19. Lara
19
LARA
Rory’s gone for a long time, and I can’t help being worried. He was acting strangely before he left, and I don’t know what accountants do to blow off steam, but I’m hoping it’s not the same as Irish gangsters.
I’m lying down on my side, looking at the wall, when the bedroom door opens.
I sit up with a grin, turning around to face him, but it fades quickly.
There’s a bruise forming on his cheekbone, and his shirt is covered in blood.
I gasp, scrambling out of bed and hurrying to him.
“Where are you hurt?”
Rory shakes his head, his expression completely blank. “Not my blood.”
I swallow hard. “What happened?”
Rory doesn’t answer, and before he can push me away, I start to unbutton his shirt.
He said the blood wasn’t his, but maybe he doesn’t know he’s been hit.
I’ve had plenty of experience with family members getting shot, and I don’t want to take any chances.
Rory just stands there stiffly while I take off his shirt, running my hands over his chest, his abdomen, to make sure there are no wounds.
There’s not, and I let out a breath in a rush of relief before taking his hand, leading him to the bathroom.
I have to push him down to sit him on the toilet because he’s too tall for me to reach the bruise on his face.
There’s a small cut on his cheekbone that’s trickling blood, and I dab it with a wet washcloth.
Rory still doesn’t speak. He’s too pale, and I’m starting to worry about him.
He hisses when I dab harder at the wound, trying to clean the blood.
“It’s everywhere,” I mumble, and turn on the tub faucet, letting the water run hot.
I start to add the cold, and Rory’s ragged voice stops me.
“Don’t. Want it hot.”
I bite my lip and only turn on a little cold.
The bath is still nearly scalding when it’s finished, and Rory hasn’t said a word since he told me it wasn’t his blood.
“Tell me what happened.” I cup his face with my hands, making him look at me.
His blue eyes search my face.
“No.”
“Rory,” I start, but he cuts me off by wrenching away from me.
He stands, undressing himself with trembling hands.
“You can go,” he says quietly, but his voice shakes.
I shake my head, sticking my chin out stubbornly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Rory sighs but doesn’t complain, sliding naked into the water with a low groan in the back of his throat that makes my insides twist.
I kneel next to the bathtub, taking the washcloth and passing it over his skin slowly, cleaning the blood until the water turns pink.
Rory looks down at the pink water, swallowing visibly.
“I think you need to talk about it.”
“Stop.”
“Rory.” I take his chin in my hand, forcing his eyes to mine. “Whatever you say, it won’t make me think less of you.”
“It might make you afraid.”
A thrill rushes through me.
He’s an accountant, not a gangster. What could he possibly have done?
“I don’t scare easily.”
I let go of his chin, but he keeps my gaze, his throat still working.
“You could mind your own business,” he sneers, but it’s not anger that rushes through me, but something else.
I’m worried about him.
“Tell me.” My voice is insistent, and I don’t look away from him.
“I killed him,” he whispers. “Is that what you wanted to know?”
Instead of biting, his tone is hushed, like it’s a secret he doesn’t want anyone to know.
I freeze, my hand pausing as I wash the blood off his neck.
“Killed who?”
“Scott. The man who tried to...”
The memory comes back to me, hitting me like a freight train.
Him trying to spread my legs, his body covering mine, his breath hot against my neck.
“Good.” I don’t know what I’m saying until I say it. It’s the first thing that comes to mind.
“I’ve never killed anyone before.”
I continue washing him off, and he puts his hand over mine, making me scrub harder, until his skin is reddening from the hot water.
“Why did you kill him?”
Rory snaps his gaze to mine, his eyes filled with anguish. “Why do you think?”
I lick my suddenly dry lips, passing the washcloth over his abdomen where a stray streak of blood remains.
Rory shudders, his cock rising to attention, his eyes still on mine, unashamed.
“I’m glad he’s dead.” I brush his wet hair from his face. “Thank you.”
“You’re thanking me for killing someone?”
“For killing him ,” I correct. “God knows what he would have done if you hadn’t stopped him. God knows what he would have done to other women.”
“You’re saying it was the right thing to do?”
I shrug. “Right and wrong have always been a little blurred in my household. You protected me and whoever else he might try to hurt. He’ll never touch a woman like that again. That seems like the right thing to me.”
Rory lets out a shaking breath, and I lean over to kiss his throat, sucking a small mark there. Rory’s moan rumbles in his chest.
I move my hand to put around his growing erection, but he grabs my wrist roughly, making me gasp.
“Not here,” he says gruffly, and stands up, dripping, grabbing a towel to sling around his hips.
I walk back into the bedroom, taking off my clothes in a hurry.
Something about Rory killing the man who’d tried to hurt me makes me want him even more than I already do.
I’m already in bed, pushing down the covers with my feet, nude, when Rory comes toward me.
He’s toweled off, and his hair is mussed, his skin glistening with water he missed beading on his six-pack abdomen.
He’s already dropped the towel, and I take in the sight of him in all his glory, his broad chest, tight stomach, the trail of dark hair below his bellybutton.
I dart my tongue out to wet my lips and spread my thighs.
Rory shakes his head once. “Turn around. On all fours."
His commanding words shoot pleasure up my spine, and I obey, getting on my hands and knees, facing away from him.
I can’t help turning to look as the weight of him jostles the bed.
Rory grunts, taking my left hip in his hand roughly, probably bruising me.
I don’t care.
I arch my back, craning my head around to look at him as he uses his other hand to guide himself into me. The stretch feels unbelievable, and I let out a low moan of his name.
“Do you still want to know why I killed him?” he murmurs as he slides all the way into me.
I gasp, surprised that he’s bringing this up now, of all times.
I don’t trust my voice not to break if I speak, so I just nod.
“Because no one touches you but me.”
I cry out as he starts to roll his hips, thrusting in and almost all the way out before ramming himself back in. It’s rough and dirty and exactly what I’ve been craving.
It’s never been like this, with anyone else, just fumbled kisses and half-assed touches in the backs of cars. Da never let me out much as a teenager or young adult, and after a while, I just… gave up.
I never knew it could be like this. No one else has ever made me come, and I want to tell him that, but I can’t breathe as I approach my orgasm.
I rock my hips back against him, and he growls low in his throat, slapping me on one ass cheek.
“Be still. Let me take what’s mine.”
He keeps fucking me through my orgasm, until I’m gasping for air, trying to catch at least one breath as my body goes limp.
I collapse forward on my forearms, keeping my ass in the air.
I’m helpless as he continues, and I come again, almost painfully, clenching around him until he cries out and hunches forward over me, spilling in hot ropes inside me.
“Fuck.” All the little strength I had left leaves my body.
Rory pulls out of me, kissing along my spine, his fingers light on my bruised hips instead of punishing.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, flipping me over, kissing along my neck now, softly instead of leaving marks.
I lean my head back to accept the affection, smiling.
“Don’t you dare apologize for that. I’ve never come so hard in my life.”
Rory pulls away just enough to look at me, his eyes widening.
“Oh? You like it rough, honey?”
I snort. “I do.”
He grins, and the sight of his smile lighting up his handsome face makes my heart feel lighter.
I had begun to worry that killing Scott has really affected him.
I guess it has, but maybe I’ve helped. I wanted to help.
“Guess we have more in common than I thought.”
He slides down my body, kissing along my abdomen, his tongue slipping into my bellybutton.
I giggle as it tickles, pushing at his shoulders, but he just grins wider, settles between my thighs.
I lick my lips and spread my thighs wider, looking down at him with half-lidded eyes.
“You don’t have to—” I start, but it trails off into a moan as he presses his mouth against my clit, using the flat of his tongue to pleasure me.
“God, you taste good.” His voice comes out muffled against my sex, and I let out a hitched whine.
“I can’t,” I complain, but I can’t deny that I'm loving it. “I’m sensitive.”
He pulls away and meets my eyes for just a moment.
“I’ll be gentle.”
Rory is gentle at first, lapping slowly at my swollen clit, sliding his hands under my ass to bring me closer.
But when my breath becomes short, he latches around it, sucking and flicking his tongue, and I’ve never felt anything like it. Pleasure builds and builds, and I feel like I might explode before I come.
“Rory,” I breathe. “Rory, I can’t?—”
But then I do, coming once and then twice in quick succession, breathing out curses in both English and Gaelic, curses I didn’t even knew I know.
Rory lifts his head, his mouth and chin glistening with me, grinning smugly.
“I knew you could.”
I let out a shaky laugh. “Are you trying to set a record or something? Because I gotta tell you, you already have.”
He tilts his head, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before lying down next to me, drawing me into his arms.
“How many times did you come?”
“Four? Five?” I’m not sure, really, it’s all a blur, and I’m nearly lightheaded from all the pleasure he’s given me.
He scoffs. “That’s not a record.”
I look at him curiously, my eyes widening. “What’s your record?”
He shrugs. “I dunno. At least a dozen.”
My mouth drops open. “A dozen? I thought you were an accountant .”
“What, accountants can’t fuck?” He laughs. The sound rumbles in his chest as he draws me into his arms.
“I didn’t think they could.”
He laughs again, close to my ear, and it makes me shiver.
I’m cold in the air conditioning now that I’m not delirious with pleasure, and he tsks.
He pulls the comforter up over me, kissing my temple.
“Guess you were wrong.”
“Clearly.”
Rory goes quiet, his slow breaths and the whirr of the air conditioning the only sounds in the room.
I wiggle back against him, turning my head slightly, and he kisses me for the first time since coming back home. It’s not rough and dirty, not too much tongue, just a sweet little kiss.
I sigh in contentment against his mouth, and he throws his arm across my waist, nuzzling into my neck.
My eyes are already drifting closed when he speaks.
“You’re not what I thought, Lara Burke.”
“Murphy,” I mumble, half-asleep. “It’s Lara Murphy, now.”
Rory draws in a sharp breath and tightens his arm around me.
I fall asleep without a worry in the world with my arranged husband, too blissed out to worry about the fact that I’m falling in love with him.
Chapter Twenty