Chapter 13 #3
I may be a virgin, but he’s definitely not. I don’t even want to think about what he’s done in here.
Is that jealousy I’m feeling?
No. I’m not… I’m not jealous. Why would I be jealous of a man I hate? I don’t even like the man. He can have all the fucking women he wants for all I care.
I swallow hard.
There’s a knock at the door. Cavin opens it, and Declan appears with Bridget at his side. He only opens the door a crack so she can’t see the details in here. And my god, if he opens it even further…
“You alright, Bridget?” I ask immediately.
“I’m fine.” Bridget’s eyes are wide. “What’s—”
“She’s grand,” Cavin says. Then he tells Declan, “Take her to the lounge. Get her whatever she wants. We’ll be done here shortly. Take very good care of her, Declan. Don’t let her out of your damn sight.”
Declan nods. Before I can protest, he adds, “Wait for us in the club.” Then he turns to my sister. “Bridget.” Not a question, a command wrapped in her name.
“Yes?” Her voice goes small, childlike. Even I gulp.
“Do you have a purple band on your arm as well?”
She swallows, then nods.
“Take it off her.” The words come out cold and commanding—not to Bridget, but to Declan—an order that doesn’t allow for debate.
Declan curses under his breath, and the door clicks shut behind them.
Now it’s just us.
Why do I like the fact that Cavin is looking out for my little sister?
He isn’t protecting her, he’s just…
He turns to me, and the room shifts again. I lose all train of thought. I never lose my train of thought.
This time, the downshift feels heavier. Weighted.
“Do you have any idea what you did tonight?” His voice is controlled, but I can hear the anger simmering underneath.
“You came into my club. My territory. Without permission. Without telling me. Without reading my texts. Without even understanding what you were walking into, and you told everyone that my fiancée was free to take.”
Well. That does sound sort of terrible when he puts it that way…
He takes a step closer, then another, until there’s hardly a fragment of space between us.
“This isn’t some casual place where you grab a pint and go home. This is where I come to forget the world exists. Where normal rules don’t apply. Or… I used to, anyway,” he says.
“What does that mean?”
His eyes narrow on me. “You sat in my club, looking like that, with a signal on your fucking arm that you were available. That our engagement means nothing.”
He points a finger at my chest. It doesn’t hurt, but I’m hyperaware of every nerve ending it comes in contact with.
“And you are anything but available. Every fucking man in that room was wondering if you were fair game. And do you know what I would have had to do if they’d touched you? If they’d come anywhere near you?”
I shake my head, speechless. Do I want to—
“I would’ve had to kill them,” he says. “Painfully. Publicly. Would’ve had to make a fuckin’ spectacle in my own club because of you.”
He leans in close, his breath hot against my face.
“You deserve to be punished for that.” His pupils are blown.
Excitement floods me as heat colors my face.
“Cavin, I didn’t know.”
“Exactly. Of course you didn’t know. Because you don’t listen. You don’t follow instructions. You block me on your goddamn phone. You sneak around behind my back. You give my men the slip and wander into places you have no business being.”
“You don’t own me,” I hiss.
He’s close enough now that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.
“You’re my fiancée, Erin. And that means something, whether you like it or not.”
“It means nothing if I didn’t choose it,” I snap at him.
“And yet…” he says as his hand comes up, wrapping his fingers gently, so gently, around my throat.
Oh god.
My pulse skyrockets.
He’s not squeezing. Just… holding, like a reminder.
“Yet here you are,” he whispers. “In my club. In my private room. Exactly where I want you.”
I should push him away. I should slap him and scream. But I don’t.
Because something in me—something I don’t want to acknowledge—responds to this. To him. To the way he’s looking at me like I’m something he wants to devour.
“You need to learn,” he says softly, his thumb brushing the side of my neck. My pulse beats rapidly under his finger. “You need to learn what it means to be mine. And what happens when you disobey me.”
I should be horrified, should be angry at his words. But something unfamiliar flares to life inside me.
“Cavin—”
“Shhh.” His other hand slides to my waist and pulls me close. “You came to The Craic because you wanted to see what it was about, didn’t you?”
“No. I… I came because—”
“So you’re not curious, then? Hmm?”
Why is the anger seeping out of his face? Why does he look almost curious?
“I can show you. I can make it part of your punishment.”
My breath catches.
His mouth hovers near my ear, and when he speaks, his voice is dark velvet.
“Do you trust me, Erin?”
“No. For fuck’s sake, of course I don’t.”
He laughs, low and dangerous. I draw in a quick breath to steady myself so I don’t collapse.
“Good,” he says. “You shouldn’t.”
Then his lips brush against my jaw, and my heart flutters like the rapid beating of a hummingbird’s wings.
I hate that my body reacts like this. That I lean into it instead of pulling away from him.
“I thought you hated me,” he murmurs against my skin.
“I do.” I do hate him, but… I open my mouth. “I—”
But I can’t say it.
His hand tightens slightly on my throat, and a sound escapes me—something between a gasp and a whimper that I’ve never made before in my life. I sound desperate.
Cavin goes still.
Then he pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark and searching.
“Well,” he says quietly, almost to himself, “that’s interesting.”
“What… what is?” My voice comes out shaky, uncertain.
“You.” His thumb traces my lower lip, and I feel it everywhere—my chest, my stomach, lower. “Responding to me like that.”
“I’m not.” But even I don’t believe it.
“You are.” Something shifts in his expression—satisfaction, hunger, maybe both. He leans in again, his mouth so close to mine I can feel his breath. “And I think you’re as surprised by it as I am.”
He’s right, and I hate that he’s right.
Because this—him, this moment, the way my body’s gone traitor on me—shouldn’t be happening. I don’t even like him. I shouldn’t want this. Shouldn’t feel like I’m coming apart at the seams just from his hand on my face and his voice in my ear.
I’ve never felt anything like this. Didn’t know I could.
And from the dark gleam in his eyes, he knows it too. Knows he’s the first to make me feel this way.
The bastard looks delighted about it.
His hand slides from my throat down to my collarbone, lower, skimming the edge of my neckline. He’s far too familiar with how to play my body. I’m vividly aware that this isn’t his first time, that he’s experienced because of other women, and I’m so fuckin’ jealous I can’t think straight.
“Do you know what your problem is?” he says.
“I'm being held against my will with a man I hate, who I'm being forced to marry,” I say, my palm up in the air. “I think that about sums it up.”
He gives me a half smile. “Yeah, you know, it's not much better for me.”
I look away. I don't like the sadness in his eyes. It makes me feel like I want to make it better.
And I want to keep hating him. I need to.
“The problem is you overthink everything. Your mind races. I can see it just by looking at you. And you know what happens in a place like this?” He gestures around the room.
“I actually have no idea,” I say with a grimace, even as my heart beats so fast I'm a little dizzy. “It looks kind of, um, violent and…sexual.”
His low, dark chuckle is seductive, primal. Why is every nerve in my body on fire?
“This is where people let go. You need to stop thinking for once in your fuckin' life.” He steps closer, his voice dropping. “I can help with that.”
My breath catches. “What?”
“You heard me.” His eyes drop to my mouth, then lower. “I can make that busy head of yours go quiet. Make you feel nothing but what I'm doing to you.”
“Cavin—”
“That's the first time you've said my name without spitting it.” He reaches out, his fingers grazing my jaw. “Say it again.”
I shouldn't. This is ridiculous. But my body's already leaning into his touch. “No.”
His thumb traces my bottom lip. “Your mouth says no, but everything else is screaming yes. I can see your pulse racing right here”—he touches my throat—“and feel how hot your skin is.”
“You're so full of yourself—”
“And you're so wound up you're about to snap.” His hand slides into my hair, gripping firmly enough to make me gasp.
“I hate you,” I whisper, but it sounds weak, even to my ears.
“Grand. I wonder if you’d hate me while you came on my fingers.”
Oh god.
A dull but insistent vibration comes from his pocket. With a curse, he yanks his phone out and glances at the screen. He curses, low and furious.
The moment shatters.
He drags a hand through his hair, jaw tight with frustration, and looks at the clock on the wall and curses again.
“I’ve got something I have to do,” he says. “I have to go.”
I blink at him, still trying to catch my breath. “What?”
“Go home, Erin.” He’s already moving toward the door. “We’ll talk about this and the punishment I owe you later.”
“You don’t owe—”
“I do. You came here without permission, and anybody who comes in here unwelcome gets punished. That’s the rule. Ask anyone who works here.”
“You can’t just—”
He stops and turns back, and in two strides, he’s in front of me again, his hand cupping my face. “Later,” he says firmly. He’s so close I wonder if he’ll kiss me. His gaze lingers on my lips and he swallows hard.
I draw in another breath when his thumb brushes my bottom lip. “You listen to me, lass. Are you listening, Erin?”
I nod.
“Don’t you ever come here again without me. I’m having you sent home.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer but turns and marches away.
He leaves me aching, my heart racing, and my body trembling, trying to figure out what the hell just happened.