Chapter 42
Forty-Two
“I didn’t mean to fall in love with the monster. But now that I have, I don’t want to be saved.”–Aria Boschett.
Pounding at our door drags me from a blissful dream. Sleep clings to my eyelids, warm and heavy. I’m tangled in the sheets, draped over Cyan, my cheek rising and falling with the slow rhythm of his breathing. His warmth, his scent, wraps around me like a cocoon I don’t want to leave.
“Hmm… Cyan, I think someone’s at the door.” My voice is thick with sleep as I stretch like a cat, feeling the delicious pull of my muscles and the lingering ache from last night.
My mind drifts back to yesterday, when we walked along the pier.
The locals greet him; Cyan greets everyone by name.
An old fisherman tipping his cap, a woman thanking him for helping carry her groceries.
To the townsfolks of Crescent Bay, Cyan isn’t a monster.
He’s, their protector. I blush remembering dinner at Mel’s, the way he grabbed my jaw and kissed me in front of everyone; the man can’t help himself.
Being with him feels like falling into something wild, dangerous, impossible to stop… and I’m not fighting it anymore.
Our nights? They’re fire, every touch, and every kiss. He unravels parts of me I didn’t know existed. I crave his mind, his body, and the quiet, secret way he cares when no one’s watching.
The memory shifts again, to earlier that weekend. Evie begged Rosa for a dog, Rosa saying no. I thought nothing of it. Then Cyan, being Cyan, came home with the meanest, most terrifying-looking Rottweiler I’ve ever seen.
Rosa almost fainted. So did I, but Cyan somehow talked us into giving him a chance.
Now Rocky lets Evie put ribbons on his ears and follows her around like a silent, over-trained shadow.
A tiny princess and her personal tank. This man, who terrifies most of Boston, would bring home a literal war dog just to make a little girl smile.
My mobster has a heart. He tries to hide it, but I see it.
Knock. Knock. Knock. Cyan shifts beneath me, and I feel it. That glorious morning wood still buried deep inside me. His blue-green eyes blink open, heavy with sleep, and a slow smile curves his lips.
“Morning,” he rasps.
“Mmm... morning, someone’s at the door.” I roll my hips just enough to feel him pulse inside me. The knocking fades into nothing but background noise. All I care about is the way the colors in his irises shift when pleasure hits him.
He groans, hands gripping my waist. “Can’t say I’m not enjoying this wake-up call.”
“Do we have to answer?” I tease, grinding again, slower.
He inhales sharply. “Let’s at least see what they want before we forget the rest of the world exists.” Then, louder: “What’s up?”
“Took you long enough,” Troy calls through the door. “Cyan, can you both come out here? There’s a situation.”
I drag my hips in a long, slow ride. Cyan’s grip tightens. “Oi, what the fuck, Troy? Unless someone’s bleeding out, fuck off.”
Troy laughs. “No rush, brother. Wouldn’t want to interrupt the great Cyan MacBrady mid-orgasm.”
Cyan’s accent drops, an octave thick with lust. “I need to fix it so those fuckers can’t pop in and out of our home whenever they damn well please. No more interruptions while my pussy is gripping my cock and begging for attention.”
Heat flashes through me. My lips curl into a sultry smile; I’m hooked on this man.
I dip down and kiss along his chest, my tongue circling a nipple before sucking it into my mouth.
The sound he makes is a deep, primal rumble.
I switch to the other nipple and bite down hard leaving my mark. That’s all it takes.
“Ahhhh,” he growls.
In one brutal, seamless motion, he pulls out, flips me onto my stomach, captures my wrists behind my back, and slams into me. A scream rips from my throat, echoing through the room.
“Yes… Cyan… more!” My nipples drag against the sheets. His balls flick against my clit. The wet slap of our bodies fills the room. It’s too much and not enough.
“This is what you wanted when you bit me, isn’t it?” His voice is a dangerous growl. “My cock wrecking this tight pussy. And you know my brothers can hear you getting fucked. Hearing me claim what’s mine.”
“Yes!” I choke out. For a moment, I think I hear someone calling my name, but I don’t care. Not when Cyan is driving into me with such ruthless possession. This man invaded every part of me, body, mind, and soul. I never imagined it would be like this with him.
“Whose pussy is this, Aria?” His fingers tighten around my trapped wrists. “Say it. Loud.”
“This pussy–” my voice breaks, “belongs to you, Cyan. Only you!”
“Who’s the only man allowed to do this? I want it clear to any fucker who even dares look at you. Who do you belong to? Say it, Dove.”
“You, Cyan,” he drives into me harder.
“Not loud enough,” he commands. “Scream it.”
“This pussy… belongs to you, Cyan. Only you.” The words rip out of me just as my climax slams into me. My body seizes, my walls clenching around him. His name spills from my lips over and over in worship, in surrender. My mind shatters: my body is pure, euphoric oblivion.
Cyan snarls, thrusts deep, and floods me with his release. We collapse together, shaking and breathless. Finding my lips, he kisses me with such reverence.
“I think I’m addicted to your cock,” I laugh. It comes out hoarse from all the yelling.
He pinches my ass. “And I’m addicted to every part of you, Dove.”
We lie tangled together, bodies damp, Cyan massaging my wrists where he held them.
Knock. Knock. Knock. Again. “Cyan, you and Aria come out here before this lady kills somebody,” Johnny’s voice calls. Which lady ? Lucilla? Is she drunk?
Cyan groans and sits up, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Why do you need us to handle this?” Cyan snaps.
Johnny sighs. “Because I don’t think you want her hurt.”
Cyan scoffs. “Thomas and Lucilla’s squabbling. Tell Troy to handle it.” I’m on my feet.
“It’s not Lucilla.” Johnny pauses long enough for my pulse to spike. I slip on my robe. Please don’t let it be Elana.
“She’s Aria’s best friend.”
I hear her, clearer this time, a familiar voice, furious and unfiltered.
“Look, you stupid Irish motherfucker, you put your hands on me again, and I’ll crush your dick!” I freeze. There’s only one person in the world who curses like that at armed mobsters with zero fear. Tasha is back in town.