6. Aoife
CHAPTER 6
AOIFE
GAMES he'll orchestrate something spectacular and devastating. Or do something stupid, he’s an unpredictable chaos all of his own
More pages reveal contingency plans. Options if my father refuses to negotiate. Ways to extract maximum value from my captivity.
The last entry, dated this morning, sends heat flooding my cheeks:
Aoife Gallagher—greater asset than anticipated. Knowledge of family operations extensive. Consider extending captivity indefinitely regardless of negotiations. Physical response to contact suggests potential leverage beyond initial purpose.
He's planning to keep me. The realization hits like a blow. And worse—he's noted my body's betrayal in that alley. Catalogued it as another weapon to use against me.
The sound of a key in the lock sends panic surging through me. No time to return everything properly. I shove the folder into the drawer, but keep the leather book clutched behind my back as I move away from the desk.
Cormac enters, alone this time. His massive frame dominates the doorway, tailored suit doing nothing to conceal the raw power beneath. Dark stubble shadows his jaw, giving him a dangerous edge. He pauses, nostrils flaring slightly as if sensing something amiss.
"Enjoying your accommodations?" His voice carries that hint of amusement that makes me want to slap him.
"Immensely. The constant surveillance adds such ambiance."
He moves further into the room, closing the door behind him. "The photos were perfect. Your father should receive them within the hour."
"Lucky him."
Something about my tone must alert him. His demeanor shifts, predatory awareness replacing casual confidence. "You've been busy."
"Captivity offers limited entertainment options."
He moves closer, danger in each calculated step. "What's behind your back, Aoife?"
"Nothing."
"Liar." One more step brings him into my personal space. "Show me."
For a heartbeat, I consider denying it further. But the game shifts in my mind—knowledge is power, and his private notes have given me plenty.
I bring the leather-bound book forward, holding it up between us like a prize. "Your strategizing needs work, Donovan."
His demeanor darkens instantly. One large hand snatches the book from my grasp. "Going through my things. Not very good manners."
"Kidnapping isn't very good manners either." I maintain my ground as he looms over me. "Murphy's your inside man, isn't he? Feeding you information about our security and busness?"
A muscle ticks in his jaw—confirmation enough.
"Did you really think my father would trade territory for me?" I continue, pressing my advantage. "Patrick Gallagher doesn't negotiate with his heart, only his ledger. And your assessment of Liam is laughably wrong."
"Is it?" Cormac tosses the book onto the coffee table, his attention entirely on me now. "Enlighten me."
"You wrote he's impulsive. Susceptible to provocation." I smile, sharp as a blade. "Liam orchestrated the bombing of the O'Reilly warehouse last year. Planned it for six months before acting. Made it look like the Cassidys' work. Started a war between them while we claimed their territories during the chaos."
Something shifts in Cormac's stance—reassessment. Good.
"You think you understand the Gallaghers," I continue. "You don't know us at all."
"I know you, Aoife." His voice drops lower, intimate. "Better than you think."
"You know nothing about me."
He steps closer, eliminating the space between us. "I know how you taste. How your body responds when I touch you. How you fought yourself more than me in that alley."
Heat crawls up my neck. "Seeing a physical reaction isn't knowing me.”
"No?" His hand rises to my throat, thumb brushing where his mark still lingers on my skin. "Then tell me something I don't know, princess. Prove you're more than just a pawn in this game."
The challenge ignites something in me—anger mixed with spite. His touch burns against my pulse point, thumb gently pressing where my heartbeat betrays my calm facade.
"You've underestimated what I'm capable of," I whisper. "That's your biggest mistake."
His lips curve. "Show me."
The invitation hangs between us, charged with electricity. Time suspends. Five days of captivity. Five days of powerlessness. Five days of unwanted desire building beneath my skin.
I grab his tie, yanking him down to my level. His momentary surprise gives me the advantage as I press my lips against his.
Unlike our alley encounter, I control this kiss. Demanding. Claiming. His shock lasts only seconds before he responds, mouth opening under mine. But I refuse to yield control, biting his lower lip hard enough to draw blood and a grunt of surprise.
His hands move to my waist, attempting to take back control. I break the kiss, shoving him backward until his legs hit the sofa. Another push sends him sitting down, confusion warring with hunger in his eyes.
"What are you doing?" he asks, voice rough.
"Showing you what you don't know." I stand between his spread knees, dominance shifting deliciously in my favor. "You think you own me because you locked me in a cage? Because my body responds to you?"
I lean down, bringing my lips to his ear. "You've never met a Gallagher woman before me, have you, Cormac? Never learned what we're capable of when cornered."
His breathing quickens as I trail my fingers down his chest, feeling hard muscle beneath expensive fabric. I straddle him in one fluid movement, settling onto his lap. His erection presses against me through our clothes, thick and insistent. “We bite.”
"Aoife—" His warning tone has a thread of uncertainty to it.
I silence him with another kiss, rolling my hips against his hardness. His groan vibrates against my lips, hands gripping my thighs with bruising intensity. I thread my fingers through his hair, tugging sharply to expose his throat.
"You marked me," I murmur against his skin. "Maybe I should return the favor."
My teeth graze his pulse point before biting down, sucking hard enough to leave evidence. His hips buck upward involuntarily, the friction sending shivers down my spine.
"Fuck," he growls, fingers digging into my flesh.
I pull back to admire the darkening mark. "Now everyone will know who's had their cock between my thighs."
He inhales sharply at my crude language. I roll my hips again, in a rhythm that has us both breathing harder. The thrill of reducing Dublin's most dangerous man to this state—flushed, wanting, following my lead—intoxicates beyond reason. I like this little bit of power I have.
"This proves nothing," he says, though his voice lacks conviction.
"No?" I unbutton his shirt slowly, revealing tanned skin and hard muscle beneath. Scars crisscross his torso—some from his father's abuse, others from his violent profession. I trace one pale line across his collarbone. "Seems I'm learning plenty about you, Cormac Donovan."
His patience snaps. Large hands cup my face, pulling me into another searing kiss. This time he battles for control, tongue invading my mouth with demanding strokes. I allow it momentarily before reclaiming dominance, grinding down harder against his erection.
He breaks the kiss with a curse. "What game are you playing?"
"The one you started." I unbutton my blouse slowly, revealing black lace beneath. His hungry stare sends liquid heat pooling between my thighs. "You wanted to use my body against me. Two can play that game.”
I guide his hands to my breasts, arching into his touch as his thumbs brush over sensitive peaks through lace. The sensation sends shockwaves of pleasure through me. For moments, I lose myself in it—the forbidden thrill of enemy touching enemy.
"Take it off," he commands, tugging at my bra.
"No." I capture his wrists, pinning them against the sofa on either side of his head. "You don't give orders right now."
Something dark and primal flashes across his face. His cock pulses against me, harder than before.
"You like this," I realize aloud. "The mighty Cormac Donovan, surrendering control."
"I surrender nothing," he growls, though he doesn't break my hold.
I lean down, my breasts brushing his chest as I whisper against his ear, "Your body disagrees. You like it when I tell you that you can’t touch me."
My teeth tug at his earlobe, drawing another muffled curse. I release his wrists to trail my fingers down his chest, across the ridges of his abdomen, to the waistband of his trousers. The outline of his erection strains against expensive fabric.
"Should I check how hard you are right now?" I throw his own words back at him, palm pressing against his length.
His hips jerk upward. "Christ, Aoife."
I slide to my knees between his spread legs, looking up at him through my lashes. His breathing turns ragged as I free his cock from its confines. The size of him sends a fresh wave of heat through me. Thick. Hard. Ready.
I wrap my hand around him, stroking slowly from base to tip. Pre-cum beads at the head, which I spread with my thumb. His muscles tense, jaw clenched with the effort to maintain any semblance of control.
"Still think you know me?" I ask, maintaining the torturous pace. "Still think you understand what I'm capable of?"
He doesn't answer except to thrust upward into my grip. I tighten my hold, increasing speed until a vein pulses visibly along his length.
"I could make you come like this," I murmur. "Or just leave you wanting more. Punishment for keeping me prisoner."
"Or you could stop teasing," he counters, voice strained. "And take what you clearly want."
The suggestion sends a bolt of desire straight to my core. My body throbs with need, eager to feel him inside me despite every rational objection.
I lower my head, maintaining eye contact as I circle the tip of his cock with my tongue. His sharp intake of breath is reward enough. I taste the salt of him, savoring the power of this moment before taking him deeper into my mouth.
"Fuck, Aoife—" His hand tangles in my hair, not pushing, just anchoring himself as I work him with my tongue and lips.
I take him deeper, hollowing my cheeks as I suck. His thighs tense beneath my hands. My own arousal builds with each muffled sound he makes, each twitch of his impressive length against my tongue.
When his breathing turns ragged and his grip tightens in my hair, I pull away completely. His cock stands fully erect, wet from my mouth, pulsing with need.
"What the—" he starts, frustration evident in every line of his body.
"Lesson one about Gallaghers," I say, rising slowly to my feet. "We never give our enemies what they want."
Fury and desperation war across his face as I stand before him, disheveled but triumphant.
"You think this changes anything?" He tucks himself back into his trousers, movements jerky with unfulfilled desire. "You're still my prisoner."
"And you're still hard," I counter, licking my lips with deliberate slowness. "I wonder which of us is more uncomfortable right now. Blue balls are such a bitch."
He rises from the sofa, rebuttoning his shirt as he comes toward me. "You'll regret starting this game."
"Will I?" I stand my ground despite the dangerous intent radiating from him. "Seems I've learned plenty about your... vulnerabilities today."
His hand shoots out, gripping my jaw. "You've learned nothing except how to provoke me."
"On the contrary," I say against his grip. "I've learned Murphy betrays my father. I've learned your strategy against the Gallaghers has critical flaws in it. And I've learned—" I press my thigh against his still-hard cock, "—that Cormac Donovan can be controlled by a woman he considers nothing but collateral. That and hos cock, like most men."
He spins me suddenly, shoving me face-first against the wall. His massive body presses against my back, cock hard against my ass as his lips brush my ear.
"You think you've won?" His voice drops to a dangerous whisper. "This little demonstration just proved how wet you get for your captor. How eager you are to touch me."
One hand slides around to cup me through my jeans. The pressure against my center draws an involuntary gasp from my lips.
"Soaked," he murmurs, satisfaction threading through his tone. "Your body betrays you, princess. Just like you’re going to betray your family, and fuck me."
He's right—my arousal has reached embarrassing levels. But I refuse to surrender the advantage I've gained.
"Yet you're the one who'll be thinking about my mouth tonight," I respond, pushing back against him. "Imagining what would have happened if I'd kept going."
His fingers tighten on my jaw, turning my head for a brutal kiss. His other hand works at the button of my jeans.
"Should I finish what you started?" he growls against my lips. "Show you what happens when you tease a predator?"
My body screams yes even as my mind recognizes the danger of surrendering now. “We bite harder.” He growls. With monumental effort, I twist from his grip, putting some distance between us.
"Another time, perhaps," I say, struggling to steady my breathing. "When it's my choice, not yours."
Something shifts in his demeanor—malice replacing raw desire. He straightens his tie, composure returning with alarming speed.
"Well played, princess." His voice turns deceptively casual. "But the game's far from over."
"No," I agree, maintaining the confidence I don't entirely feel. "It's just beginning."
He retrieves his leather book from the coffee table, tucking it inside his jacket. "Enjoy your victory. Brief as it will be."
At the door, he pauses. "Oh, and Aoife? That information about Murphy? Consider it a gift. What you do with it... well, that might prove interesting. Oh, you can’t do anything you’re a prisoner."
The door locks behind him, leaving me alone with the aftermath of what just happened. My body still thrums with unsatisfied desire. My thighs press together, seeking relief from the ache between them. My nipples remain hard peaks beneath my blouse, sensitive even to the brush of fabric.
I sink onto the sofa, the lingering scent of his cologne surrounding me. The taste of him remains on my tongue—salt and musk and forbidden pleasure. I press my hand between my legs, desperate for relief from the throbbing need he left behind.
The encounter rewrote the dynamic between us, if only temporarily. No longer simply captor and captive, but players in a more complex game. A game where desire serves as both weapon and weakness.
The knowledge about Murphy sits in my mind. A traitor so close to my father. Information Cormac deliberately left for me to find? Or carelessness born of his growing obsession? He’s not careless, so I have to wonder.
Either way, I've gained leverage—both over Cormac and potentially within my own family. The question remains what to do with it. There’s nothing I can do from here.
One thing becomes clear as I slip my hand beneath my waistband, seeking relief from the ache he created. Cormac Donovan might control my prison, but he no longer fully controls our interactions. The power balance has toppled in my favor.
And next time—because there will be a next time—I won't stop until I've claimed complete victory over Dublin's most dangerous man.