Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Cavin
Erin likes to keep herself busy. She's sat in the corner of my study, needles clicking away, while I pretend to focus on ledgers for hours. The truth is, I've been watching her more than the numbers.
The way the firelight catches on her soft golden hair. The little furrow between her brows when she counts stitches. Domestic, that's what this is.
And I'm fucking terrified of how much I love it.
I didn't know how much I needed it, wanted it, or how it grounds me. I grew up in a stable family, for all our flaws. And my time in prison showed me there's nothing I wouldn't trade for more of this domestic peace and comfort.
“What're you makin’, then?” I ask her.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she says with a little wink. “This yarn’s gorgeous, Cavin.”
“Bridget might’ve texted me some tips.”
“Oh, really? You and my sister are besties, now, is it?”
I chuckle. “Someone needs to tell me your secrets. You sure bloody won’t.” Truth is, I text her because I like to keep tabs on Erin’s mam, and I like to know if there’s anything Bridget needs. She’s my sister now too. “Now are you going to tell me what you’re makin’?”
“It’s a surprise,” she says, her lips tipping up at the edges.
Erin smiles a lot more lately, especially now that we know we have a chance with her sister. My pen stalls over the ledgers.
“Is it for me?”
“Don't be getting the big head about it,” she says with a wink. But she's grinning like she just won something, and god, I'd give her the world to keep that smile on her face.
“Cavin, I’ve been getting these… apologies? People from St. Albert’s.”
“Aye,” I say, not meeting her eyes.
“Cavin… what’d you do?”
“We’re still trying to locate who’s running the damn account, but I paid a few people a visit, didn’t I? I didn’t rough them up, not these nasty bitches in the comments. But I made it damn clear you’re mine, and I won’t tolerate another second of their bullshit.”
Her eyes shine at me. “Thank you.”
I wink at her. “You can thank me later.”
Smiling at me, she ties off the last stitch and holds up a knit cap.
I can't believe I didn't know this is what she was knitting right there in front of me.
But now that she places her hands underneath it and stretches it around them, I can see it's simple but well-made.
The kind that'll actually keep the cold out, not the shite fashion ones. The kind that people pay big money for.
“Come here,” she says, crooking a finger at me.
I love when she looks at me like she wants me to fucking devour her. Or she wants to fucking devour me.
I cross to her, and she stands on her toes to reach the top of my head, adjusting it with careful fingers. Then she steps back, and her eyes go wide. Her lips part.
“Jaysus, Cavin,” she whispers.
“What?” I touch the cap, wondering if I look like an eejit.
“I need you to chop wood. In that hat and no shirt. Like right now. Immediately.”
Heat floods straight to my cock. “Is that right?”
“Yes,” she says, fanning herself. “It's a medical emergency. I'll perish if you don't.”
“Can't have that.” I span her waist with my hands, lifting her like she weighs nothing. “What kind of husband would I be, letting my wife perish?”
I carry her to the desk and sweep the papers away with one arm. Files scatter across the floor. Projections, accounts, things that seemed vital five seconds ago now mean fuck all.
“Keep the hat on,” she manages, right before I take her mouth.
I kiss her like I'm starving for it, like she's air and I've been drowning. Her lips part against mine, and I take full advantage, sliding my tongue against hers, swallowing the little moan that she makes.
Erin and I fit together like two pieces of a puzzle, and I crave the connection.
“Cavin.” She breathes against my mouth. “Christ.”
I love the way she says my name, like she can't quite believe this is happening. When she's in my arms like this, I can see the stillness on her face. And I know the constant noise in her head begins to quiet. Makes me feel ten feet tall, that.
I laugh and pull back just enough to look at her. Her lips are gently parted and cheeks flushed pink, eyes dark with want.
“Hat,” she whispers, “stays on.”
I grin at her, reaching up to adjust it on my head. “Doctor's orders, remember? Medical emergency.”
“But you were supposed to go chop wood,” she says with a wink.
“Then we need to take a trip. I don't think I have an axe or wood to chop.”
She giggles, and the sound does something to my chest, making it tight and warm and full.
This woman will be the death of me, and I’ll die fucking grateful for it.
Nobody makes me feel the way she does. I'm absolutely bolloxed when it comes to her—didn't know I needed it, didn't know I craved it like my next breath.
Her hands are already working at the buttons of my shirt. “Well, we can imagine, can't we?”
“Are you objectifyin’ me?” I ask with a teasing swat to her arse.
“I—” She flushes, biting her lip. She loves when I spank her. “I am. And you love it.”
I lean in, trailing kisses down her neck, finding that spot just below her ear that makes her shiver. “Behave yourself, Mrs. McCarthy,” I whisper in her ear, and she stifles a moan. She loves hearing me call her that. Tells me everything I need to know.
“Say it again.”
“Mrs. McCarthy…” I slide my hands up her thighs, pushing her skirt up. I reach the top of those damn leggings she wears every day and slide them down, over the curve of her hips, over the swell of her arse, down her thighs. “My wife. Mine.”
She kisses me, harder this time, desperate. Her fingers fumble with the last button on my shirt, and then she pushes it off my shoulders, her palms flat against my chest.
“My god, you're…” She breaks off and flushes.
“What’s that?” I cup the back of her head, kissing the apple of her cheek, her nose, her lips.
“Jaysus, Cavin,” she whispers, almost reverent. “You're fucking gorgeous. Like something out of a dream, you are.” Her fingers trace the tattoos on my ribs, the scars from fights and wars. “I love looking at you.”
Her fingertips trace the scar right above the sternum, where I got shanked in prison. Should’ve killed me, but I’ll never fuckin’ go down without a fight.
“I know you don't believe me,” she says, meeting my eyes. “But every part of you, even the parts that you think are broken, is beautiful.”
Something in my chest tears open, raw and bleeding. No one's ever called me that. Dangerous, aye. Brutal, a right bastard—but beautiful?
Her hands span my chest. “I love you,” she says, her eyes meeting mine. “I love you.” She says it like she's just discovered it, and I love the way her smile lights up her whole face.
I kiss her again, softer this time—kissing her like I can claim her with the press of my mouth against hers. My hands find the hem of the worn jumper of mine she wears—too big, roomy, but she loves it. I pull it over her head and toss it aside.
She wears a simple white bra, nothing fancy, but she's the sexiest fucking thing I've ever seen.
“You're the beautiful one,” I tell her, trailing my fingers along the edge of the lace. “Just look at you. Bloody perfect.”
“I'm not—”
“You are.” I silence her protest with another kiss, my hands working the clasp of her bra before I lower it and cup her arse.
“Go way outta that talk,” I warn her, my voice dropping low.
“Don't let me hear you say otherwise again.” She knows she'll go over my lap for a good, hard spanking, the real kind, if she does.
She bites her lip and nods. “Okay.”
I laugh, then pull back to look at her properly. Erin and her “okays” will never not make me laugh.
Christ, but she's stunning. All soft curves and flushed skin, her nipples tight and begging for my mouth.
“Cavin.” She tries to cover herself, suddenly shy.
“Don't you fucking dare.” I catch her wrists and pin them to her sides. “Let me look at you. Let me see what's mine.”
She shivers, but doesn't fight. Just watches me with those big eyes as I take my time, memorizing every inch of her.
“I like what I see. So fucking beautiful,” I murmur, leaning down to take one nipple in my mouth.
She gasps, her back arching, hands flying into my hair, knocking that hat askew. I pull back with a grin. “Careful, love. You made that for me. You wouldn't want to ruin it now, would you?”
She smiles and reaches up to straighten the hat on my head, giving me full access to her breasts. I cup them, running my fingers along the sides and my thumbs over each hardened pink peak. She shivers as her fingers linger.
“Tell me you love me again.”
“I love you, Cavin McCarthy.”
I capture her mouth again, one hand sliding between her thighs. I find her already wet through her knickers, and when I press my thumb against the damp fabric, she moans.
“Please,” she whimpers, grinding against my hand.
“Please what?” I tease, rubbing slow circles that make her squirm.
“Touch me properly. Pull the damn knickers aside.”
“I know what you need, love.” I hook my fingers and pull them down, helping her lift her hips. “I always know what you need, don't I?”
I slide one finger inside her tight, wet heat, then two, curling them just right. She cries out, her hands gripping my shoulders hard enough to leave marks, and Christ, I hope they bruise. I want her marks on me.
“Oh, sweet Jaysus,” she curses.
“Let yourself go, darlin’. Mmm, that's my lass. That's my good girl,” I murmur against her neck. “Let me hear you enjoy yourself.”
She's so tight, so warm, clenching around my fingers as I work her slowly. My thumb finds her clit, and she lets out a half sob, her body trembling. “Oh, that feels so fucking good.”
Her pussy clenches around my fingers, so wet I can feel it dripping down my hand. “That's it, love. You're soaked for me, aren't you? Absolutely dripping. Good girl,” I say approvingly. “But not yet.”
I slow my movements, keeping her right on the edge. “You'll not come till I'm inside you.”
“Please, Cavin.”