Chapter 29 #2
She begs, and Christ, I love hearing her beg. Love that she trusts me enough to fall apart like this. I withdraw my fingers, and she whimpers at the loss.
“You want me to touch you? You want me to finger you?”
“Yes, please.” She grabs me and pulls me to her, as if somehow that would make the friction come quicker.
I chuckle and slide two fingers in and out of her, before I circle her clit again, until her mouth parts, her back arches, and I know she's on the edge.
“You come before my cock's inside you, I'll take my belt to your pretty arse,” I whisper in her ear, harsh, making her shiver. I know she loves when I threaten her. “Hold on, love. Just hold on.”
I make quick work of my belt and jeans. I grab the belt, loop it, and crack it against my palm. The sound makes her jump, eyes going half-lidded.
“Roll over,” I tell her. “Arse up.”
“Cavin—”
She fuckin’ loves my belt, goes wet and languid at the mere mention of it, the sweet little pain slut.
“You wanted the hat and no shirt, didn't you? Well, now you get the belt too.” I give her arse a proper smack with the leather—not hard enough to truly hurt, but enough to leave a red mark blooming across that perfect pale skin. She gasps, then moans.
“Again?” I ask, my voice rough.
“Yes,” she whimpers. “Please.”
I give her two more, watching the marks appear, watching her squirm and push back for more. “That's my good girl. Taking it so well.”
“Lie back,” I tell her, and she does, turning over and lying back on my desk, offering herself to me.
I position myself between her thighs, the head of my cock pressing against her entrance. “Are you ready for me, love?”
“Yes,” she breathes out. “Yes, please, Cavin.”
I push inside her slow, savoring every fucking inch, every little gasp and moan she makes. When I'm fully seated, buried to the hilt, I pause. “Alright?” I ask her, smoothing her hair back from her face.
“Perfect,” she whispers, wrapping her legs around my waist. “I love you inside me.”
I start to move, slow and deep, watching her face as I do—the way her eyes flutter closed, the way her lips part, the way she says my name like it's the only fuckin' word she knows.
“Look at me,” I say roughly. “I want to see you when you come.”
Her eyes open, locking onto mine, and the connection is so intense it nearly undoes me.
“Erin fucking McCarthy.” I angle my hips and hit that spot inside her that makes her cry out. I feel her tighten around me.
I bury my face in her neck, biting down on the soft skin where her shoulder meets her throat—hard enough to brand. She cries out, her nails raking down my back, scratching lines of fire across my skin.
“Mark me,” I growl against her throat. “I want everyone to see your scratches on me in the ring. Want them to know I'm yours.”
She digs her nails in harder, drawing blood probably, and I fuckin’ love it. “That's it,” I encourage, speeding up my thrusts. “Come for me, Erin. Come on my cock. Let go, lass.”
She shatters, her body arching clean off the desk as she comes with a cry that's nearly a scream. Her cunt clenches around me, rhythmic and tight, milking my cock.
“That's it, that's fucking it, Erin—” I can barely get the words out. “Christ, I can feel you coming—”
The sight of her, the feel of her, sends me over the edge, and I follow her into bliss, burying my face in her neck as I groan and come.
For a while we stay like that, breathing hard, connected.
“The hat,” she says, her voice sleepy, amused but satisfied.
I reach up. It’s still on my head. “Told you it was staying on.”
“Who knew a little navy cap would turn you on like that, love?”
She giggles, and the sound makes me smile against her skin. She didn't giggle once in my presence at school. Now she giggles every damn day.
“Come on,” I say. “Let's move to the sofa before your arse gets a splinter from this damn desk.”
“Romantic,” she teases, but she lets me carry her to the sofa, settling her on my lap. I grab a throw blanket from the back and drape it over us, tucking her against my chest. The fire's burnt low, casting warm shadows around the room.
“Cavin,” she says after a while, “I'm glad you kept the hat on.”
“That's grand with me,” I say, running my fingers through her hair.
We're tangled on the sofa, her head on my chest, the fire burning low. I feel half asleep, content in a way I've never been. And somehow the contentment sets me on edge.
“You keeping that hat?” she murmurs.
“I'll wear it every day if this is the reaction I get.”
My phone buzzes on the side table.
“Cavin,” she whispers against my mouth, “leave it.”
It keeps buzzing, insistent.
“You know I can't,” I murmur. Between Bridget, the tribute, the damn intel from Declan…
It's Declan. The message on the screen stops me cold.
Declan
West Coast contact is pissed. The trade route doesn't fucking exist. Padraic played us. Call me now.
Her da.
Goddamn fucking traitor. If he were anyone else—
But Christ. It’s her father. I can’t bloody well murder the traitorous bastard. But there will be repercussions.
I can't let her know. No. She'll worry about Bridget and Dr. Rosenberg. About us. She'll worry about her parents. And to be honest, she ought to. She's in trouble—but she's mine.
“I've been working on something, Cavin,” she says.
I turn my phone over so she can't see the message.
“The tribute payments. I've been tracking them like you asked me to. And I found something more.”
My hand stills in her hair. “What'd you find?”
“I think I'm getting closer to figuring out who's collecting them.” She sits up a bit, pulling the blanket around her shoulders. “But there's something that doesn't make sense.”
“What doesn't make sense?”
“The timing, the amounts…” She chews her lip, thinking. “It's like someone knows exactly when you're vulnerable, when to catch you off guard, when you're stretched thin.”
Ice slides down my spine. “Go on.”
She faces me, her eyes worried. “I think there's someone on the… on the inside. Someone feeding information to whoever's behind this. Possibly even—”
“No.” The word comes out harder than I mean it. “Look again, Erin. I told you before, that's not possible. I know my men. That’s my family you’re talking about.”
“Cavin, I—”
“I said no. Every single one of them. They're loyal.”
“I'm not saying it's one of your crew, per se,” she says carefully.
I stand, dislodging her. “You're taking the piss now, seeing patterns that aren't fucking there.”
“You’re some thick if you think I’m droppin’ this.” She's on her feet now, clutching the blanket. “The numbers don't lie. Someone's leaking information, and if we can't figure out who—”
“Drop it, Erin.”
“Don't tell me to drop it.” Her cheeks flush with anger. “You asked me to help with this, and now that I've found something, you're just going to dismiss it because you don't want to face the truth?”
“You don't know my family, Erin. You don't know shite about how we operate.” My hands curl into fists at my sides.
She pulls the blanket tighter, her eyes flashing. “Then explain it to me! Why was there no record at the funeral? Why couldn’t you figure out who bombed your car? Explain how else someone would know exactly when to hit you, exactly where you are, exactly how much you can afford—”
“I said drop it.” My voice cracks through the room like a whip.
Silence falls between us, heavy and sharp.
Her eyes go hard. “You asked me to help. You put me on this. And now that I'm actually getting somewhere, you want to pretend there's no problem because you can't handle the idea that someone you trust might be—”
My phone buzzes again. Another message from Declan.
Declan
Did you get my text?
“What is it?” Erin says, her anger fading into concern.
“Nothing.” I shove the phone back down. “Just Declan.”
But I don't like lying to her. My mind is racing. If the West Coast connection falls through, if Padraic’s played us… fuck. I can't lose her. I won't lose her. Not over this. Not over anything.
“Cavin,” she says, “you're scaring me. What's going on?”
“Nothing, love.” I force myself to meet her eyes. “I just—I'm sorry for dismissing you like that. You're right to be careful.”
She studies my face. The woman's too smart for her own damn good. “You're lying to me.”
“I'm not.”
“You are.” Her voice softens. “But I'm guessing it's something you can't tell me yet.”
I know then she’s come to trust me. I sigh. “Don't mention… what you said to me to anyone else. Not until we're sure.”
“Right,” she says, “because if there is someone, obviously we don't want to tip them off.”
“Exactly.”
She nods and crosses to me, letting the blanket drop. She's bare in the firelight, and I love her so.
“We're in this together, yeah?” she says. “Whatever it is you're not telling me, whatever it is—”
“Aye.” The lie sits bitter on my tongue, but I kiss her instead of speaking. “Together,” I whisper.
She smiles at me, adjusting the hat on my head. “You really do look obscenely good in this.”
“Keep talking like that and I'll miss the fight tonight,” I murmur against her ear, my eyes closing as I smell her, hold her, feel her, ground myself in the woman I love… my wife.
“The fight.” Her eyes widen. “Shite. What time is it?”
I glance at my watch. “I've got an hour.”
“Then you'd better get moving,” she says, kissing me again, this time quick and sweet. “Go. Win me some money so I can buy some yarn.”
“Five days till the fucking tribute's due,” I say, shaking my head. “This purse will help.”
“Or maybe we won't pay it this time.”
She pulls her clothes on, efficient, unselfconscious. “Remember, you said I could come with you this time?”
“Aye. But I don’t know about that.”
“Cavin,” she says, warningly. “Someone needs to tend to your inevitable bruises.”
“Inevitable?”
“You're fighting Mackey. Rumor has it he’s a dirty bastard.”
“Aye, but I'm dirtier.”
She crosses to me, standing on her toes to kiss me properly. “I love you, you know that.”
The words still feel foreign on my tongue, but they're so fucking true it terrifies me. “I do know it. And you know I love you too.”
“Now go.”
Another message from Declan.
Declan
We need to talk about Padraic. Now.
I delete it. I'll deal with it after the fight, after things settle.
After I've figured out how to keep her.
Because losing Erin is not a fucking option.
I look back at her one more time. She's curled up on the sofa again, her knitting needles clicking away. Home—that's what she's made this place.
“Cavin,” she says without looking up, “you're staring.”
“Just appreciating the view.”
“You're a sap.” But she's smiling.
I force myself to get ready, the weight of Declan's messages heavy in my pocket.
Five days until the tribute's due.
Five days to find a way to keep everything from falling apart.
I'm still wearing the hat she made. Won't fucking take it off, even though we just had a what bordered on another row.
Five days to fix this with Erin before she realizes just how bolloxed we really are.
Another buzz. I check it at the door.
Declan
Don't ignore me, Cavin. We sort this tonight or I'm going to Seamus.
I delete it and pocket the phone. I head out into the night, my knuckles already itching for the fight. Maybe Mackey will give me an excuse to go truly brutal tonight.
Maybe I need to bleed a little before I can face her again.
The hat stays on.