Chapter 23
TIERNEY
When I roll over, Bronx’s side of the bed is already empty.
I scrub my eyes, scoot off the mattress and throw on my silk robe before heading to the bathroom. I check my reflection in the mirror, fix my hair, and brush my teeth. Things I never used to bother with before living with Bronx.
Now I do them automatically.
When I pad barefoot to the kitchen, Bronx is on the phone, and the second he sees me, he mutters something under his breath and ends the call.
“I’ll be in my office,” he says, knocking back the last of his coffee. “By the way, I’m cooking tonight. Invite Connor.”
He heads my way and kisses the top of my head as he passes.
“Is everything okay?” I ask. “You seem distracted.”
“Just busy, princess.” He smiles, but it doesn’t crease his cheek the same way.
“Have your men tracked down those Irish guys yet?”
His jaw tightens before he answers.
“They’re dealing with it,” he replies just as his phone rings again. “We’ll talk later.”
For the rest of the day he stays in his office, making hushed calls and eating the takeout one of his security guys fetched for us.
I think about joining him for lunch, but something about the way he shuts the door tells me not to bother him.
He seems… off. Like he’s thinking three moves ahead of me, and I’m not part of the plan.
After my workout and solo shower in the gym a few floors below, I return to the penthouse. He’s already resurfaced from his office, and the sound of running comes from the bathroom. I hover in the bedroom like a damn fool, trying to talk myself out of joining him.
What would that make me if I did?
Desperate…under his thumb…or just a normal woman looking for a good time.
I sit on the edge of the bed and stay there, taking deep breaths to counter the ache spreading through my core. He’s naked, wet, and the remedy to my arousal, but this dependency on him is getting out of hand.
I drag a hand down my face and check my phone. Connor will be here in fifteen minutes, which puts an end to anything remotely filthy.
The second I get to my feet, Bronx strolls into the room with a towel slung low on his hips, water dripping from his dark hair.
Jesus fuck.
My pulse spikes the second his eyes lock on mine.
“You been hanging around in here long?” he asks, voice gravel-thick.
“Why?” I shoot back. “Worried I’d hear you talking on the phone?”
His eyes narrow and I find myself taking a step back.
“Oh, princess.” He runs a hand through his wet hair. “Do you think I’m cheating on you?”
I steel my spine and push down the flutter in my chest when he smirks.
“I think you’re up to something.”
In three strides, his chest collides with mine, and the towel falls to the floor.
“Give me a few seconds,” he says. “I’ll show you exactly what I’m up to.”
I make a face at him and try to take a sideways step, only he grabs my arm and slides his other hand into the hair at my nape.
“Get on your knees, princess.”
“How about you get on your knees?”
His smile turns slow and dangerous as if I’ve just handed him exactly what he wanted.
He chuckles and his pupils blow wide so his eyes turn black. “Fine by me.”
Before my next breath, he hauls me into the air, drops me on the bed, flat on my back, and has my sweatpants dragged off.
His movements are impatient, but his eyes remain steady on mine as he grips my hips and yanks me down the bed until my ass is right at the edge.
My pulse hammers in my throat. I try to prop myself on my elbows, but he plants one wide palm in the center of my chest and shoves me flat again.
“Stay,” he growls, voice gravel-low. “You wanted me on my knees? You’re getting me on my fucking knees, princess.”
Then he lowers to the floor. I lift my head to see him better, and God, the sight of this powerful man, with his damp muscles and intense gaze, kneeling between my spread thighs makes something inside me clench so hard I gasp.
He hooks his arms under my knees, drags my legs over his shoulders, and buries his face against me without warning.
The first swipe of his tongue is slow and filthy. He licks a long, dragging path from my entrance to my clit, then seals his mouth over me and sucks.
My back bows off the bed. “Fuck—!”
“That’s it,” he murmurs against my soaked folds, the vibration ripping another whimper out of me. “Let me hear how much you enjoy your husband’s mouth.”
He spears his tongue inside me, fucking me with it while his nose grinds against my clit. My hands fly to his hair, fingers twisting in the wet strands.
He pulls back just enough to speak, lips glistening, eyes feral. “You think I’d waste my time on anyone else when this pussy is right here, dripping for me?” Another slow, punishing lick. “I fucking love how wet you get for me, princess.”
I’m shaking. “You—asshole—”
“Yeah, that’s right. Your asshole.” He drags the flat of his tongue over my clit in tight, relentless circles while two thick fingers slide inside me, curling to that sweet spot that makes my vision white out. “The one who’s gonna make you come so hard.”
He pumps his fingers faster, deeper, the wet sounds filling the room.
“This is the best part of my day,” he rasps between licks. “Tasting this fucking needy little pussy. You get this wet thinking I might’ve touched someone else? Or because deep down you know you’re the only one I do this to?”
I can’t answer. I can barely breathe. My hips are grinding against his face now, shameless, chasing the pressure.
“Say it,” he demands, curling his fingers harder, stroking that spot over and over while his tongue flicks over my clit. “Tell me whose mouth is making you moan like this.”
“Yours—” The word breaks on a sob. “Fuck, yours—please—”
“That’s right.” His voice is thick and raspy. “This pussy is mine. This orgasm is mine, too.”
He adds a third finger, stretching me, filling me. My thighs start to tremble around his head.
“Yes—God, yes—”
“Come for me,” he orders, voice dark and dangerous. “Come on my tongue like the greedy little wife you are. Drench my fucking face and show me who you belong to.”
He sucks my clit hard at the same time he thrusts his fingers deep, and I shatter.
The orgasm surges through me like wildfire. My muscles lock, thighs clamping around his head, back arching so it lifts off the bed.
“Oh, my—fuck—Bronx—”
He doesn’t stop licking, sucking, fingering me through every shudder, drawing it out until I’m whimpering, oversensitive, and my hips jerking.
When he finally pulls away, his lips and chin are slick, eyes blazing with triumph and hunger. He drags the back of his hand across his mouth, never breaking eye contact.
“You ready for more?” he asks, voice hoarse.
I’m panting, legs still trembling over his shoulders.
“No… Connor will be here—”
He smirks. “Don’t fucking care.”
Then he joins me on the bed and positions himself between my thighs, and I realize with a fresh spike of heat that he’s nowhere near done with me.
His cock nudges against my soaked entrance as he hooks one of my legs higher around his waist and grips my hip before he thrusts in hard, burying himself to the hilt in one stroke.
The stretch burns so good I choke on a whimper, nails raking down his back. He groans low in his throat, forehead dropping to mine.
“Jesus Christ,” he rasps, already pulling back only to slam in again, deeper. “Still so fucking wet for me after I just ate you out.”
I can’t form words. My body’s too busy arching, trying to take more. Every thrust punches the air out of my lungs.
“Dig your nails into my back,” he murmurs against my ear, but there’s a wicked edge to it. “Fuck me like you want to hurt me.”
The words send a fresh gush of heat through me. I clench around him hard enough to make him curse under his breath. And when I score his shoulders with my nails, he growls.
“Fuck—do that again.”
I do, and he retaliates by angling his hips so the thick ridge of him drags over that swollen spot inside me with every stroke.
“Come on.” He grits his teeth. “Give it to me. Squeeze my cock while I fill you up.”
One hand snakes between us. Rough fingertips find my clit and rub messy, frantic circles.
That’s it.
Heat explodes in a blaze.
I come so hard my vision blacks out at the edges, body locking down around him in violent pulses. My mouth opens in a scream the second I hear my name being called.
“Tier?” Connor’s voice cuts through the haze, coming from the hallway. “You in there? You okay?”
The sound of my brother’s footsteps comes closer.
Panic and pleasure collide in a brutal rush. I slam my mouth against the thick muscle of Bronx’s shoulder and sink my teeth in, trying to muffle the broken groan.
The sharp sting of my bite switches something feral in him.
His rhythm stutters. His grip on my hip turns punishing. A low, guttural roar tears from his throat as he shoves in deep one last time and floods me with hot, thick spurts while his whole body goes rigid against mine.
He bites down on the side of my neck, not trying to break skin but trying to mark me as he rides out the aftershocks.
For a long, suspended second, there’s only the sound of our ragged breathing and faint footsteps in the hall.
Connor knocks once on the door. “Yo…Tier?”
I’m trembling, teeth embedded in his shoulder, his cock twitching inside me with the last weak pulses of his release.
He lifts his head just enough to meet my wide, dazed eyes.
“Answer him, princess,” he whispers, voice dark with satisfaction. “Or I’ll fuck you again—and have you screaming louder.”
I swallow hard, release his shoulder with a shaky exhale, and force my voice steady despite the way my body is still fluttering.
“Y-yeah,” I call back, hating how wrecked I sound. “I’m fine. Just… stubbed my toe in the bathroom. Make yourself a coffee. I’ll be out in a sec.”
“Alright, drama queen,” he laughs. “Bronx had better hurry and bring dinner home. I’m starving.”
Footsteps retreat down the hall.
The second he’s gone, Bronx chuckles.
“Stubbed your toe, huh?” He brushes sweat-damp hair off my forehead, thumb tracing the bite mark he left on my neck. “Guess I’ll have to be more careful next time.”
His eyes darken.
“Or maybe not.”
I swat his ass and shove him off me so his cock slides out. “I don’t want my brother to know what we get up to.”
Bronx grabs the towel from the floor, takes my hand and pulls me off the bed. “Why? Will he call the cops and tell them your husband makes you happy?”
“Who said I’m happy?”
“The noises you just made tell me you were very fucking happy, princess.”
He leads me into the bathroom, turns on the shower, and drags me in with him. While he washes himself, I do the same, and somehow it feels normal.
Bronx steps out first and rough-dries his hair with a fresh towel. “I’ll start making dinner. Take your time, princess.”
When he leaves, I press my forehead to the shower screen and exhale. I never expected this marriage to become something I enjoyed…something I wanted to be a part of.
After I’ve dried off and redressed, I head for the kitchen to help with dinner. On my way there, I hear a hushed voice coming from the sitting room.
“I know what I owe… I’m handling it.” Connor mutters. “Give me more time.”
As soon as he sees me, he hangs up.
“Who was that?” I ask.
“Nobody. Just... university stuff.” Connor slides his phone into his jeans pocket. “What’s for dinner?”
He’s acting weird. Edgy.
“You know we’ll cover your uni fees, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.” I study his ruffled hair and tight expression for a beat. “Come with me and we’ll find out what Bronx is making.”
Connor follows behind, and when I reach the kitchen, Bronx is at the stove wearing a black T-shirt and sweatpants. His forehead is creased, and he’s staring at his phone screen as he types.
“What can I help with?” I join his side and notice the exact second he shuts off whatever was looking at and pockets his phone.
“Grab some forks,” he mutters, distant.
I set out the cutlery on the island, then the pasta bowls, a bottle of extra virgin olive oil, and hand Connor the red wine to uncork.
“Wow,” Connor smirks. “When did you get so domesticated?”
I flip him the bird. “Unless you wanna wear your dinner, I suggest you button it.”
“No, seriously, Tier,” he says, popping the cork. “I used to think the only reason you hooked up with Damien was so he’d feed you.”
“If you want to keep your tongue in your face, don’t mention that name in this home,” Bronx says, his voice like black silk.
A shiver runs through me.
“My bad,” Connor makes a face. “Ex’s and baggage. I get it. Sorry, Bronx.”
When Connor and I sit at the island, Bronx spoons the spaghetti and tomato sauce into bowls.
“When was the last time you spoke to your father?” The question sounds casual, but Bronx is watching Connor too closely for it to be small talk.
“A while ago,” he replies. “Must be over a week ago.”
“Does he talk about his business when he calls?”
Connor winds his fork into the spaghetti. “He would if I were in Dublin. Being a seven-hour flight away kind of kills the need for help. Not that I’m his go-to. That’s little Miss Revolver here. She’s his golden child.”
I roll my eyes at that and study the serious look in Bronx’s eyes. He looks different in this light, or maybe it’s when he’s not buried between my thighs.
“Why? Is something wrong?” I ask.
Bronx gives a half-hearted shrug. “Just wondering how he’s holding up without his kids.”
He never asks about my da, so it was a loaded question.
“I’m sure he’s fine,” Connor adds.
I wait until Bronx sits beside me before I turn to him. “What’s really going on with you? You’ve been locked away in your office all day and now you’re grilling Connor.”
“Stop worrying,” he replies. “I’m just making conversation.”
He pours red wine into my glass and then fills his own.
“How are your university applications going, Connor?”
Connor hums around a mouthful of pasta, and once he’s swallowed, he wipes his mouth and replies. “Fine. Should hear back in a few days.”
“Right…making any friends in the program?” Bronx asks.
“Not yet.”
“Should be useful for networking opportunities. Who did you say the professor was?”
“Uh…no idea, mate. I’m gonna wait until I get accepted before I start the introductions.”
“Wouldn’t you rather be prepared?” Bronx sits back on the bar stool and takes a drink of wine. “I’ll have to do background checks on everyone you come into contact with.”
“All in good time.”
While Bronx pulls out his phone and types another message, my thoughts spin. Something’s off with both of them. Bronx is hiding something from me, and Connor’s acting weird.
And what’s worse, sitting next to him, comfortable and satiated from the best sex of my life, I realize something terrifying.
I’ve let my guard drop around him.
Enough to imagine being his wife for longer than six months.
And that’s the most dangerous thing I could do.