Chapter 17
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
I find Conall in the garden after fleeing my father's study, my body shaking from rage and hurt. The cool night air does nothing to calm the fire burning through me. When he sees my face, he moves toward me with that same intensity that makes my knees weak.
"What happened?" His voice carries an edge that promises violence against whoever upset me.
"My father." The words come out broken. "He rejected everything. Called me naive. Said I should marry Petrov and stop playing at leadership."
Conall's jaw hardens. Without a word, he pulls me against his chest, and I melt into his strength. His arms wrap around me like a fortress, one hand threading through my hair while the other spans my back.
"He's wrong," Conall murmurs against my ear, his breath sending shivers down my spine. "You're the strongest person I know."
I pull back to look at him, seeing desire war with restraint in his eyes. "Am I? Because right now I feel like giving up."
"Never." His thumb traces my cheek, the gentle touch making me ache for more. "You were born to lead this family."
The way he looks at me—like I'm everything he wants but can't have—breaks something loose inside me. "Conall, I?—"
"Saoirse." Mother's voice cuts through the night from the terrace. "Both of you. My office. Now."
Conall steps back, distance snapping into place, but his eyes burn with unfinished promises. We walk to the house together, my body humming with awareness of him beside me.
Mother's private office feels different tonight. Intimate. She's lit candles instead of using the harsh overhead lights, and the warm glow makes everything seem more personal, more dangerous.
"Sit," Mother says, gesturing to the sofa instead of the formal chairs. "Both of you."
Conall hesitates, but I pat the cushion beside me. When he sits, the heat from his thigh against mine makes concentration difficult. Mother notices everything, a knowing smile playing at her lips.
"Your father's rejection was expected," she begins, settling across from us with whiskey instead of tea. "But it changes nothing about what's coming."
She opens a hidden safe, withdrawing documents that make my breath catch. Financial records showing massive legitimate holdings. Investment portfolios worth millions. Corporate structures I never knew existed.
"I don't understand," I say, leaning forward. Conall's hand finds the small of my back, steadying me, and the touch sends heat racing through my blood.
"Every important decision your father made, I influenced," Mother explains with satisfaction. "The dock acquisitions. The connections with Judge Palmer. Even hiring Conall twenty years ago."
Conall goes rigid beside me. "You arranged?—"
"A brilliant young man with no family, desperate for belonging. Perfect for what we needed." Mother's eyes twinkle. "Though I admit, his devotion to you exceeded even my expectations."
Heat floods my cheeks as Conall's fingers tighten against my back. The possessive touch makes my core clench with want.
"You've been manipulating everything," I breathe.
"Guiding everything. Building an empire for you to inherit." Mother slides more papers toward us. "Legitimate businesses. Clean money. Protection from all sides. Everything you need to transform this family."
I scan the documents, but Conall's presence overwhelms my ability to focus. His scent, his warmth, the way his hand never leaves my back—it's driving me wild with need.
"Saoirse," Mother says gently. "Are you listening?"
"Yes, I just—" I look at Conall, whose eyes have darkened with hunger. "This is a lot to process."
"Then let me simplify it." Mother leans forward. "I'm offering you an empire instead of a criminal organization. But you'll need a strong partner to claim it. Someone the contacts respect and trust."
The implication hangs heavy between us. Conall's breath hitches.
"Mother, what are you suggesting?"
"I'm suggesting you stop pretending you don't want each other." Her smile turns wicked. "Do you think I arranged all those late-night meetings by accident? Those business trips where you stayed in adjoining rooms?"
My face burns with embarrassment and arousal. "You've been?—"
"Providing opportunities for what was already inevitable." Mother stands, moving to the window. "Conall, how long have you been in love with my daughter?"
The question hangs in the air like a bomb. Conall's hand stills on my back, his whole body tense.
"Mrs. Kavanagh, I would never?—"
"Answer the question." Mother's voice brooks no argument.
Conall's eyes find mine, vulnerable for the first time since I've known him. "Since she turned eighteen," he admits roughly. "Maybe before."
The confession hits me like lightning. Years of wondering, hoping, denying—and he's felt the same way.
"And you, darling?" Mother turns to me. "How long have you fantasized about your father's right-hand man?"
"Mother!" But my protest lacks conviction because she's right. I have fantasized about him. Constantly.
"Honesty, Saoirse. If you want to inherit what I've built, you need to stop lying to yourself."
I look at Conall, his face tense with waiting. "Since I came back from university. Maybe longer."
His intake of breath is audible. The hand on my back begins moving again, thumb tracing circles that make me shiver.
"Excellent." Mother pours herself more whiskey. "Then we can discuss the real terms of your inheritance."
"Which are?" My voice sounds breathless with Conall touching me.
"Modernize the business with my resources, and you inherit an empire. But you do it with Conall as your true partner." Mother's eyes glitter. "In every sense."
The weight of her words settles between us. Conall's fingers slide higher on my back, finding bare skin above my dress, and I have to bite back a moan.
"What about Petrov?" I manage to ask.
"I'll handle the Russian rejection myself. Tonight." Mother checks her watch. "But first, you two need to finish what you started years ago."
My pulse pounds as understanding dawns. "You want us to?—"
"I want you to claim what's yours. The business. The power. The man." Mother moves toward the door. "This office locks from the inside. You have an hour before Petrov expects his answer."
She pauses at the threshold, looking back with maternal satisfaction. "Try not to break anything important."
The door closes with a soft click, leaving us alone. The lock engages with a sound that seems to echo forever.
Conall turns to face me fully, his eyes burning with years of want. "Saoirse?—"
"No talking," I whisper, reaching for him. "Not anymore."
When our mouths crash together, it's like a dam breaking. Years of tension and denial igniting into desperate hunger. His hands fist in my hair while I claw at his shirt, needing to feel skin against skin.
He breaks the kiss to look at me, breathing hard. "Are you sure about this?"
Instead of answering, I stand and reach for the zipper of my dress. His eyes follow the movement as fabric slides down my body, pooling at my feet.
"Fuck," he breathes, staring at me in nothing but black lace. "You're so fucking beautiful."
"Your turn," I say, voice husky with need.
He stands, towering over me as he strips off his shirt. Years of hard work have carved his body—broad shoulders, defined chest, abs that make my mouth water. When he reaches for his belt, I stop him.
"Let me."
My fingers shake as I work the leather through the buckle, feeling his hardness pressing against the fabric. When I finally free him, he's thick and perfect and mine.
"Christ, Saoirse," he groans as I wrap my hand around him. "I've wanted your hands on me for so fucking long."
"Tell me what else you've wanted," I whisper, stroking him slowly.
He backs me against Mother's desk, documents scattering as he lifts me onto the polished wood. His mouth finds my throat, teeth grazing sensitive skin while his hands explore curves he's only imagined touching.
"I've wanted to taste every inch of you," he growls against my collarbone. "To make you scream my name until your voice breaks."
When his fingers find the edge of my underwear, I arch against him desperately. "Then do it. Make me yours."
He hooks the lace and pulls it away, leaving me bare and aching. His touch makes me gasp as he explores, finding me wet and ready.
"All these years," he says, voice rough with wonder. "You've been this wet for me?"
"Only for you," I breathe. "Always for you."
He drops to his knees between my thighs, and I nearly come apart at the sight. "I'm going to make you come on my tongue first," he promises. "Then I'm going to fuck you until you can't remember your own name."
The first stroke of his tongue makes me cry out. He works me with skill and hunger, his hands gripping my thighs to hold me open for him. When he adds his fingers, curling them inside me, I shatter.
"Conall!" I scream, not caring who might hear.
He doesn't stop until I'm shaking, oversensitive and desperate. When he stands, his mouth glistens with my release.
"You taste even better than I imagined," he says, positioning himself at my entrance. "Ready for me?"
"Please," I beg. "I need you inside me."
He pushes in slowly, stretching me around his thickness. The burn is perfect, claiming and being claimed all at once.
"So tight," he groans, his control slipping. "So fucking perfect."
When he's fully seated, we both pause, overwhelmed by the connection. Then he begins to move, and I lose all coherent thought.
"Mine," he growls, thrusting deeper. "You're mine now."
"Yours," I agree, wrapping my legs around his waist. "Only yours."
He pounds into me with desperate urgency, years of longing exploding into raw need. His mouth devours mine between broken words of possession and promise.
"I love you," he confesses against my lips. "I've always fucking loved you."
"I love you too," I gasp as he hits that spot inside me that makes me see stars. "God, Conall, I'm going to?—"
"Come for me again," he demands, his thumb finding my clit. "Come on my cock."
The command pushes me over the edge. I clench around him, crying his name as another climax rips through me. He follows immediately, spilling inside me with a groan that sounds like a prayer.
We cling to each other afterward, breathing hard against sweat-dampened skin. The empire Mother built surrounds us in scattered papers, but all I care about is the man in my arms.
"What happens now?" I whisper.
Conall cups my face, thumb tracing my lips. "Now we claim what's ours. Together."
The lock clicks again, and Mother's voice calls through the door. "Time to face Petrov, darling. Are you ready to reject his offer?"
I look at Conall, seeing my future in his eyes. "More than ready."
Because with him beside me, I can inherit Mother's empire and transform this family into something worthy of the power we wield. The Queen and her King, ruling together.
The way it was always meant to be.