Chapter 25
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE
I'm reviewing shipping contracts when Conall's hands grip my hips from behind. The papers scatter as he spins my chair around.
"The Moscow call starts in five minutes," I gasp as his mouth finds my throat.
"Perfect." His hands slide up my thighs, pushing my skirt higher. "Just enough time to remind you who you belong to."
"Conall, we can't—anyone could walk in."
"Let them." He drops to his knees between my legs, gray eyes dark with hunger. "I want everyone to know you're mine."
His fingers hook into my underwear, pulling them down my legs. I should stop him. Should care about the unlocked door. Instead, I arch toward him as his mouth finds my inner thigh.
"You're already wet," he growls against my skin. "Were you thinking about me during that board meeting?"
"Yes," I breathe. "Always thinking about you."
The first stroke of his tongue makes me cry out. He works me with his mouth while his fingers dig into my thighs, holding me open for him. No gentle buildup—just raw need and the desperate hunger between us.
"Oh fuck," I gasp, gripping his hair.
He pulls back, lips glistening. "Not yet. I want to be inside you when you come."
The phone rings. Conference call alert.
"Answer it," he orders, standing and freeing his cock from his pants.
"I can't—not like this?—"
"Answer the fucking phone, Saoirse."
My hands shake as I reach for it. "Saoirse Kavanagh."
The screen flickers to life, showing Valentin Petrov in his Moscow office. Conall positions himself behind my chair, the head of his cock teasing my entrance.
"Ms. Kavanagh," Petrov says. "You look energized today."
"Just excited about our partnership," I manage, biting back a moan as Conall pushes into me slowly.
"The Dublin acquisition numbers?"
"Thirty percent increase," I gasp as Conall fills me completely. His hands grip my hips, holding me still while I try to focus on business. "All legitimate operations."
"Impressive." Petrov's sharp eyes study me. "Your methods are effective."
Conall starts to move, slow thrusts that make my vision blur. I grip the desk edge, fighting to keep my voice steady.
"The alliance paperwork is finalized," I continue, struggling not to moan as he hits that perfect spot inside me. "Eastern European distribution, clean money only."
"Excellent terms," Petrov nods.
Conall's pace increases, each thrust sending shockwaves through me. His fingers find my clit, circling with maddening pressure.
"I look forward to working with you," I manage to say.
"Likewise. Irish women are dangerous negotiators."
"We get what we want," I agree, my voice breaking as Conall drives deeper.
The call ends. I slump forward, gasping.
"Fuck, that was hot," Conall growls, pulling out and spinning my chair to face him. "Watching you try to hold it together while I fucked you."
"You're insane," I breathe, but heat floods through me at his words.
"Insane for you." He lifts me onto the desk, spreading my legs wide. "Now I'm going to make you scream my name."
He drives into me again, harder this time. The desk shakes with each thrust, papers flying to the floor. His mouth claims mine, swallowing my cries as he pounds into me.
"You feel so good," he pants against my lips. "So tight around my cock."
"Harder," I demand, my nails digging into his shoulders. "Fuck me harder."
He complies, each thrust hitting deeper. The pressure builds between us, white-hot and desperate. His thumb finds my clit again, working me toward the edge.
"Come for me," he commands. "Come on my cock like the good girl you are."
The orgasm hits like lightning, tearing through me with violent intensity. I scream his name as I shatter around him, my pussy clenching tight.
"Fuck yes," he groans, his own release following seconds later. "Take it all."
We stay connected, breathing hard. The office reeks of sex and sweat.
"We're going to get caught," I murmur against his neck.
"Worth it." He pulls back to look at me. "Besides, I have something for you."
He reaches into his jacket, pulling out a small velvet box. My heart stops.
"Marry me," he says, opening it to reveal an antique emerald ring. "My grandmother's. I want everyone to know you're mine."
"Yes." The word comes out strangled. "God yes."
He slides the ring onto my finger with shaking hands. "I want babies with you. Lots of them."
"Three," I say immediately. "At least three little Devlins running around this house."
His eyes darken. "Better start practicing then."
"We just?—"
"That was just the appetizer." He lifts me from the desk. "I'm taking you home and fucking you properly. For hours."
Heat pools between my thighs despite our recent encounter. "Promise?"
"Promise."
Six weeks later, our wedding day arrives with Irish rain and my nerves in tatters. I stand in the master bedroom wearing my great-grandmother's dress while Conall adjusts his tie.
"Having second thoughts?" he asks, catching my stillness.
"Never." I move behind him, running my hands over his chest through his shirt. "Just thinking about tonight."
"Tonight?"
"When I finally get to fuck my husband." I press against his back, feeling his muscles tense. "When you get to claim your wife properly."
He turns, cupping my face. "Mrs. Devlin has a nice ring to it."
"Very nice." I reach for his belt buckle. "Want to practice saying it?"
His hands cover mine, stopping me. "If you start that now, we'll miss our own wedding."
"Maybe that's the point," I breathe, standing on my toes to kiss him.
A knock interrupts us. "Saoirse?" Orla calls. "Time to get ready."
"Coming," I call back, grinning at Conall. "Raincheck?"
"We have forever," he promises.
The ceremony passes in a blur of traditional Irish music and ancient vows. I wear the family tiara—crown of Kavanagh women—while Conall looks devastating in his black tux.
Father O'Malley performs the handfasting ritual, wrapping blessed cords around our joined hands. The words blur together, my focus entirely on the man holding me.
"Kiss your bride, Mr. Devlin," Father O'Malley announces.
Conall doesn't hesitate. His mouth claims mine in a kiss that promises everything—passion, protection, forever.
"Mine," he whispers against my lips.
"Yours," I agree. "Always yours."
The reception fills the estate with laughter and music. I dance with my husband while politicians and business partners mingle with family. The tiara catches candlelight, marking me as both traditional Irish wife and modern crime boss.
Late in the evening, all three couples gather on the terrace. Cillian and Orla, married last month. Eamon and Sorcha, planning their spring wedding. And Conall and me, still glowing from our vows.
"To the future," I raise my champagne.
"To family," Cillian adds.
"To love," Orla contributes.
"To second chances," Eamon says.
"To finding home," Sorcha adds.
"To partnership," Conall finishes.
We drink together, but as the toast ends, my phone buzzes with an urgent message: Problem with Romanian shipment. Customs asking questions.
I show Conall, watching his jaw tighten.
"Tomorrow," I decide. "Tonight, I'm just your wife."
Later, alone in our bedroom, I remove the tiara and place it in its velvet box. Conall watches from the bed, already naked and waiting.
"Come here, Mrs. Devlin," he commands.
I approach slowly, still wearing my wedding dress. "How does it feel to be married to a crime boss?"
"Fucking incredible." His hands find the dress buttons. "Now let me worship my wife properly."
The silk pools at my feet, leaving me naked except for his grandmother's ring. He pulls me onto the bed, rolling me beneath him.
"I've been thinking about this all day," he growls, settling between my thighs. "About how you'll look with my ring on your finger while I fuck you."
"Show me," I breathe.
He enters me slowly, both of us groaning at the connection. "My wife," he pants. "My perfect fucking wife."
"Your wife," I agree, wrapping my legs around him. "Forever."
He moves with deep, claiming strokes, each one marking me as his. The ring catches moonlight as I grip his shoulders, both of us lost in sensation.
"I love you," I gasp as pressure builds.
"Love you too," he groans. "Come for me, wife. Come on your husband's cock."
The climax tears through me, back arching as I cry out his name. He follows, spilling deep inside me with a roar that echoes through our bedroom.
Afterward, we lie tangled together, the tiara gleaming nearby—symbol of everything we've built together.
"What happens now?" I ask.
"Now we rule together," he says, pulling me closer. "Handle whatever comes. Build something worth passing down."
I think about the Romanian shipment, the customs questions, the threats always lurking at our borders. But with Conall beside me, his ring on my finger and his seed inside me, I'm ready for anything.
"Forever sounds perfect," I whisper.
"Forever," he agrees.
But as sleep takes us, that text message haunts my thoughts. New dangers emerging just as we found happiness.
Forever might be more complicated than we planned.