34. Matron of Secrets #2
The denial lands like a lash. He lets out a primal sound—half growl, half moan—and the sheer depth of it sends a jolt through me. My nipples tighten in response, betraying just how much his desperation is feeding my own.
I press my lips to his ear, my breath a wicked caress. “Now tell me,” I breathe, “what you want. What you need. What you crave .”
His voice rasps against my skin. “I want you to ride me, mo ghrá. Take me deep, stretch yerself around me, make me feel the squeeze of that perfect cunt until I’m lost in you.
I want to feel you drench me, want you to squeeze me so tight I cannae think of anythin’ but how good it feels to be buried inside you. ”
I shift, placing both of my hands on his outstretched thighs.
I press my slick heat against his length, teasing him as I roll my hips, savouring the tortured groan that rumbles from his throat.
“I love when you take me,” I murmur, voice thick with need.
“When you fill me until I’m stretched tight around you.
Until I’m drenched and ruined for anything but this. ”
I feel crazed, driven by a need so consuming that it eclipses all sense of propriety. “I want your cock to fill me until I can scarcely breathe.”
His breath shudders out of him. His eyes are dark—molten heat and restraint—watching me like a man on the edge.
“Aye,” he grits, his voice rough and nearly feral. “And I’m hangin’ by a bloody thread.” His brogue thicker now, like it’s unravelling with him.
I roll my hips again, deliberately slow, dragging myself across the thick length of him with enough friction to draw a low, tortured groan from his throat. His hips jerk, seeking more, but I lift myself just enough to deny him.
“Ye’re testin’ my patience, you wicked little minx. Do that again and I’ll have you on your back before you can finish another sentence.”
I let out a soft laugh, pleased by the way his control slips beneath my hips. “Easy, there,” I whisper, dragging my nails lightly down his chest. “I’m just sitting here…”
“Triona,” he growls, my name a warning, a plea, a reminder that he’s seconds away from snapping
But I don’t relent.
Instead, I shift again—rolling my hips with more pressure this time, slow but devastating, and his breath catches violently. The muscles in his thighs twitch under me.
“You’re shaking,” I whisper. “So close to breaking. I can feel it. ”
His hands twitch, trembling with restraint, and I see him bite down on a curse.
“I want you,” he growls, like the effort to hold himself still is fraying at the edges.
I pause, heart stammering beneath the intensity of his gaze. There’s something unholy in it—wild and reverent, all-consuming.
I reach for his face, brushing my thumb across his cheekbone, and press soft kisses along his jaw. Then I lean in, my mouth barely grazing the shell of his ear.
“Let go,” I whisper, then softly nip at his earlobe and neck. “You can touch me now.”
He moves in a flash, gripping my waist to pull me up as he aligns himself. The thick, aching length of him sliding through my slickness, teasing me, tormenting me. My breath hitches as I feel the broad head press against my entrance, a delicious, torturous pressure.
As he pushes inside, a moan escapes my lips at the exquisite stretch, the delicious fullness felt by him sheathing himself to the hilt inside my aching quim.
“Tri,” he growls, desire thick in his voice. “Ye’re a vision. A goddess made flesh.”
I lift my hips eagerly, driving down onto him and taking him to the limit of my body’s pleasure. We both cry out at the exquisite sensation, his length stretching and filling me in a way that blurs my senses.
With a sensual rhythm, I move, rolling my hips in a motion that has us both gasping with pleasure.
Finn’s hands roam my body, caressing my breasts and tweaking my sensitive nipples, sending sparks of desire racing through my veins.
I lean forward, bracing my hands on his broad chest as I ride him harder, faster, chasing the building ecstasy.
“Gods, Triona,” he grunts, his voice thick, his hips surging upward as he thrusts harder, deeper. “Ye’re takin’ me so beautifully—squeezin’ me like you never want to let me go. Like you were made for this… made for me.”
I gasp as he lifts me slightly, nearly pulling me off him before slamming me back down, burying himself inside me again with a force that sends waves of pleasure crashing through me. My nails rake over his broad shoulders as I cling to him, frantic, overwhelmed.
Each thrust sends shockwaves of bliss radiating through my core, the friction exquisite, the heat unbearable. My peak is rising fast, the pressure coiling, winding tighter, tighter—
“Don’t stop,” I beg, my voice breaking on a moan. “Finn, I’m so close...”
“Ride me, Triona,” he commands, his fingers biting into my hips as he takes control, driving into me with a fervour that makes my vision blur. “Take yer pleasure from me. Drench my cock. ”
Our bodies move in perfect synchronisation, our passion reaching new heights with each thrust. His hand finds its way between us and he creates an even more intense rhythm that only he knows how to master.
Circling my swollen clit with knowing fingers, he drives me closer and closer to the edge of pure euphoria.
His mouth claims mine in a punishing kiss, swallowing my cries as his hips piston faster, rougher, claiming me in every way imaginable. I shatter with a wail, my release flooding through me in violent, breathtaking waves, my body clenching around him as I convulse in his grasp.
“Triona!” he roars, his rhythm stuttering, his thrusts turning frantic. A ragged shout tears from his throat as he jerks inside me, his seed spilling deep, filling me with his heat as he groans against my lips.
We collapse together, a tangle of limbs and sweat-slicked skin, our bodies still trembling with the aftermath. My heart races, my breath uneven, my soul alight with something more than just passion—something infinite.
“You were made for me,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse, sated. “Just as I was made for you.”
In his arms, I am remade—body, heart, and soul.
I take a deep breath, smoothing my hands down the snug fighting leathers that are just as beautiful now as the day they were when I last wore them.
Gifted to me by one of the best men I will ever have had the privilege of knowing.
I feel the weight of his love and his belief in me settles over my shoulders like armour.
It takes all my strength not to let my emotions show as I step onto the deck.
Finn’s eyes soften when he sees me, and he nods, approval glimmering in his gaze. Callan’s voice is soft when he speaks. “They look right on ye, lass.” His words strike something deep within me, and I nod, unable to communicate past the lump in my throat .
Finn and Callan have changed into finer clothing.
Finn’s usually rough attire has been replaced with a tailored coat and clean, dark trousers, while Callan wears a sharp waistcoat over his shirt, its deep green fabric catching the light.
They both look uncharacteristically polished, the effort clearly made to ensure we can blend in if necessary.
I can’t help but smirk as I turn to Callan. “You know, you’d find a wife easily enough if you dressed like that more often.”
Callan snorts, rolling his eyes but not denying it. “Aye, and deal with the headaches that come with it? Absolutely not.”
Then I glance at Finn, my smirk widening. “I might just have to carry a beating stick around with me. You look ravishing .”
Callan groans, running a hand over his face. “Please feckin’ don’t.”
Finn smirks, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Lucky for you, my heart’s already claimed by a doe-eyed beauty with the most irresistible lips. Stands about, oh, yay high—” he gestures toward me, a playful glint in his gaze. “Have you seen her? Impossible to miss—she’s absolutely breathtaking.”
Before I can even muster a response, my cheeks burn at his words, and I feel my heart stutter.
A giddy warmth swells in my chest, and I whisper, “You’re impossible.
" Finn’s smirk deepens. Ignoring Callan’s exaggerated groan, he steps closer, cups my face with both hands, and pulls me into a deep, searing kiss.
His lips claim mine with a warmth that sends heat rushing through me.
The ship creaks and groans as it eases into the bustling harbour at North Wall Quay in Dublin, pulling me from that kiss.
Finn kisses the tip of my nose before pulling me by the hand to the rail of the ship.
The salty tang of the sea blends with the earthy aroma of the city.
I lean over the railing, my braid whipping in the wind as scan the docks for a familiar face.
Finn stands close behind me, his hand resting instinctively near the hilt of his sword, while Callan keeps his usual brooding silence, his sharp eyes darting through the crowd below.
“See anything, Doe?” Finn asks, his voice low and steady, though his knuckles whiten slightly on the rail.
“What, no Little ?” I say with a mock pout.
He chuckles as he pushes my lip in with a pointer finger. “That would be the part you catch—ye’re not so little anymore.”
His voice dips in a way that sends heat curling low in my belly. My breath stills as his fingers trail from my lip, down my throat, pausing just at the hollow above my collarbone. He leans in, his breath warm against my ear.
“Ye’ve done things to me that only a woman would do, mo ghràdh. And I’ve touched you in ways that left my hands burned into yer skin. Made you tremble, beg, and whisper my name like it was a prayer.” His thumb sweeps over the spot, his voice turning husky. “And you still think ye’re little?”
A shiver runs through me, my pulse hammering against his touch. I should step away, I should say something sharp and teasing, but his words have taken root. My fingers twitch at my sides, aching to reach for him.