Chapter 8 #2
“Short and sweet there, Torin. Remember?” Declan says. “She’s in a hurry for the honeymoon.”
Laughter ripples and heat burns my skin.
“I’m here to bring Declan and Marlowe together in holy matrimony. Do you wish to marry her?”
“I do.”
His brother, Torin, sets his blue eyes on me. “And Marlowe, do you wish to marry Declan?”
For a moment, I can’t speak. I won’t pretend I never imagined a wedding day because I have, to different boys over the years, to movie stars and singers, but never, ever like this.
And I don’t want to marry this cheating asshole, even if he’s so pretty it could break me, and his kisses and touch can melt me in moments.
I take a deep breath to soothe the shock.
It’s not real, and this is part of the spy game.
Plus, he’ll help me find Daddy. I’ll hold him to that.
“I do.”
Declan slides his gaze to another brother who’s with a gorgeous, dark-haired woman. “The rings, Seamus.”
He digs in his pocket and comes up with two rings that look like they might have come from one of the cheap places near Times Square.
Seamus slaps them down, and as Declan takes one of my shaking hands and slides the ring on, Torin says, “By the powers of the State of New York, I pronounce you hitched.”
Then Declan shoves on his own ring and kisses me in the most inappropriate wedding kiss imaginable. It’s hungry, carnal, and slightly feral. A hard kiss, a wild kiss, and his tongue fucks mine.
It’s a hot kiss, and I can’t feel my toes as I rise up to melt into him. My stomach is doing a wild pagan dance, and my panties dampen as he pulls me in against him. His cock hardens against me.
When he breaks the kiss, he whispers, “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
“I need to get my bag, I need…”
“To breathe?” His smile’s cocky with a full-on dimple. I both hate him for it and want him for it. He’s a mess to my system, and I thank the moon and stars and everything else that this is a fake marriage, and I’ll never have to see him again when Daddy is found.
I nod, and I start to move away from him, but he doesn’t let go of my arm. “Wait by the door.”
He stops to talk to his brother, and a sea of people pat him on the back.
I know there aren’t that many here, maybe fifty or so, but it feels like I’m being crushed, and the oxygen’s been sucked out of the room.
I stumble to the door, people congratulating me as I go, and I pass them with a smile and a jumble of meaningless words.
Amanda Johnson stands by the door, her arms folded.
She’s a gifted dancer with a mean streak.
Her face twists with contempt. “Looks like head dancer isn’t enough.
Had to get your mommy to buy you a husband.
I bet he’s a fuck boy and I’ll be under him in no time.
” She flashes a nasty smirk. “I’ll make it my mission. ”
My vision blurs and bleeds red. “Touch him, and I’ll rip your uterus out of your throat.”
Horrified at my words…what the hell even was that?
... I push past and race to the dressing room.
Once there, I wait for the heat to stop, the trembling to subside, but it doesn’t.
I shove my bits and pieces into my dance bag and then I snatch up the last pile of cards and wrapped gifts on the dresser.
There aren’t many, so I shove them in, too, and leave the flowers for whoever wants them.
“I told you to wait.”
I spin around and glare. “Did we have to do that? There?”
“Yes. Time to get home.”
“I don’t have a home.” I spit the words. He takes my bag and my arm and pulls me out onto the side street where a car’s waiting. I don’t recognize this driver.
He guides me into the backseat and then slides in next to me.
“Sure you do.”
“Yours? That’s as much of a home as Mom’s. I wish—”
“What?”
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
“The apartment your father got you. Be nice and I’ll get the keys, Molly. After all, this is our wedding night and the start of wedded bliss.”
“With you?” I snap.
And he pulls me into his arms and drops a kiss on my lips, lightly biting my lip. “Wedded bliss, hot sex, getting through this fake marriage as best we can. We have the chemistry.”
“I don’t like you.”
“Sure you do.”
“No,” I say, hand splayed in his waistcoat, “I don’t. You kissed someone in front of me. When I thought we were a thing.”
“She was a job, and you were a distraction.”
I try to pull away, but he holds me tight.
“A distraction, Molly, one I didn’t expect, and one I couldn’t keep my hands off. Also, we weren’t together.”
I swallow hard and I’m about to argue that when the car comes to a stop. I look out the window. We’re on the East Side, First Avenue, maybe in the Fifties, outside a pretty building, one that’s large and surrounded by trees with a spacious courtyard. A man opens the door. “Sir.”
Sir?
It takes me a moment to get it. We’re at a hotel.
A boutique one, and they seem to know Declan here as we’re led past the concierge and to the elevators by the man who opened the door.
When we reach the third floor, he walks us toward a room, uses a key card to open the door, and he takes my bag in.
Two other bags are already there. “The honeymoon suite.”
I wander around, my heart thumping. No trails of petals or heart-shaped bed, just low lights and a king-size bed with an upstairs Jacuzzi and more formal sitting area.
I come back down to the where Declan’s stripping off his suit jacket. He then pours champagne for me and whiskey for himself.
“Where’s the other bed?” I look hopefully at the sitting area down here with its fat couches and an unlit fireplace.
“This one’s big enough. Unless you want to invite a football team?”
“Oh, is that your thing? Orgies?”
He laughs and sips his drink, holding out the bubbly for me. I take it, like I’m not really here, like this is a dream. “No, but you might be my thing.”
“Are you trying to convince me you like me?” My heart beats hard and fast.
“You tried to get me locked up, Molly. There isn’t much to like and less to trust, but…yeah, you still might be my thing.”
I sway the tiniest bit, my panties getting wetter by the second. I want to soak in the Jacuzzi, or at least take a bath to rest my muscles. Almost as much as I want to jump his bones and find out if the fuss is what I think it might be.
He causes magic to happen when he touches me, and when he went down on me…I shiver… If he does that so freaking masterfully, what must the real thing be like?
He sighs, kicks off his shoes and socks, slides off his belt, and pulls off his tie. The shirt he’s wearing is beautiful, and, I realize it isn’t white, it’s the same almost white as my dress.
But he doesn’t reach for me. He undoes his cufflinks and puts them next to the bottle of booze.
He finishes his drink, then tops it off. When we met, he had thick silver rings on his fingers, Irish-looking symbols and crests, now there’s just the cheap wedding ring which catches the light as he raises his glass to his mouth.
Declan Murphy is, any way you look at it, gorgeous. Tall, charming, with that illusionary touch of accessible. He’s got the gift of the gab with deliciously devious fingers and kisses in a way that could make angels weep.
He could even make the Devil grit his teeth with jealousy over the way he can undo someone.
Not just me.
That’s the thing.
And I saw Amanda’s desire beneath her vitriol.
I’m weak. Pathetic. I’m—
“Sit the fuck down, Molly. I won’t be doing anything you don’t want to do. You can share the bed with me or sleep on the couch.”
“So,” I snap, everything buzzing inside, “sex or I get a lumpy couch?”
“That sofa looks comfortable. You’re short, I’m not, so sofa it is.” His voice softens. “As I said, I won’t do anything you don’t want to do.”
I hate him for making me want him with his get out of jail card. I stalk over to him. “I don’t have anything to sleep in.”
He looks down at me. “Neither do I.”
My clit throbs. Hard. I bite my lip. We’re both ignoring the bags. Ignoring the fact we could sleep in our clothes. There are a million options…and only one I want.
I hand him the glass and shrug off the dress, easing out of my shoes. The dress lands in a pool around my feet.
He doesn’t say a word, but his green gaze is nailed to me, hot and intense.
For a moment, I close my eyes. Virginity’s overrated, and I want it gone. The glasses clink as he puts them aside, and he’s…oh, shit, I’ve had him in my mouth, my hands, and he’s big, thick, and perfect. But while he can fit in my mouth, I don’t know how well he’ll fit anywhere else.
Screw it, I want him.
So I push off the bra, hook my fingers in my panties.
He could turn me down, and if he does, I won’t ever let him near me again. I can’t. I won’t.
“Turn around and bend over.”
Heart thudding, I do as I’m told.
“Fucking gorgeous, Molly. Take them down. Slowly.”
Shaking, I do.
“Now spread your lips for me, show me how pretty and pink you are.”
His voice is a soft, sweet caress over my senses and my skin. It’s like lips trailing warm and gentle over my flesh.
How does he touch without touching?
I can’t stop shaking. I reach behind me, touching myself, my pussy throbbing and hot and so wet my fingers slip.
But I pull my lips open, the air cool on me, and I wait for the flood of heat. It comes, but it doesn’t consume, instead it races right down to my pussy.
That’s when he touches me, a match to my flame and I flare high into the sky as he pushes a finger into me. Pleasure blossoms everywhere.
“Shit, Molly, you just came.” He grabs me by the waist and spins me around, picking me up and kissing me in the most shattering way that’s soft and beguiling and anything but gentle.
He walks us to the bed, and we drop into the plush mattress.
He rolls me on top so he can draw me into him as he kisses me long and deep and heavy, his tongue a welcome invasion.
I want it all. Him in me, me on him, I want to fuck him and suck his cock, I want his mouth on my clit and his fingers buried in me, and I even want him to tie me up so I can’t move. I want to be at his mercy in all the ways, and I want him to be at mine.
I rip the buttons of his shirt, needing to feel his flesh against mine. I kiss my way down, biting and licking his throat, and then I claw at his belt.
He grabs my hair, holding my head back in a firm grip, and then he rolls us back over so I’m under him. “Ah, Jesus, you’re as hungry for this as I am,” he mutters as he pins me, and then starts to kiss me all over. “Stay still and let me—”
“I want you now,” I say. I’m delirious, in a fever, the orgasm he gave me not enough. There’s a hollow throb in me that I need filled and he laughs.
“Fuck, Marlowe, if I’d have known how hungry for cock you are, I’d have fucked you ages ago.”
A shudder runs through me. I am his. No one else’s. His. And the fever’s in deep, unspooling my commonsense like it’s unspooling the rest of me. He grabs my hands and holds them above my head.
I’m burning.
I need. So badly.
His zipper hisses and then he strokes a finger over my wetness, making me shudder. I cry out, because it’s not enough. And then something huge is there, hard like steel in hot silk and big. Holy shit big.
He pushes into me, and I choke on a gasp at the sudden, scorching assault. I tense, tears springing to my eyes because it’s a sharp stab slicing into me, things stretching beyond what I’m sure they’re meant to.
“Shit,” he mutters, but I rasp, clinging to him, and seek out his mouth to distract me from the burning pain of his cock plundering my pussy.
“Fuck me. Please,” I whimper as the heat subsides, replaced by the sizzle of bliss.
He mutters words I don’t hear as his body stills, then he starts to move, slow at first. As I lift my hips for more, he thrusts deep, that aching stretch is now welcome.
When he surges into me, his cock fills up the hollowness, and my body grips him as he pulls out.
I claw his back through the shirt, wrapping my legs high around his waist and he hisses, sinking his teeth into my throat, sucking hard. I convulse under him, moaning.
Then his mouth is back on mine. He slams into me like he wants to split me open and oh, fuck, does it feel good.
And then his free hand slips between us and he squeezes my clit.
I explode, shattering as a deep throbbing rocks me. I can’t breathe. I’m part of him, his body welcome on mine, in mine. He thrusts into me one more time and then he holds, his cock twitching, growing as he breaks the kiss.
“Fuck.”
He jerks, filling me. And those twitches set me off on a softer, lighter orgasm.
When he’s done, he dips his head and kisses me. Without pulling out, he lifts his head once more, a glint in his eye as he murmurs, “Not a virgin anymore, wifey.”