Chapter 21
Dervla
“Anal,” I pant. “I want to feel you split me wide open.”
“Fuck, sweetheart,” Cormac grunts, taking his place behind me.
His fingers drive into me, scooping out Aidan’s cum to prep me.
His fingers press against my rear hole, but with his other hand, he undoes his pants and shoves his cock into my pussy.
“I want this hole first,” he states, slamming into me.
The desk digs into my ribs as it moves across the floor.
Declan moves around to hold it, like Cormac did before.
Cormac’s finger presses into my tight hole, and I moan as it feels so good. Too good. Too fucking good when I’ve just had my world turned upside down again, and I’m ignoring the pain and betrayal as if they don’t even exist.
“Cormac,” I pant. “More, please, more.”
He inserts another finger, prepping my arse for his cock, and I whimper as I move my hand between me and the desk to rub my clit.
Declan’s lips part with lust as he watches me. “Fuck, Dervla. That’s it. Take him like a good girl while you pleasure yourself.”
Declan’s words ignite something feral inside me, and I rub my clit faster, chasing the friction while Cormac pounds into my pussy with ruthless force.
His fingers stretch my arse, thrusting in time with his cock, and the double invasion sends sparks of heat racing through my core.
I’m pinned, exposed, utterly at their mercy, and I fucking love how they claim me without apology, how they turn my chaos into this burning release.
Cormac grunts behind me, his free hand gripping my hip hard enough to leave marks.
“You’re so tight, sweetheart. I’m going to split you open just like you want.
” He pulls his cock out suddenly, leaving me empty and aching, then presses the head of his cock against my rear hole, slick with Aidan’s cum and my own arousal.
The pressure builds as he pushes in, slow at first, then deeper, forcing me to take every inch.
Pain twists with pleasure, sharp and overwhelming, and I cry out, my fingers pinching my clit to chase the edge.
“Take it,” Aidan says from beside us, his voice low and commanding. He reaches under me, his hand covering mine, guiding my fingers in rough circles that make my thighs tremble. “Come for us again, pixie. Show us how much you need us.”
“Fuck,” I pant. “Fuck.”
The orgasm crashes through me violently, my body convulsing as Cormac buries himself fully in my arse. It tears through me like a detonation, and I shatter against the desk, sobbing his name into the wood. Cormac doesn’t give me a second to breathe. He drives deeper, punishing, hunting his own end.
My fingers are slippery over my clit. They go slack as my body quivers from this onslaught. Aidan takes over, flicking, twisting, pinching until I can’t breathe. Declan has his cock out, slowly jerking himself off as he watches me get impaled on Cormac’s dick.
“Fuck,” he groans, his cock twitching.
“Cormac,” I pant, my breath ragged.
“I’m coming, sweetheart,” he grunts. “Fuck, I’m going to fill your arse. Do you want that? Do you want to be filled like a dirty girl?”
“Fuck, yes!” I scream, not caring who can hear me. I need it. I need them.
He buries himself to the hilt and comes with a broken snarl, flooding my arse in hot, filthy pulses that drag another helpless whimper out of me.
His body jerks as he releases the stress that has been building up. He pulls out of me and whispers, “Fuck, Dervla. I fucking love you.”
I don’t have time to answer because Declan is practically shoving Cormac out of the way while Aidan takes his turn to hold the desk and watch me getting fucked from behind like a whore in a gloryhole.
Declan slams into my pussy without a second’s hesitation, his cock driving deep and merciless, stretching me around the mess Cormac and Aidan left behind.
I gasp, my body still trembling from the last orgasm, but he doesn’t give me time to recover.
His thrusts are punishing, each one shoving me harder against the desk, the wood biting into me.
“You take us so well,” Declan growls. He grabs my hips, yanking me back onto him, forcing me to meet every brutal movement.
My jeans are restricting me, making me feel trapped and exposed in the best way.
I push back against him, craving more, my fingers digging into the desk as another wave of pleasure builds fast and vicious.
Aidan reaches across, his fingers gripping mine, holding me through it. “Come for him, pixie. Let us see you break.”
I arch my back, pushing against him, every nerve alight and screaming for the punishment.
“Harder,” I demand, my voice hoarse, fingers digging into the wood. “Make it hurt.”
Declan obliges, his pace turning feral, each thrust shoving the desk forward despite Aidan’s grip.
Pain clashes with pleasure, sharp and consuming, and I let it burn away the betrayal still twisting in my gut.
His hand comes down on my arse, a sharp slap that echoes, and I moan, clenching around him.
“You take it so well,” Aidan murmurs.
Cormac steps closer, his hand sliding into my hair, tugging my head back so I look up at him. “Our dirty little heir,” he says, voice rough. “Fucked on your own desk like you deserve.”
The words push me closer to the edge, my body coiling tight. My pussy clenches around Declan as the orgasm rips through me, intense and unrelenting. My cries are muffled as Cormac leans down to kiss me, swallowing the sound.
Declan follows seconds later, burying deep with a guttural curse, his release flooding me hot and endless. He holds there, pulsing, before pulling out slowly, leaving me empty and wrecked, cum trickling down my thighs.
I stay bent over the desk for a moment, chest heaving, the room spinning with the aftershocks. Aidan helps me straighten, his touch steady, while Declan tucks himself away.
“That it?” I pant with a slow smile. “Damn. You guys are losing your touch.”
“Fucking hell,” Aidan groans. “You want more, pixie?”
“Always.”
Aidan’s hand slides under my thigh to lift me onto the desk properly.
My jeans bunch at my ankles, but I don’t care.
He settles between my legs, his cock already hard again and in his hand.
He thrusts into my soaked pussy without a word.
The sensation is immediate and overwhelming, his length filling me where Declan just left his mark.
I gasp, my nails digging into the back of his neck as he fucks me with a savage rhythm, each brutal thrust slamming me back into the desk, papers crumpling and scattering under the force of our fucking.
Aidan’s thrusts grow harder, more demanding, his breath hot against my neck. I meet his intensity, rolling my hips to take him deeper, the friction building another fire in my core despite the ache already settling in.
“You never get enough,” Aidan mutters, his voice rough.
Declan steps closer, his fingers gripping my chin and forcing me to look at him. “You’re ours,” he says, voice low. “Every part of you belongs to us. You have been conquered, Dervla. Do you understand that?”
The whimper that escapes me is impossible to hold back.
I nod, my voice stolen by the brutal rhythm of Aidan’s hips.
His cock drives into me, relentless, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through my body.
The orgasm doesn’t just build; it unleashes, tearing through me like wildfire, leaving me a shaking, sweating mess.
Aidan follows right behind, slamming deep one last time before his cock pumps out his release.
His hands grip my hips so hard I know there’ll be bruises.
Marks of this conquest, badges of fucking honour.
He steps back, withdrawing from me, and I know this is it now. We have to focus on what comes next. There will be plenty of time to fuck after we’ve secured St. Aug’s and burned the Romans out of existence.
“Right,” I say, my voice a bit shaky as I slide off the desk and pull my knickers and jeans up. “Maybe we can go find out what is going on with the food situation.”
“Good idea,” Declan says and unlocks the door as Aidan finishes sorting his clothes out. We head for the door.
“I’ll just stop in the ladies’,” I say, needing a minute to compose myself and not look like I’ve been spanked, fucked three times in my pussy and once in my arse in the space of a few minutes. I slip into the ladies’, which is halfway down the corridor, and lock the door behind me.
The mirror over the sinks is cruel as fuck.
Flushed skin. Swollen lips. Hair wrecked. My pupils are still blown wide. I stare at my own reflection and nearly laugh.
Vice-Chancellor by force of murder and audacity.
Also, freshly fucked in a dead man’s office.
Excellent leadership image.
Moving to a cubicle, I shut the door and clean up as best I can with toilet paper and prayers.
Then I move to the sinks and turn the cold tap on to splash water over my face.
I brace both hands on the sink and breathe until my pulse stops trying to beat its way out through my skin.
My father is alive. Siobhán is apparently not the enemy.
Troy killed Whitmore. The leader of the Romans is coming.
The building is locked down. I have three violent men outside who look at me like war is foreplay.
Dad is alive.
That thought lands all over again, vicious as the first time.
My chest tightens so hard I nearly stop breathing. I grip the edge of the sink and stare at myself until the wave passes.
Alive.
He let me bury him.
My throat burns.
He let me bury him.
He let me stand over a grave and talk to dirt while he went into hiding like some master strategist in a family legend. He let me break. He let me rip myself open on the idea of him being gone and call it necessity.
The first tear hits the sink before I even realise one got free.
“Fuck.”
I scrub it off my face like I can erase the evidence. More come anyway. Not dramatic. Not pretty. Just furious tears dragged out of me by sharp betrayal.
The worst part is, I get it. I understand why he did it. It doesn’t make it hurt any less. It doesn’t take away the weeks of pain and grief. It doesn’t make any of this better. It just makes it worse.
But I get it.
He is right.
If he had been alive and said, here is your legacy, go get it, I’d have told him to get fucked. I’d still be in Dublin now, drinking too much, partying too much, skipping classes and still acing them.
A tiny part of me wishes I was.
Then I feel terrible because that in itself is a betrayal to the very men who have stood by me since I first rolled up here with a chip on my shoulder and revenge driving me.
I drag in a breath and straighten before the next tear can fall.
Self-pity is a luxury for people who are not about to be attacked.
I turn the tap off, grab a fistful of paper towels, and blot my face until the evidence is reduced to a faint redness around my eyes.
Better. Not good. Passable. I rake my fingers through my hair and try to force it into something less fucked.
Useless. It still looks like I’ve been manhandled because I have.
A blast at the door makes me jump a fucking mile, the lock splintering in all directions before Cormac kicks the door in.
I shut my eyes and breathe once. Twice. “Give me a fucking minute, would you?”
His gaze runs over my face, catches on the redness around my eyes, and goes dead still. He steps inside and shuts the ruined door behind him. Wood hangs off one hinge.
He takes one step closer, then stops, like he is physically forcing himself not to grab for me. “I’m sorry.”
“For what? The door? Who gives a crap?”
“For knowing.”
I exhale and shake my head. “He told me you found out only minutes before I did. You have nothing to be sorry for. This is all on him. I’m not even mad at Gallagher, although he did point me in the wrong direction, which was a conscious decision on his part.”
“He said Roisin didn’t know and couldn’t. If it means anything, I think he would’ve made sure you ended up on the right track when it mattered.”
“It does mean something, but it would be better coming from him. Not that he owes me anything. I barely know the fucker.”
“Still,” Cormac says.
“Yeah, still.”
He moves closer and places his hand on the back of my neck.
He draws me closer, and I lean into his hard chest, gripping his tee.
“Are you okay? Before you reply with a cutting or sarcastic comment, I’m asking for real.
Because if you aren’t, we can’t do this.
You will be a liability if your head isn’t on straight. ”
“Do this,” I reply. “You mean defend this godforsaken institution because it’s some insane birthright?”
“Yeah,” he snorts. “Tell me again why we’re doing this?”
“Good fucking question.”
“One you had better find the answer to if we are to proceed,” Aidan states from the doorway.
“Right,” I mutter, and for several moments, I try to say that we’re walking away.
But the words don’t come.