Chapter 3
Dervla
The bedroom door bangs shut behind me. I’m pissed, more than pissed.
I’m livid. Aidan is right. I know he is.
Eoin was a test that Roisin sent to… what?
See my reaction time when I’m drunk? If I would be charmed by her brother?
If I’d let him fuck me in a doorway? All of the above, plus other things I can’t even begin to think of right now.
I bunch my right hand into a fist, ignoring the shot of pain and smash it into the door.
“Fuck!”
The pain is immediate, stupid, and entirely deserved. I suck air through my teeth and cradle my hand to my chest, pacing once across the room like that is somehow going to undo the fact that I just punched solid wood with an already injured fist.
The door opens, and I turn to glare at the intruder.
Cormac.
Only he wouldn’t knock.
“What?” I snap.
He holds up my blade.
I cross to him and snatch it from him. “Don’t touch Henrietta.”
“So that’s her name. Did wonder.”
He lounges in the doorway as I turn my back on him and move to the en-suite, where I run her under a lukewarm stream, watching the blood wash off and swirl down the drain. “She has a name because it’s reliable,” I say. “Rare quality in my life at the moment.”
I dry Henrietta carefully and check the edge with my thumb. Still clean. Still true. I wrap her back up and turn, only to find him still planted in the doorway like he isn’t going anywhere until he gets what he came for.
“If you’re here to give me a lecture, save it.”
“I’m not Aidan.”
“No, you’re the one who just stares until people confess things.”
“And?”
I move back into the bedroom and set Henrietta on the bedside table.
Cormac shuts the bedroom door with his foot and studies me. Split knuckles. Blood at the corner of his mouth. Bruising is already darkening along his jaw. Roisin’s men clearly got their pound of flesh.
“You look like shit,” I tell him.
“So do you.”
I sit on the edge of the bed and untie my boots. I kick them off as Cormac stands in front of me, looking down at me like he wants to ravage me.
I’m going to let him.
He reaches down and takes hold of my knees, pushing them apart so he can stand between them.
“Dangerous fucking night to look at me like that,” he says.
“I’m in a dangerous fucking mood.”
“Makes two of us.” He puts one hand on my throat, not tight, just there, and I feel my pulse jump under his palm.
I hook my fingers in the waistband of his pants and drag him closer until he is right where I want him.
Flattening me to the bed, he kisses me hard enough to shut everything in my head up for one blessed second.
I kiss him back just as hard. There is nothing careful in it.
No softness. No pretending this is comfort instead of need.
I want impact. I want bruises. I want something that makes the rage in my body feel like it has somewhere to go.
His hand leaves my throat and slides into my hair, fisting at the back of my head while he kisses me deeper.
I make a sound that comes out meaner than needy, and he answers by pressing himself between my thighs with enough force to make it clear he is one breath from losing whatever control he walked in here with.
He bites my lower lip hard enough to sting, then releases it and drags his mouth down my jaw to my throat, where the marks from earlier are still tender.
The scrape of it makes heat and anger knot together low in my body.
My hands slide under his shirt, dragging it up his back. He breaks the kiss long enough to yank it over his head and throw it behind him. I take him in for half a beat. Bruises coming in. Fresh cuts. My name carved into his forearm, still healing, still hot as fuck, as messed up as that is.
“No words. Just fuck me,” I murmur, wiggling to get out of my dress.
He catches the hem and helps, dragging the dress up and over my head with impatient hands. It lands on the floor. I’m left in my bra and knickers. His eyes drop over me with open hunger that hits me low and hard.
He hooks his fingers into my knickers and yanks them down my legs. I kick them off, unclasping my bra at the same time. My tits fall free, and his eyes devour me. There are no thoughts. No words, nothing except the two of us as he undoes his pants and loses them in record time.
He drops to his knees and hauls me to the end of the bed. His mouth hits me, hot and savage. No warning. No teasing. His tongue drags through me in one hard stroke that makes my body jerk. My hands fly to his hair. He spreads me wider and goes back in, rough and focused.
I tug his hair hard. He grunts against me and bites the inside of my thigh in punishment. The sting shoots straight through me. I arch, and he uses it, sliding his tongue over my clit until my breath comes apart in ugly little bursts.
I grind against his mouth, not graceful, not patient, just chasing release with all the violence still burning through me.
He holds me down when I get too frantic, one hand pressing into my hip, the other dragging my thigh over his shoulder so he can get deeper.
The pressure builds hard and fast, too much, not enough.
I need more. I need all of it. I need him to consume me, to ravage me, to make me feel something other than this fucking anger that is burning through my veins.
I buck against his mouth, frustrated and desperate, and he answers by shoving two fingers into me, twisting them until I scream for release.
“Fuck, Cormac,” I gasp, my pussy tensing around him, already on the edge of exploding.
He growls against me, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure crashing through me.
He doesn’t let up, doesn’t slow down. He eats me like he’s starving, like he needs this as much as I do.
His fingers pump in and out of me, relentless, driving me higher and higher until I’m shaking, until I’m right on the precipice.
Then he stops.
He pulls back just enough to look up at me, his mouth wet with me, his eyes dark and dangerous. He stands and looms over me.
“Around my cock,” he growls, and plunges his enormous dick into me.
My cry is choked as I take all of him deep in one thrust. I buck against him, trying to get back to the edge of my orgasm.
He grips my hips, fingers digging into my flesh, and holds me down, keeping me right where he wants me.
I struggle against his hold, but he doesn’t budge.
He’s too strong, too determined to maintain control.
He pulls out slowly, inch by torturous inch, before slamming back into me with a force that steals my breath.
He does it again, and again, each thrust deliberate and brutal, punishing me with pleasure.
My pussy yields, stretches, accommodates him inch by devastating inch, nerve endings firing signals I can barely process as he pushes deeper, the delicious burn of too much and exactly what I need.
My hands fist in the sheets, knuckles white.
Cormac’s grip on my hips tightens, and he uses his hold to pull me onto him as he thrusts forward, meeting me halfway.
His pace increases, and the sounds leaving me turn harsh, guttural, feral.
I can hear myself, distant and raw, and it only makes me hotter.
Makes me needier. The edge is right there, so fucking close I can taste it.
Every thrust drives me higher, every drag of his cock through my pussy sends shocks of pleasure through me that border on pain.
I’m trembling, sweating, gasping for air like I’ve run a marathon.
Cormac’s eyes never leave mine, even as he fucks me so hard, we are being pushed up the bed. There’s a savage satisfaction in his expression, like he’s claiming something, proving something. I don’t care what it is, as long as he doesn’t stop.
My orgasm rips through me, filthy and vicious, tearing a scream from my throat. My cunt convulses around him, clamping down so hard he grunts and slams into me deeper, harder, riding me through it. Waves of pleasure crash over me, drowning me in sensation. I can’t breathe, can’t see. Only feel.
“Yes,” I pant. “More.”
“Fuck,” he grunts and pulls out, flipping me over and spanking my arse hard, before he yanks my hips up, pulling me back onto his cock.
I gasp as he enters me again, this stroke even deeper, hitting a spot that makes my vision white out.
His hand comes down on my arse again, the spank echoing through the room, the sting becoming heat.
“Fuck, Cormac,” I groan, pressing back against him, meeting each thrust. He’s relentless, pounding into me with a force that shoves me up the bed. He follows. My hands scramble for purchase, finding the headboard, gripping it to brace myself against his assault.
His hand tangles in my hair, pulling my head back, arching my spine. His other hand grips my hip, fingers digging into my flesh, holding me in place as he fucks me harder, faster, giving me the ‘more’ I begged for.
Another orgasm builds and explodes hot and heavy. My body convulses, my cunt clamping down on him as I come again, screaming. Cormac’s grip on my hair tightens, and he pounds into me with brutal, relentless strokes. He’s claiming me, owning me, and I fucking love it.
His hand leaves my hair and slides around to my throat, pulling me up so my back is against his chest. He doesn’t squeeze, just holds me there, his mouth at my ear. “You’re mine,” he growls, his voice low and possessive. “Say it.”
“I’m yours,” I gasp, my body shaking with the force of my orgasm and the intensity of his claim.
He bites my earlobe, hard, and I cry out, my body convulsing again. He groans, deep and guttural. He unloads hard.
He holds me there, his cock buried deep, his breath hot on my neck. I can feel his heart pounding against my back, his body trembling with the force of his release. We stay like that for a moment, locked together, panting. Then he slowly withdraws, making me wince.
He presses a kiss to the back of my neck, soft and gentle, different to the savage way he just fucked me.
He rolls onto his back as I curl up facing him. “Better?”
He snorts. “Not even close. But it’s a start. Give a guy a second, would you?”
“Isn’t that why there’s three of you?” I ask wickedly, and he chuckles darkly.
“You’re a little filthy whore, aren’t you?”
“I’ve been called worse,” I say with a laugh.
Cormac turns his head and looks at me, eyes dark. “Yeah?”
“Frequently.”
He huffs a laugh and drags a hand down his face.
The room is quiet except for our breathing settling and the distant murmur of the house below us.
My body still feels charged, every nerve ending awake, but the fury has shifted shape.
It is no longer clawing at my throat. It is sitting lower now. Colder. Meaner.
Cormac says nothing for a second. Then, “Do you want me to kill him first or her?”
There is no humour in it.
I turn my head and look at him. “That is not a normal question.”
“It is for me.”
“I’ll let you know,” I say eventually. “Aidan’s man has to find him first.”
“He will.”
I nod and crawl under the covers. “Go now,” I say, turning my back to him. I don’t want aftercare from him. I don’t want him to stay and cuddle me. It’s not our dynamic. It will ruin the heat, and I don’t want that right now.
“Not many women throw me out of their beds, you know,” he drawls, sitting up and reaching for his clothes.
“If you touch another woman, you won’t get back into mine.”
He moves around and crouches down in front of me, pants on but undone. He fists his hand in my hair and yanks, roughly. “Don’t ever imply that again.”
His tone chills me, but it also excites me. It shows me he is deadly serious.
“And if I do? What will you do?” I whisper.
He stares at me for one hard second, then releases my hair just enough to slide his hand to my throat.
“I’ll remind you who I belong to.”
The words settle low and dangerous.
My pulse jumps under his palm. “Threatening.”
“Promising.” His hand tightens just a fraction, not enough to stop my breath, enough to make the point. He kisses me once. Hard, filthy, brief. Then he gets up, finishes dressing, and heads for the door like he didn’t just fuck me into the mattress and threaten me in the same breath.
He leaves, and the room goes quiet again, but not properly. My skin is still buzzing. My head is too full of everything that happened tonight, but eventually, my mind stops churning over, and I feel the first pull of sleep tug at me.