pulling her back. "Right now I need to be inside you before I lose my mind."
I tear her underwear away, the sound of ripping lace filling the air. She moans at the roughness, her pussy clenching around nothing.
"Look at me," I command, positioning my cock at her entrance. "I want to see your face when I claim you."
Her eyes lock with mine as I push inside her slowly, inch by torturous inch. She's so tight I have to fight not to slam home immediately.
"You feel incredible," I breathe, finally buried to the hilt. "Like you were made for my cock."
She rocks against me, taking me even deeper. "Move. Please, Conall. I need you to fuck me."
I begin to thrust, slow and deep at first, watching her face transform with pleasure. Her mouth falls open, breathy moans escaping with each stroke.
"Harder," she demands, nails digging into my shoulders. "I want to feel you splitting me open."
I give her what she wants, driving into her with increasing force. The desk shakes beneath us, papers scattering to the floor as I pound into her tight heat.
"That's it," she cries, her pussy clenching around me. "Fuck me harder. Make me scream."
I reach between us, finding her swollen clit with my thumb. She arches off the desk, a broken cry tearing from her throat.
"You like that? You like my thumb on your clit while I fuck you?"
"Yes, God yes. Don't stop."
I circle her clit faster, feeling her body tighten around me. She's close, so close I can feel her orgasm building.
"Come for me," I command, slamming into her. "Come on my cock like a good girl."
She shatters with a scream that echoes through the warehouse, her pussy convulsing around me as she comes. The sight and feel of her climax pushes me over the edge. I bury myself deep and spill inside her with a roar, marking her as mine.
We stay connected for long moments, breathing hard against each other. Her pulse races beneath my lips as I kiss her throat.
"Fuck," she whispers finally. "That was..."
"Just the beginning," I promise, still hard inside her. "When I get you alone properly, I'm going to spend hours learning every inch of your body."
We stay connected for long moments, breathing hard against each other. Reality slowly seeps back in.
"Well," she says finally. "That was unexpected."
I laugh despite myself. "Which part?"
"All of it. The meeting, this..." She gestures between us. "I feel like I've been sleepwalking for years and finally woke up."
"Saoirse." I cup her face, forcing her to meet my eyes. "This changes everything."
"I know." No fear in her voice, just determination. "I'm not afraid of the consequences."
"Your father will kill me."
"Only if he finds out." Her smile turns wicked. "And I'm very good at keeping secrets."
I help her down from the desk, both of us straightening our clothes. She looks thoroughly debauched despite her efforts.
"We should go," I say reluctantly.
"Should we?" She steps close again, hand resting on my chest. "Or should we go to your place and finish what we started?"
The offer nearly breaks me. "If I take you home, I won't let you leave my bed for a week."
"Promise?"
Before I can answer, my phone buzzes. Text from Tiernan: How did she do?
Reality crashes back. I'm standing in a warehouse where I just fucked his daughter, and he's asking for a report.
"I have to answer this," I tell her.
"What will you say?"
I look at her—hair mussed, lips swollen, eyes bright with satisfaction and new confidence. She's never looked more beautiful or more dangerous.
"That you're ready to lead this family."
"And us?"
I pull her close for one more kiss, tasting our future on her lips. "That's a conversation for when we're not standing in enemy territory."
But as we walk to our separate cars, I know this isn't ending here. It's just beginning. And God help us both, because once Tiernan learns I've claimed his princess, there will be hell to pay.
The thought should terrify me. Instead, it makes me harder than ever.
She's worth the fight that's coming.