Chapter Fifteen
Michael…
I haul Sophie out of the car with more urgency than grace, barking over my shoulder at Ian and Kyle. “That will be all for tonight.”
There’s a whisper of a giggle from behind me where my bride is hovering, and I sweep her off her feet, taking the steps two at a time.
She’s a little tense, muscles tight in my grip but she wraps her arms around my shoulders, leaning in to run the tip of her nose along my neck.
We’re in my bedroom in seconds and I kick the door shut behind me.
Then, doubts assail me.
Can you really trust her?
Are ye thinking with your big head or your little head?
Are ye sure this is wise?
She sits on my bed, looking up at me, biting her lip, and feck, I’m instantly hard. I take a deep breath. I’m being a selfish feck. I dinnae care about outcomes or risk assessments. Sophie’s the only thing I’ve wanted for myself. Not for my fecking duty to the clan. For me.
I’m taking her.
Her eyes are wide, lit by the moonlight shining through the window, looking up at me.
“Christ, you’re a vision,” I say, trailing my fingertips down the pale slope of her neck. They catch on her heavy diamond necklace and I use it to pull her closer to me. The chain bites into her skin, leaving a red mark as she lets out a breathy little moan. “Give me your mouth.”
Sophie’s back arches as she tilts her head up, lips half parted.
This second kiss makes our first, exploratory touch on the dance floor shrink into a fragment of a memory.
The feel of her lips is incendiary, burning through my system and lighting up nerve endings like match tips.
Her mouth is sweet, warm, and I thrust my tongue between her lips with a groan, tracing her teeth, sucking her tongue into my mouth as a gasp escapes her open lips.
Gently pushing her back onto the mattress, I stare down at her. Sophie. Finally, my wife. In my bed.
All mine.
Pulling her leg up, I rest it against my shoulder as I pull her shoe off, kissing her ankle, then the smooth line of her calf, bending down to trace my tongue along the thin skin of her inner thigh.
The slit in her dress falls open for me, letting me see each inch of skin revealed and when I reach the flimsy barrier of her knickers, there’s a wet patch on the silk, making me give a guttural chuckle.
“Have ye been waiting for this moment, too, Dealain-dè, little butterfly? Wondering how my mouth will feel on ye?” Kneeling, I place a gentle kiss on the wet silk and spread her legs wider, bracing my shoulders between them.
Looking up at her flushed, pretty face, I slide a finger under her knickers, running my knuckle gently along the wet seam of her pussy.
“Oh!” Her hands go to my shoulders, tight against my jacket.
“Nae, lass,” I scold mildly, still watching the emotions play across her face. “Put your hands underneath your back.”
She does, and the position arches her spine, pushing her breasts higher.
With a groan, I pull the top of her dress free, watching her pink nipples make an appearance before taking one into my mouth.
The little nub stiffens as I suck on it and Sophie gasps again.
It’s such a pretty sound, and she looks a wee bit shocked, as if this feeling is new to her.
What sort of arseholes has she been dating, then?
The thought of her being with anyone is enraging and I swoop down, kissing her again, hard. “Are ye fond of these knickers, little butterfly?”
“I… uh…” she’s blinking up at me and it’s goddamn adorable. “They’re new.”
“I’ll get ye more,” I promise hoarsely before yanking on them.
The thin silk tears like tissue paper and then she’s bare to me, her pink lips swollen and glistening with a tidy wee patch of curls.
“You’re perfect,” I groan, kissing down her neck, her breasts and belly and then just over her soft mound. “Sweet, the way ye taste and smell…”
I lick her pussy, sloppy and wet, greedy, like a cat. Her thighs tighten against my shoulders and I do it again.
“Sweet baby Jesus, this is- you’re-” Sophie wheezes. One hand almost flies free from under her back but she stops herself.
“That’s my good girl,” I approve, my lips moving against her wet center.
“Be still for me. I’m enjoying this.” I slide a thick finger inside her, feeling how her satiny walls clutch me.
“So snug,” I flick my tongue against her stiff little clit, enjoying her strangled gasp.
“If you’re squeezing my finger like this, how are ye gonna fit my cock inside? ”
“I have absolutely no idea,” Sophie half laughs, barely understandable.
“Such a sweet surprise ye are,” I lightly bite one soft, swollen lip and then the other. “Under all those good girl dresses and polite manners, you’re just a greedy wet thing wanting to be filled, aren’t ye?”
Adding another finger inside her, I stifle a groan at the feel of her wet, slick walls, growing tighter against me. My thumb gently circles her clit, enjoying how she stiffens, then moans. How her back arches and the pretty pink flush on her skin.
“Can I please touch you?” Sophie says breathlessly. “Please?”
“Hmm…” I pretend to consider this as I watch her thighs shake, my thumb pressing down against her clit.
It’s pulsing, a tiny heartbeat that seems to match my own.
My hips are unconsciously pressing down against the mattress, my dick is hard enough to chop wood.
It’s taking everything in me to not rip my pants open and push inside her.
“Just your hair,” she groans. “H- how about that? Just your hair? It’s really nice hair.”
I’m startled into laughter and the vibration of it against her wet pussy sends her off and she shrieks, pulsing against my fingers as I curl them against her g-spot, rubbing it gently and dragging another shriek from her.
Taking her hand, I pull it from under her and place it against my head, enjoying how her fingers instantly slide through my hair, tugging it as her heels kick against the bed.
“Are ye fighting this?” I say with mock disappointment. “You’re not nearly finished here, sweetheart. Ye must come again, this snug cunt isn’t ready yet-”
Then, my goddamned mobile rings.
I want to yank it from my pocket and smash the fecking thing against the headboard, crush it into a thousand scraps of plastic and glass and I canna.
Resting my forehead against her heaving breasts, I grit my teeth. The fecking thing chimes again, shrill and urgent. It’s the special “Shite’s gone to hell,” ringtone Xenia created for the senior heads of the MacTavish family. I canna ignore it.
God fecking damn it.
“Michael?” Sophie’s voice is soft and uncertain, her fingers still stroking through my hair, warm and oddly comforting. “Do you need to get that?”
No. For fecking once. I dinnae want to answer the call. I want to lie here with Sophie. No new disaster, no fire to put out.
“Aye,” I rasp, my voice like sandpaper. “I do.”
Later at MacTavish International offices…
Da, my Uncle Lachlan, and his son Mason are already at Georges and Xenia’s lab by the time I arrive. They’re all still in their formal wear, bow ties yanked loose and sleeves rolled up.
“What do we know?” I pull off my tuxedo jackets, popping my cufflinks loose.
“Another breach,” Xenia says, her gaze sharp and focused on one of a myriad of monitors in front of her. “Someone got their hands on the manifest of one of the Morozov arms shipments into Halifax Harbor.”
“There’s fecking CSIS investigators crawling all over the King shipping docks.” Uncle Lachlan says, eyes blazing. “They’ve confiscated the shipment.”
Shite. Some men grow calmer with age. Uncle Lachlan had wiled away the years when he should have been maturing from a wild youth to a respectable husband and father of adult children of his own, by collecting a truly awe inspiring array of explosives.
Decades of marriage to my cool-headed Aunt Aria, the CEO of King Industries has only slightly lessened his unhinged love of destruction. I wouldn’t put it past him to have a nuke or two in his arsenal.
“Dad, I’ll call Dmitri Morozov,” Mason says. He’s watching the data streaming across Xenia’s monitors, expressionless. “This is one of his divisions.”
“Aye, thanks, lad,” Uncle Lachlan grips Mason’s shoulder before heading off into another corner, calling his head of security on the King Estate.
“Do ye want me in on the call?” I ask Mason.
“Not right now,” he says. “But we will likely have to discuss reparations for their loss. This isn’t good. The Morozovs are our closest Bratva allies.” He leaves the room to make the call, and I turn back to Xenia and Georges.
“How did this happen?” I ask coldly. “Your manifest and records encryption has always been unbreakable.”
“We’re brilliant, and our shit is unbreakable,” Xenia says, fingers flying across her keyboard. “But if someone has the encryption code and leaks it…”
“What are ye saying?” Da asks sharply.
Georges takes off his glasses, cleaning the lens nervously. “Someone decoded the cargo manifest and the ship’s route. We know that it was boarded before it docked in Halifax Harbor. They took the most valuable weaponry, but what’s worse…” His face turns a sickly shade of green.
“Whoever managed to get the guns off the ship added in some extra cargo before notifying the CSIS,” Xenia says.
Da’s expression is cold and focused. “What extra cargo?”
Xenia grabs a Celsius energy drink from the pile on her desk and swigs down half of it. “Human cargo. Women, and girls. There were fifty in the shipping container.” She lets out a short, furious huff. “The shipping container that no crew member seems to remember being loaded onto deck.”
Feck. Me.
***
CSIS - Canadian Security Intelligence Service, similar to the FBI or CIA in the U.S.