Chapter Twenty-Three
RONAN
Callum won’t stop fucking calling, and at this rate, he’s starting to feel like some desperate hookup that I ghosted. He’s relentless, but I shouldn’t be surprised. He’s a McCarthy, after all.
I ignore the first dozen calls in the hopes he’ll eventually get the message, but it seems as if my silence is only making him worse.
After what feels like the twentieth call, my patience, which is normally rock solid, starts to waver, and I fight the urge to get into my car and silence him once and for all.
I’m tired and more short-tempered than usual from too little sleep thanks to the blonde goddess who keeps invading my thoughts.
“Fuck.” I rub a hand over my stubbled jaw, staring at the long list of unanswered emails in my inbox.
I decided to come into the city to work at the office, if only to put some space between me and Ciara.
I don’t know how long I sat on the edge of her bed, watching her sleep. For some reason, I couldn’t bring myself to leave, even though I knew what we shared was nothing more than sex. An itch to be scratched.
And yet, I’m far from satisfied.
It was reckless of me to have crossed the line with her last night.
Ciara might have been the one tied up and bound, but I was the one completely at her mercy.
I pride myself on my control, yet all she has to do is bite back and I’m practically dropping to my knees in front of her.
And I don’t regret a single second.
Her sweet cries of pleasure still echo in my ears, the taste of her arousal on my tongue as I licked my fingers clean. Sex with Ciara was nothing short of primal, and I know I could have pushed her further from the way her eyes glazed over when I restrained her.
I knew she’d like it rough, but what I did to her last night barely scratched the surface.
She was completely at my mercy with her hands bound behind her back, but I want more.
I want her body pinned down so she can’t move even an inch, unable to get away as I bring her to the edge over and over again until she’s begging me for release. I don’t want to stop until her ass is covered in me as well as that sweet pussy—
I hiss through my teeth as I force the image of my cum dripping down her soft thighs from my mind.
Now is really not the time to be thinking of Ciara’s bare ass.
But I reach beneath the desk and run my palm over my length, groaning as it throbs beneath my touch. I’m seconds away from pulling my cock free and getting myself off right here, right now, when Callum’s name flashes once more on my screen.
With one last squeeze of my cock, I snatch up my phone and answer the call, if only to stop my cock from hardening any more in my pants.
"Fine," I snap before he can even get a word in. "You want a meeting? You’ll get one. Meet me at The Blackthorn in an hour.”
I hang up the phone before he even has a chance to speak.
The Blackthorn is the perfect setting to meet with Callum. It’s in the center of my family’s territory and will serve as a subtle reminder to him that he’ll do well not to overstep.
I might have married his sister to bring credibility back to the McCarthy name, but that doesn’t mean I’m his fucking lackey.
Not only that, but every table in the pub is bugged, and the staff is paid incredibly well in order to keep their mouths shut, just in case.
When I step inside, the air smells of old leather and whiskey, and I take a second to inhale deeply. Although as I fill my lungs, a sudden wave of nostalgia rolls over me, so strong that my knees almost buckle.
Grief is not normally something that plagues me, considering the fact I’ve been around death my entire life. Even when my mother died, I mourned until the funeral, then that was that. But my father? It seems like his memory lingers in the air itself, and I can’t escape him.
He’s in the smells that I never took time to notice and the taste of the whiskey that I would never stop to savor.
He’s everywhere.
“Mr. Sullivan?”
I blink as Hudson, the head barman, appears in front of me.
Clearing my throat, I shove my hands into my pockets, schooling my expression into one of calm indifference as the young lad looks at me with a mixture of fear and curiosity in his blue eyes.
“Your guest is waiting for you.” Hudson signals to one of the booths at the back of the bar. “I’ll have your usual sent over to you.”
I nod once before stalking to where Callum waits for me.
Of course, he is already here, as if punctuality is enough to get on my good side.
The moment he clocks me, his body straightens, and a little of the color in his cheeks fades.
Good.
I don’t rush my movements, if only to make him squirm a little. It’s clear that he wants something from me, and I’ll be damned if he doesn’t fucking beg for it.
"McCarthy." I slide into the black leather booth.
"Sullivan."
I have no doubt my name tastes like poison on his tongue, especially now that it belongs to his sister.
My wife.
The woman I made a complete mess of last night.
The way Ciara lay before me, bare, her ass red with my mark as she was covered in me was breathtaking, and definitely something Callum shouldn’t be made aware of.
"So?" I lounge against the cold leather as I run a finger around the rim of my glass. "What’s this tantrum about?"
He stiffens. "This isn’t a tantrum."
“Could have fooled me.”
He’s dressed well, with his navy suit freshly pressed and his blond hair cropped short, though I recognize that suit from the dinner we had to finalize my marriage to Ciara.
He must really be falling on hard times, not that I give a fuck.
As if reading my thoughts, his jaw clenches so tight that I’m amazed his teeth don’t shatter. But it’s all a performance. I can see it in his eyes that he’s starting to crack, and he’s hoping that I’ll be the one to pick up the pieces.
He straightens his shoulders. "I want to know what your plan is. How do you plan on repairing my family name, considering your investment in our alliance?”
I can’t help but bark a laugh. "The McCarthy name was rotting before I ever showed up,” I remind him. “The association you now have with the Sullivan name should be payment enough, considering the fact I’m giving your sister a better life than you could ever have offered her."
It’s a low blow, but I’m not here to play nice.
His expression darkens, and I fight the urge to smile as he glowers at me.
He hates being reminded of his family’s fall from grace, but he can’t deny it’s the fucking truth.
He was raised on nothing but nostalgia, of old stories of power and wealth, but those days are long gone.
Right now, the only reason anyone can even say the name McCarthy without laughing is because of me, and he’d do well to remember that.
“You should be thanking me, Callum.” The underlying warning in my words makes his green eyes flash.
Good. He needs to feel that rage. He needs to let it fuel him, and then maybe he might finally be able to take the stick from up his ass and act like a man.
"You think this is funny?" he growls.
"I think it’s pathetic." I take a sip of my whiskey. "You don’t even realize how close your family came to being erased, and now you think you can question me?"
He opens his mouth to speak, but I hold up a finger.
"You breathe because I allow it. You eat, sleep, and speak my name without consequence because I choose to let you. If you think me marrying your sister makes us equals, then you’ve got another thing coming. You work for me now, McCarthy, and I keep my men on a tight leash.”
Callum’s jaw ticks, his pride no doubt screaming at him. But ultimately, pride is what killed his old man, and if he doesn’t do as I say, he’ll end up in an early grave too.
"If you want to rebuild what’s left of your legacy, start by learning from your father’s mistakes."
"Watch your mouth." But his tone is anything but threatening.
I laugh louder this time, causing the heads of the drinkers in the adjacent booth to look over, but the second they catch me looking, they turn away again, fear in their eyes.
That’s the kind of respect Callum could only ever dream of.
"Your father died thinking he was untouchable and that alliances made him weak.” I ignore the rage in Callum’s eyes. “And he ended up with his brains leaking out the back of his skull, so I suggest you pay attention to that particular lesson.”
Callum is visibly shaking now. His knuckles have turned white as he grips his glass, seconds away from shattering it completely, as his shoulders vibrate with the effort of not launching himself at me.
Part of me wishes he’d draw a gun, if only to prove my point.
If you want to survive in this world, you can’t allow yourself to be fueled by emotion. A lesson that I’d also do well to remember as Ciara flashes through my mind.
But even Ciara has more spine than the so-called man sitting in front of me.
"You should think twice." Callum’s voice is barely above a whisper. "Before getting on my bad side."
I tilt my head and let the corners of my mouth lift into a smile. "You don’t have a bad side. You’ve got a sad little temper and a last name that means jack shit without me attached to it. So, no, I’m not worried about your bad side."
I toss back my drink, savoring the burn of the whiskey as it slides down my throat. Though, it’s nothing compared to the burning in my chest every time I think of Ciara. I wonder if she’s as plagued by thoughts of last night as I am…
Perhaps she’s in her bed right now with her hand between her thighs, her body trembling with pleasure as her climax builds.
What I would give to hear the quiet whimpers spilling from her lips as she comes. But more than that, listening to her frustrated cries as she realizes that the pleasure she feels is nothing compared to what I can give her.
My mouth goes painfully dry, and I grind my teeth as my cock twitches in my pants at the thought.
"This meeting’s over." I get to my feet. "Go home, Callum, and stay the hell out of my way.”
He makes no attempt to move. Instead, he just watches me go as hatred rolls off him in waves.
The only reason I’m entertaining him is his sister, my wife. But if he ever crosses me, I’ll have no problem putting a bullet between his eyes.