Chapter 20 Marlowe #2
“Half slut, half good girl,” I mutter.
It shouldn’t cheer me up. But it does. A little.
I pace the room in the ridiculous heels. They’re nothing like pointe shoes. Less pain, but way more instability. Like walking on the edge of a decision you can’t take back.
Yikes. I’ve done that a lot.
I look somewhere between high-class escort and drunk heiress playing dress-up.
If I had a feather boa, the look would be complete.
Or a tie.
Ooh. A tie. Before I can talk myself out of it, I slip into the hallway and into Declan’s room next to mine.
His space smells like him. It’s all smoke and clean soap and something dark and male I don’t have a name for. The air feels warm. Lived-in. The kind of room that makes you think what you see is who he is. No masks. No games.
Rooms don’t lie. People do.
I walk into his closet. That’s where I find the bags from the sex shop. I pick one up and look inside to find panties with two small dildos and a remote app. I drop the bag like it scorches my fingers.
Jesus. I lust after the man enough. I don’t need his toy arsenal added to my mental highlight reel.
His ties are on the shelf above. I thumb through them. Silk, expensive, classic. My fingers stop on one that doesn’t match the others.
It’s paisley with purples, blues, and one tiny splash of yellow.
I squint. “Is that a duck?”
Of course it’s a duck.
The label on the back is from London. Not novelty. Not tacky. Retro and subtle, playful only if you’re close enough to see.
Of course he owns something like this. Of course it makes me want to kiss him and punch him at the same time.
I loop it around my neck and roam the rest of the room.
His clothes are exactly what I’d expect. Suits, t-shirts, and jeans. Not a lot, but enough to build a hundred different versions of Declan Murphy—nightclub kingpin, street thug, charming date, terrifying executioner.
The books scattered around are mainly thrillers; although, I do see a few history books, and one with a Gaelic title. His laptop is covered in stickers. There’s a photo of a vintage red hot rod that sits on the coffee table. Next to it, is a pile of books about caring for that type of car.
I don’t think he owns one. If he did, he’d find a way to drive it through Manhattan traffic just to scare people.
I stop myself from opening drawers and medicine cabinets. Anything that screams I care enough to snoop.
Instead, I flop on his sofa and grab the notebook on the side table.
I can’t draw, so I start doodling words instead.
Random phrases at first. Then lines about security.
Protection. The way he moves when he’s working.
How many times I’ve seen people look relieved when he walks into a room, which startles the shit out of me because… why have I noticed?
From there it turns into something else. A business plan. An actual one. Step by step. A legit security company that’s still very much mafia-adjacent.
I’ve watched Mom dance on the line between legal and criminal for years. I know how this works. I know what sells.
Declan would be terrifyingly good at it.
So I keep writing. It’s easier than thinking about how everybody loves him. The wives. The men. The drivers. The kids. The animals. All of them talk about him, or stare at him, with the same annoying light in their eyes.
The page blurs. My head lolls back against the cushion.
At some point, my eyes drift closed because the next thing I know, I jerk awake, my heart racing like it knows he’s there.
And he is. Kneeling in front of me. Watching me like I’m a dessert tray and he skipped dinner.
His aqua eyes rake over my body, and I suddenly remember my outfit of heels, fishnets, barely there bra and panties, his tie around my throat. Heat flares in his gaze, dark and hungry.
“Nice fucking outfit, Molly,” he says with a quirk of his lips. “Were you looking for some craic?”
“No, I’m not looking for ‘crack’,” I shoot back automatically, even as my skin lights up. “I came for a tie.”
He catches the ends of it in his fist and gives a sharp tug that pulls me straight into his chest.
“Are you sure?” he murmurs, pinning me against the cushion.
No. “Yes.”
He bends his head and licks a slow path along my neck, mouth closing over one exposed nipple. My breath stutters. He sucks, teeth scraping against my flesh, and every nerve in my body goes on high alert.
“I want to know if you’ve done anything about my dad,” I blurt, clinging to the last thread of my sanity.
“This isn’t the time to talk about your da.” The vibration of his voice hums against my skin. He moves to the other nipple and sucks harder. A moan escapes me. My pussy clenches, slick and needy.
“But I’m working on it,” he adds. “Maybe he doesn’t want to be found.”
He bites my nipple, and his hand drifts down, cupping me through the thin net of my panties. It’s basically like he’s touching bare skin.
“What did your boyfriend want?” he asks, voice turning sharp.
“To give us coasters,” I snap. “And he’s not my boyfriend. He’s leaving. And I’m glad he is.”
Declan’s fingers push the panties into me, rough and hot, and my hips buck against his hand against my will.
He pulls back, eyes glittering. “I don’t think I want to talk about him either. Crawl onto my bed, since you walked in here like a gift to be unwrapped.”
Desire hits me hard enough to steal my breath. I get up from the couch and climb onto his bed, my knees sinking into the mattress.
“Just like that,” he says, coming up behind me, palms smoothing over my ass.
The first slap has a sharp, perfect sting. Then the second, on the other cheek. Heat blossoms under my skin, pain turning instantly into something else. Something wicked.
He bites my left ass cheek, sucking, and my entire core clenches around nothing.
“Oh, God.”
“Just me,” he says, amused. His fingers slide between my thighs, tracing my slit, up over my clit and down again. Then he pulls my ass cheeks apart and blows a soft breath over me.
I almost come from that alone.
“Turn over,” he orders.
I roll onto my back. He yanks the tie free and uses it to bind my wrists.
He strips out of his clothes. No hesitation. My mouth waters at the muscle, hard lines, and thick erection.
My mouth actually waters.
“You’re perfection, Molly,” he says, eyes roaming over me. “I can’t ever deny that.” He curls his hand around his cock, stroking lazily as he kneels between my thighs. “And I’m going to need to fuck you now. Rid you of Liam—”
“Leon, and he’s not—” I correct through gritted teeth.
“Who-the-fuck-ever,” he says. “I’m not jealous. I just don’t like him or any other man thinking about touching you.” He thrusts into me in one hard, deep stroke, his balls slapping against me. “Or having touched you.”
My back arches, a ragged sound tearing from my chest. He fills me completely, thick and hot and all-consuming.
He pulls out, making me whimper, then pushes my legs up, resting them on his shoulders. “I want you, Molly,” he says, voice low and rough. “With the kind of fierceness that may wreck us both.”
A broken sob catches in my throat. “I want you, too,” I admit, the words dragged out of some hidden place.
“But we’re doing something different tonight.” He slides his cock against my slick entrance…and then lower. “I’m going to take your ass again.”
He brushes my asshole with the head of his cock, and my body seizes in shock and anticipation.
I brace for him. Instead, I feel him dip his fingers into my pussy, then smear my wetness against my tight hole.
And then something smaller pushes inside me first. The dildo. The one I’d touched. He must have prepped it while I was asleep.
It fills my pussy, snug and thick, and then his cock is back at my ass, pressing in slow.
Every inch he sinks feels impossible and perfect at the same time.
The fullness is obscene. Sublime. Completely mind-shattering. He rocks into me instead of pounding, taking his time as he buries himself balls-deep.
He doesn’t stop there. His mouth finds mine. Every thrust of his cock into my ass is matched by a long, soul-stealing kiss.
My entire body trembles. I’m not coming, not yet. This is something else. Bigger. Hotter. More dangerous. Tears burn at the backs of my eyes and I don’t even know why. He’s holding back, I can feel it in the tension of his muscles, in the way he controls every movement.
Slow. Measured. Almost gentle.
It’s sensual and devastating. It feels like trust and ruin and something that tastes too much like…love. Sometimes he sucks my bottom lip, sometimes he dives deep, tongue stroking mine.
My fingers flex uselessly, still bound. I can’t touch him. I can’t steady myself.
I’m his. At his mercy.
And he is merciless.
The orgasm doesn’t slam into me this time. It rises from somewhere deep inside, a slow, relentless swell that spreads through every inch of me until I’m a trembling mess. I clench around him and the dildo, my body convulsing and pulsing with the most intense pleasure imaginable.
He thrusts deep, groaning, and I feel his cock twitch, pulse. Then hot bursts of release flood into me, the pressure almost too much.
I sob as I unravel beneath him.
“Hey,” he says softly when it’s done.
He eases out of me, unknotting the tie from my wrists, hands careful. He removes the dildo, too, leaving me empty, raw, and aching.
My body screams for more even as the most fragile part of me begs for him to stop. I feel like he’s just stripped me open. Not just skin and nerve, but bone and marrow. Everything feels exposed.
The tears I tried to blink away spill down the sides of my face. He makes it worse by pulling me into him, wrapping me up in his warmth, kissing my temples, my cheeks, like he can press the pieces of me back together.
Eventually, the sobs stop and my breathing calms.
“Marlowe?” he murmurs, his lips grazing my shoulder. “You okay?”
Maybe I could give up hating him. Maybe I already have.
“Yes?” I say, even though it comes out more like a question.
His breath brushes warm and gentle over my neck. “That bullet tonight was from someone in Ernie’s scumbag crew. We did some digging after the party and found the bastard who shot at us, thanks to a contact of Ava’s,” he says quietly. “We took care of it.”
An icy sensation snakes through my insides. Not because of the danger. Because of the casualness.
Those aren’t words of comfort or promises. They’re just logistics. Cleanup. Like what happened out there was a blip in his night instead of the moment my world tilted on its axis.
“That’s good,” I manage to choke out. My voice sounds stranger than the note ever did. “So we can end this soon.”
I close my eyes before he can read anything else in them.
Then I do the only thing that feels safe.
I lie perfectly still in Declan Murphy’s arms and pretend to sleep, while my truth claws relentlessly under my skin.