2. Amy
Amy
Holy shit.
That’s the only thing I can think as I watch the man before me descend into madness. Alasdair is getting more and more frantic as time goes on, and I’m not sure even the best actor in the world could pull this off.
I should be scared. He’s one of the more powerful and dangerous men in the world, a criminal, handling dark stuff on a daily basis.
And he’s obsessed with me, in his own words.
Yet…I must be as crazy as him because I’m not frightened of him.
If anything, this kind of devotion makes me feel… safe. Comfortable. Protected.
Yeah, clearly my daddy issues are worse than I thought.
He runs his hand through his hair, again, before he tries to open a bottle of white wine.
His hands are shaking, and I can’t help but stare at them for a moment, still in shock that he feels so strongly about this that it’d cause his hands to tremble.
I’m really not sure what I did to inspire this kind of feeling in someone, much less a man like him.
He finally gets the bottle open and pours me a glass, getting a whiskey for himself.
The amber liquid of his drink sloshes over the side of his glass, splashing on the table.
I’m not sure if it’s from his shaking hands or from how distracted he seems. He sighs, ignoring the mess and setting the bottle down harder than necessary.
“What’s next? We get married.” His voice is quieter than I’ve ever heard it before. But there’s a rawness there, a crack to his voice that makes me think he wasn’t asking but telling.
I take a deep breath, uncertainty swirling inside of me. “I’m not sure—”
He turns to look at me slowly, embers of intense emotion flickering in his eyes. “Well, I am, leannán. I've never been more sure of anything in my life. And I can prove it to you.”
He sets the crystal glass of whiskey down with a clink, the liquid sloshing at the sides angrily.
I’ve seen him angry plenty of times, but he’s never directed it towards me.
But this isn’t anger. It’s something more.
The glowing heat of desire, of hunger, of obsession.
Something tells me that I’d make it out more intact if it was anger than whatever this is.
There’s no room for distraction in his eyes, just me.
There’s no room for me to escape it. He isn’t going to stop until he has me devoured, until his hunger is satiated.
But the magnitude of the starvation in his eyes makes me wonder just what it’ll take for him to be satisfied. How long will it take before he’s had his fill of me?
Everything in his gaze makes me think that it’ll be a long time. And, somehow, that brings relief. He’s not going to leave. He’s not going to get tired of me a few days in, a few weeks, a few months…
He grabs my hips and draws me in. “You’re right, you know. To doubt. To wonder.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Most men would be offended at being questioned.”
His eyes narrow. “You’re smart enough to know better than to compare me to other men, leannán. Those men aren’t husband material.” He crowds me, and my mind runs wild, feeling more hunted than after my grandfather called the marriage off.
I stumble back, but he pursues, his muscles coiled tight like a panther on the prowl. The back of my knees hits the couch, cornered, trapped. My chest feels tight, like my breath can barely make it in and out of me. “I didn’t mean it as an insult—”
“No, leannán, when you insult me, I suspect I’ll fully know it.”
I raise my eyebrows. “When? Not if?”
A dark chuckle rumbles through his chest. “I am a wicked man, leannán. A royal dick. It’s inevitable that I’ll push you too far, take too much, and when that happens, I expect you to tell me off, understood?
You get angry, you throw a glass at my head.
I’ll know to behave then, and I’ll be turned on. A win for us both, I think.”
I swallow thickly. “Seems toxic to me.”
He smirks and shrugs. “Ah, but alcohol is poison, too, love. It’s fun to imbibe every now and then regardless. I think it’s the same here. We love each other, we live in peace, and then every now and then you put me back into my place and the sex is good after.”
“You already have an idea of what our relationship will be. That’s not good. You’ve been fantasizing so long that you’ve invented a new version of me that’s never actually existed.” My brows are knit so tightly together that my entire face feels tight.
Kerry chuckles again and shakes his head. “No, leannán. This is a new idea, born from seeing your fierceness in person, once you were finally able to show her to me.”
Everything within me feels tight, my chest, my throat, every muscle in my body. My thoughts are just spinning around in circles, unable to go anywhere that’s actually helpful to calm this obsession of his down.
But maybe that’s because you don’t actually want that to happen.
A voice whispers to me from deep within me.
It’s different from the voices that usually yell over my own thoughts, ones that usually sound like my mother, my grandmother, my father, teachers…
all demanding that I behave, to cave to their wants.
To do the ‘right’ thing, which somehow always lines up with their agendas.
But this? This voice sounds like me.
Kerry closes in, drawing near, but this time I have nowhere to go. “I want to marry you, leannán.”
“So you’ve said.” I lift my chin, trying to hold my own against him, no matter how difficult it is. No matter how much my brain is starting to wander, wondering what it’d be like to give in to him.
He tilts his head, a smirk still playing on his lips, that fire still sparking in his eyes.
But as much as he’s playing it off like he’s amused, I can tell there’s more than that.
He’s not at ease. He’s coiled in tightly, like a snake ready to strike.
There’s a raw, animalistic desperation that he’s used to hiding, but it’s come out in full force now.
“You’re not convinced.” He lifts his hand, rubbing the back of it against my cheek with a softness that defies all of the hunger he’s clearly holding back.
“That’s fine. I told you, I’m not like other men. ”
I know he has a plan now. I can see it smoldering in his eyes. “Yes, you already said that.”
He chuckles and leans in more until I have to fall back onto the couch just so he doesn’t kiss me again.
I’m not even sure why I’m evading something that I very much enjoyed earlier.
I can still feel the burn of his lips against mine, hungry and wanting.
I liked it. I know I did, and there’s a level of shame I’m trying to push through about just how much I did.
Nice girls don’t kiss mafia lords who are out to kill their grandfather. But I did. And I liked it. Enough to be desperate to do it again.
But as Kerry draws back and falls to his kneels before me again, I realize why I did it. Because that’s what he wanted. He’s orchestrating this whole thing, maneuvering me just how he wants. He wasn’t intending to kiss me. He was getting me on the couch without having to say a single thing.
“Here you are on your knees again.” The words fly out of my mouth before I can even register them. It’s just that he keeps doing this, and every single time it drives me crazy. I’m not sure whether I’m aroused, frustrated, or a bit of both.
He throws his head back and laughs as his big hands come to rest on my knees. “A natural reaction, I think, for a man like me when he’s before a woman like you. A king bows before his queen if he knows what’s good for him.”
My lips part in wonder. My brain feels empty of all thoughts, the only thing in there is the buzzing of lust. A natural reaction when a man like him is kneeling before a woman like me.
He rests his cheek against my thighs, looking up at me with that intense fire again, but this time there’s no smirk to go along with it, like he abandoned any semblance of his facade.
“I want to marry you. But I know I need to prove that I’m husband material— to show you how I’ll treat you for the rest of your life— the kind of dedication and attentiveness I intend to lavish you with eternally. ”
Everything within me seems to come to a stuttering halt at his words as I understand what he’s implying, his fingers fiddling with the button of my jeans. Or at least what I think he’s implying here.
“I’m husband material, leannán, and I’ll prove it to you.
Just give me the chance.” His gray eyes are storming in ways I’ve never seen before, reminding me of the Atlantic Ocean in the winter.
Winds that whip the water, waves clashing with the gusts of air, tides fighting with the currents of the skies, ocean against storm.
That’s Kerry. A force of nature, a hunger so deep that it’s as old as time.
And just like the ocean, I love it. I respect it. And it rattles something deep within my bones. Fear chasing admiration, awe circling wariness.
“I…” He waits, giving me time and space as my heart runs like a rabbit being chased by a wolf. “I want to give you a chance.”
He gives me a few moments more, his fingers still gripping my knees as he looks up at me. But when it’s clear that I’m not going to say anything more, he prompts me. “And are you going to finally let yourself have what you want instead of what others want?”
I clench my jaw and unclench it, the very concept is scary after so long of denying myself. Especially when it comes from this man. Like fearing dogs your whole life and then finally feeling comfortable with them, only to sit down with a wolf. A trial by fire.
“Make sure this is what you want, Amy. Not what I want.” His words are soothing, but I know the truth as soon as he presents the question.