Chapter 10
TEN
ava
I push him away, my emotions swirling in a wild frenzy. Fury, desire, frustration, need. All of it is competing for the number one spot.
But I’m not giving up hope.
This man wants me, and as much as I hate him and his family, I want him too. And I can work my desire and his to my advantage.
I just… I just need to take a breath and calm the fuck down.
Bitter hate rips through me, along with that intense, bone-melting desire. It doesn’t matter he’s not the Murphy I despise. He’s still a Murphy, and the whole clan can drop dead for all I care.
Paddy—or Piotyr, his Russian-given name—detested them. While he showed me how to build small bombs, he shared war stories that painted them all as vile, cruel, and terrible men.
But… but… I need to keep a strong hold on my mask of vulnerability. I’m never truly vulnerable, but I can fake it, whip it up, and dish it out like the best of them. Men like soft girls who are lost.
I’m not fucking lost, either. I know my destination. I just need to carve out a path for myself, and with this recent unveiling of Dad’s will, that important marriage clause, I need to do it fast.
So I push aside the hate and focus in on that pagan beat of visceral need inside me.
I lift a shaking hand to my lips because they still burn from his kiss, and there’s a rivulet of spiked shock that runs through me at the memory of him licking up the trickle of blood I left on my mouth from when Maria hit me.
The shock is full of erotic desire. It calls to me on a base level. Like when he was on top of me in the dirt and grass and leaves. Like when he kissed me in the dark after he shot Chad. Or when he assaulted my lips against the wall right after we both stabbed that thug Olaf.
And, of course, the hot, otherworldly bathroom sex.
It appeals to something deep inside of me. It scratches up a storm of aching need and satiates in ways no one, or nothing else, has before.
I look at him. He leans against the door, arms folded again, eyelids lowered. My God, he makes my heart spin and twist and the marrow in my bones turns into liquid.
He’s the drumbeat. A savage, ancient sound.
Fuck…
“You can’t say no,” I whisper.
“Just did.”
“But… there’s no one else to turn to.”
Murphy doesn’t smile. He just watches me, the green of his eyes darkening with each passing moment.
This should be easy. They’re hungry, the Murphys.
They have to be since they are relative newcomers to the New York criminal world.
They were doing security work for Assisi and Iosif, so no matter what Onyx said about them, since they haven’t flexed the de Rosa name and they don’t make big waves, they must want more.
Because of course they do. Every single crime family wants more.
And I have the perfect lure.
More than that, he knows my name. Maybe he asked Romanov, that seems likely. But it doesn’t matter how he knows. The point is, he’s interested enough to find that out. And now I’m making an offer pretty much anyone else would fall over themselves to take.
So why isn’t he taking the crumbs I’m dropping?
I can’t allow myself to think of death and destruction and partnerships beyond this offer. The rest I can plan when I’m on my path to power. To getting Tatiana.
I concentrate on her.
And then I look at him. “I know you want me.”
“You want me, too.”
Fuck. I can’t tell if he’s just some kind of cold, sick bastard or if he’s playing with me.
“That should make it all easier,” I say.
“I don’t really do repeat performances, not unless the girl’s got talent.”
He’s so disgusting. My pulse spikes. “What do you want me to do? I’ll do anything.”
“Fuck whoever I want?” he asks softly, a deadly note sliding through his voice.
For a moment, I’m nonplussed. I’ve met men who are like that. I’ve seen what they do to the women they use. I swallow. I’m no fucking whore. I grit my teeth. This is just so fitting with the picture in my head of the Murphy men.
“Is that something you want?”
His mouth lifts at the corner, but there’s not a drop of warmth there. “I’m not interested in fucking men.”
I press my lips together. “I really don’t care what you do. In fact—”
“I meant, would you do that for me?”
“Yes,” I say. “I understood what you meant.”
“And?”
“If we were married, then… I guess we’d have to see.”
“I guess we would,” he says.
Trying to work out the answer he wants is almost impossible. I try and see through the no-shits-given expression, the casual stance that seems to vibrate, and then it clicks.
Mafia men are mafia men, no matter where they come from.
They like to own. To possess.
Some love sharing but… there’s something there, in those green eyes that gives me hope.
This man doesn’t like sharing. At least, I don’t think he does.
But I bet he’d demand all the marital joys.
I can stomach sleeping with him. I don’t think I can stomach being his personal whore. The man doesn’t have to like me and I don’t have to like him, but a fucked-up marriage of convenience, one with a definite use-by date is still a marriage, and to sell it we’d have to be it.
Married.
Miserable.
Sex. No sex. I’d prefer the latter, no matter what that throb and lick of heat in my pussy says. But I’ll do what I have to do.
I’m going to be Pakhan.
That means something.
Of course, that’s if I can change his mind.
“The thing is, I don’t think I’d want to sleep with the men you want me to sleep with. Or women, for that matter.”
That makes him smile.
“But the marriage needs to appear real. We have to look like a couple in love.”
“You can’t stand me, and I really don’t find you on my list of favorite people,” he says.
I glare. “Chemistry, Murphy. You know we have it.”
“Oh, you’re an expert now.” He lifts a brow and looks so damn sexy I want to throw myself at him. And I hate myself for even thinking that.
I suck in a sharp breath.
“And remember, I already said no.” He settles back against the wall, watching me as he gives off the air of being mildly bored.
“Say yes.”
He shrugs. “Change. My. Mind. You have two minutes.”
Panic swamps me, robbing me of air. But I slowly reach up under my skirt, pull off my underwear, and keeping my gaze on him, I approach and rub them on his face.
And I hear him breathe in.
Murphy plucks them away and swings them off a finger. “A decent start.”
Heat flares in my pussy.
I pull down the dress’s zipper, and shrug it off my shoulders, low enough that my lace bra peeks out. And then I trail my fingers down his chest to the zipper on his pants. He’s wearing all black. Long-sleeve t-shirt, black pants. He looks, in a word, delectable.
Murphy’s hard, and I trace over the piercings through the fabric of his pants, and as I start to lower the zipper, he says, “Tell you what, if you can get me off in two minutes, I’ll think about saying yes.”
“Think?”
“I might say yes if you let me fuck you up the ass.”
Now he’s taunting me. His eyes glint as he looks at me, and I think about biting him.
Except… I’m salivating. I’ve had his cock in my mouth before and I want it again. I don’t want to taste myself, though. I want his taste on my tongue. I want to make him come.
There’s something severely wrong with me, I know that. Most men I’ve kissed leave me cold; the handful I’ve fucked did the same. And some of them I really liked.
But this one? This man I can’t stand?
I’m practically drooling. I’m wet for him. Without my underwear, I can feel the moisture clinging to my thighs. My clit throbs, and there’s an ache inside that spreads through my limbs, dumbing down my brain.
Because, fuck, do I want him.
“Less than two minutes. One minute and forty seconds. I’m counting, Ava.”
“Fucking—”
“That’s the idea.”
I lower myself to my knees and pull his hard cock from his pants. He’s gorgeous. Thick, corded, precum glistening at the tip.
The anger and hate still burns, but it’s all caught in the net of pulsating desire. I lower my head and lick him, every rung of the Jacob’s ladder on the top and underneath.
Five.
There are five bars on the top of his cock. I slide my tongue under to run over those once more.
Four of those, like he’s had them all spaced just so to give maximum pleasure. There’s something erotically nuclear about them, about touching and sucking them with my tongue and lips.
“One minute ten, Ava,” he rasps, thrusting hard into my mouth.
The angry desire flares.
I lick around the underside of the head and use my hand to knead his balls.
But it’s not enough. I open my mouth and take him deep, my tongue moving against the underside of his cock as I suck. He’s so big and hard and hot. Silk and steel. The ridges from the piercings slide over my tongue, along the roof of my mouth.
And then I start to bob, a long, slow beat all the way to the back of my throat and then to the tip and back again.
He feels good. A little too big but good. I want him deeper, even though my eyes water and drool starts to soak my chin and chest.
Murphy groans, and I glance up at him. He has my panties pressed to his nose and he’s breathing me in, eyes on me.
My pussy spasms.
I keep going, and I have no idea if I’ve been doing this for ten minutes or one. He doesn’t mention the time again. Just one word. “Faster.”
Then another. “Yes.”
Each word spurs me on, and I’m caught up in the act, trying to suck with my lips tight around him to give more friction, slipping a hand up my thigh to my pussy while I work him.
“Harder.
“Deeper.
“Fuck.”
The words fall fast from his lips. And I do as he demands.
Suddenly his cock twitches and hot cum floods my mouth.
I pull off him and open wide, tilting my head upward to show him. Then I swallow.
His expression turns feral and my pussy spasms again.
Murphy fists my hair and pulls me up, crushing his mouth to mine. He kisses me deeply, it’s dark and savage and hot and wild.
Everything in me is in a free fall with nowhere to land, but the thrill of the fall is enough. The orgasmic rush of adrenaline and every beat of the blood in my veins cries out more.
He leads me across the room until we bump into a high-backed armchair, and he pushes me down, breaking the kiss. He takes my legs, pulls me to the edge, and spreads them over each arm so my pussy’s exposed, open for his viewing pleasure.
Murphy stands there for a long moment, staring, like my pussy’s going to be on an exam and he needs to memorize every inch of it.
The moment’s excruciatingly embarrassing and insanely hot. I go from wanting to clamp my thighs together to wanting to spread myself for him so he can really get his fill.
Murphy drops down to his knees, fingers biting into my thighs. He doesn’t utter a word, just dives in.
“Ungh.” I can’t even form a coherent word as my brain goes haywire, short-circuiting.
My pussy’s suddenly wired into my pleasure center, and every stroke and swirl of his tongue inside me is bliss.
It etches itself into my memory and I’m levitating, flying above the clouds in a blissful fog of euphoria.
Then he closes in on my clit and he drives two fingers into me. I scream, unable to stop the sound from breaking free.
Everything implodes for a moment, sucking all the oxygen from me until it mushrooms out into a momentous explosion and I’m nothing but sweet, singing pleasure.
My whole being throbs and writhes, and I’m so lost in the moment I barely register him pulling me to my feet.
I stumble, my legs buckling, but he half lifts me, the guttural, animal sound he makes feeding into my orgasm.
Another wild roll of pleasure surges through me as I land face down on the desk.
Things go flying into the air around me.
He pushes me down, holding me in place. Using his fingers, he drives into my pussy again, working me right up to another wave, and as it crashes, he pulls his fingers out and pushes his cock into my ass.
I go rigid, the orgasm and discomfort at war as he slams in to the hilt, balls slapping me. Then he holds.
“I think we have about two seconds left. Congratulations, you made me lose count.” He starts to move in me, slowly, surely, with long, deep strokes. The piercings drag and stimulate, and I’m being slammed by the pressure and pleasure all at once again. “You want me to marry you?”
“Yes,” I gasp, pushing the word out as he starts to fuck me harder. I want to push back into it, but he has me trapped, holding me still, his to use as he wants.
“You know I’ll do my best to fucking strip you down to your bones, rip apart all your secrets, and take you how I want when I want. And you’re gonna let me.”
“Yes…”
“Fuck…” He slams into me harder and harder and my body heats into overdrive. The first orgasmic knell hits when he comes, his cock twitching inside my walls, spurting into me, and I come in such a way that my mind is momentarily fried, and I’m just there for the soul-shaking waves of ecstasy.
And after I’m gasping, coming down, I manage to croak out words.
“You came twice,” I say as he pulls out. “Marry me.”
“You don’t even know my name.”
He flips me over and starts to finger fuck me.
I’m so alive, so sensitive, my body craving everything he has to give.
Then he leans down, bites my clit, and licks it before rising over me, still fucking me with his fingers.
Each thrust gives me the perfect amount of delicious pleasure, the perfect curl to hit my G-spot with each retreat, his thumb now working my clit and incredibly, I’m getting close. Again.
I don’t know his name. He’s right. And I don’t fucking care. “What is it?”
“Consider this a marriage present,” he whispers, kissing me.
Euphoria fills me, right before the orgasm erupts. And as the first small spasm hits, a taste before it all crashes into me, I say, “Your name…?”
And I start to shatter.
“Seamus Murphy, sweet thing.”
My orgasm explodes and floods me with pleasure.
Oh. Fuck. I think I hate him even more.
It’s fucking Seamus?
What the hell have I done?