Chapter Twenty-Nine
Flynn
I’m at the hotel. Got a room two floors down from the Russians. In a few hours there’s a dinner with the Irish Consortium leaders and the Vostrikovs. It’s going to be interesting, and tonight’s the night Autumn makes her first official appearance as my wife.
I didn’t want to bring her. Not when I can smell the war coming. But Kaden insisted that she needs to be here. Show the world we’re united. Strong. That my little trouble isn’t afraid to stare down monsters, and he is right.
If any one of them so much as breathes in her direction, I’ll burn this entire fucking hotel down with all of them inside.
She steps out of the bathroom, towel knotted loosely around her tits, hair dripping down her back like silk. Water beads on her collarbones, slides between her breasts. I tilt my head, slow, predatory, and she instantly lifts both hands, palms out.
“No, Flynn. Not now.”
Too late. My blood’s already roaring.
She tries to dart past me. I’m faster. My hand snaps around her ankle mid-stride; she yelps, crashes face-first into the mattress. The towel rips away like it was never there. That perfect, heart-shaped ass is suddenly bare, flushed pink from the shower, begging.
I want to split her open. Claim the one place I haven’t yet.
I shove my boxers down, cock springing free, angry and leaking.
One hand slams between her shoulder blades, pinning her flat.
My knee forces her thighs apart until she’s trembling, open, helpless.
I drag the head through her slick folds once, twice, just to hear her whimper my name, then I drive balls-deep into her cunt in one brutal thrust.
“Flynn—” It’s muffled into the sheets, half protest, half prayer.
I fuck her like I hate her. Hips crashing, skin slapping, the whole bedframe rattling like it’s about to splinter. She’s so wet the sound is obscene, coating my shaft, dripping down her thighs. Every thrust shoves her higher up the mattress until her fingers claw.
I drop over her, chest to her back, teeth sinking into the soft spot where her neck meets her shoulder, hard enough to bruise, to mark.
“Fuck, baby,” I growl against the bite. “I’m taking this ass soon. It’s been teasing me for too long, driving me fucking insane.”
She answers by arching, pushing that tight little hole against my abs like an invitation.
“Just the tip,” she breathes, voice wrecked.
Jesus Christ.
I pull out of her cunt with a wet sound, stand, and spit right on that virgin ring. Gather her slick on my fingers and paint it over her, over me, until we’re both glistening. My hand splays across her lower back, thumb pressing into the dimples above her ass, holding her exactly where I want her.
“Deep breath, trouble. Relax for me.”
She tries. I feel it, the flutter, the fight. I circle the tip against her, slow and non-stop. Her whole body locks up.
“Relax,” I snarl, dragging nails down her spine just hard enough to leave red trails. “Let me in.”
A broken moan. Then, fuck, her ring gives. Just the head pops past that impossible grip, and my vision whites out. So tight it hurts. Perfect.
I hold still, jaw clenched so hard it aches, letting her breathe around me. Then I ease in another inch.
Out.
In.
Tiny, shallow thrusts that have her sobbing my name into the sheets. With my free hand I reach under, two fingers plunging into her dripping cunt while my thumb torments her clit.
“Look at you,” I rasp, voice black with possession. “Taking my cock in your ass like you were born for it. My perfect little ruined wife.”
Her back bows, ass tilting higher and greedily. I want to slam home, feel her choke on all of me, but I won’t. Not tonight. She has to walk into that dinner on my arm, not limp.
So I fuck her ass with just the head, slow and filthy, fingers curling inside her cunt until she’s shaking. When her thighs start to quake, when her knuckles go white twisting the sheets, I rip out of her ass and spear back into her pussy so hard the headboard cracks against the wall.
She screams, raw, beautiful, and comes apart around me, walls milking me in vicious pulses. I bite down on her shoulder again, tasting blood this time, and empty myself inside her with a guttural curse.
Mine. Every hole. Every breath. Every scream.
I collapse over her, both of us panting, my cock still twitching deep inside. I lick the fresh bite on her neck.
“Let’s get dressed.” I kiss the back of her head before I pull out of her slowly, her soft little gasp hitting straight to my spine.
“Well, now I need another shower or I’ll be dripping—” She stops, narrows those eyes at me, and points between her legs. “Little Flynns all night.”
A laugh punches out of me, real, loud, the kind that feels like it belongs to a man who actually has something to live for. “Little Flynns?” I swipe a towel over myself, pull on my boxers. “Would you like a little Flynn inside your belly?”
The thought hits harder than it should.
Perfect. A fucking breeding kink. Exactly what I needed tonight.
She rolls her eyes and disappears into the bathroom. If this weren’t a dangerous night, if I weren’t walking into a room full of men who’d love to see me bleeding, I’d make her drip me down her thighs, shove a plug inside her to keep every drop exactly where it belongs.
I rub my face. Christ. I’m always hard when she’s near me.
The black suit feels like armour as I slide it over my shoulders.
I pull my hair back, everything dark, black shirt, black jacket, black tie.
A shadow among shadows. I look down at the gold ring on my finger.
The idea of losing her claws into me, and for the first time since my father died, something cold curls through my chest.
Fear.
“How do I look?” her voice calls from the doorway.
I lift my head, and my heart stops. My cock does the opposite.
“Fuck,” I growl.
Autumn stands there in a black dress that looks like sin tailored for one woman.
Tight over her breasts and waist, the sides open at her hips, and a slit climbs her thigh like an invitation.
Black heels that turn her legs into a weapon.
Her hair curled to one side, sliding down her shoulder.
Dark eyes, red lips—all of it made to ruin men.
“So?” she asks softly.
“So—” I step toward her but force myself to stop inches away. “We need to leave this room now, or I’ll pin you against the wall and give you more little Flynns before we make it to the hallway. And Declan will kill me if I skip this dinner.”
I grab my phone, open the drawer, and see her camera there. I grab and tuck my gun behind my back. The motion is automatic. Natural. But when I look at her again, she’s staring at me like she’s never seen me hold a weapon, like the sight of it hits somewhere deep.
Her lips part.
Her eyes widen, and just like that, I’m hard again.
“Sorry.” I shake my head and pull the gun forward. When she sees it, she steps in close and runs her fingertips over the cold steel.
“You’ve ever held a gun?”
She shakes her head, eyes wide.
I let her take it, moving behind her, lifting her hands with mine wrapped around them.
“Press here to take the safety off, then aim and shoot.” I murmur against her ear, feeling the tremble in her fingers.
“I don’t—” She stops, breath catching, and pushes the gun back into my hands.
“I know,” I say softly, kissing her forehead. “But you should at least know how to use one. I’ll teach you.”
She just stares at me, something warm and uncertain in her eyes.
We leave the room, take the elevator down.
“You brought your camera to the hotel,” I say as the elevator goes down.
“It’s a comfort thing.” She whispers.
We walk into the hotel restaurant reserved just for us. My men. Declan’s men. Russians stationed around the walls like silent statues.
“Ready?” I ask.
She nods, looping her arm through mine. Her hand is ice cold, but her chin is up, shoulders squared. She draws one deep breath, and I push the door open.
Silence hits.
Everyone turns.
Declan steps toward us with Viviana on his arm.
“Took you long enough,” he mutters.
I wink.
“Christian,” a voice says at Autumn’s side. Keeffe extends his hand, and she takes it with a soft, polite smile.
“We’ve met before,” Tiernan adds.
She nods. “I remember. You have a beautiful hotel, and my photos didn’t do it justice.” Her voice trembles only a little. She’s holding on admirably.
“Your photos are incredible,” Christian says, smiling warmly. “Viviana was right. You’re very talented.”
“Stay calm,” Declan murmurs near my shoulder.
But then I see Flanaghan approaching, and every muscle in my body coils.
“Autumn. Nice to finally meet the woman who snatched Brady.” His tone drips venom.
She takes his hand, smiles sweetly, and replies, “Pleasure is all yours.”
Then she turns to Viviana. “Can we get a drink?”
Viviana bites down a laugh. “Absolutely.”
They slip away toward the bar.
It takes Flanaghan a full second to process her jab. His jaw ticks. His eyes flame. Good.
Before he can open that rotten mouth again, Rurik Vostrikov walks in with his wife and siblings. Declan and I go to greet them.
“Welcome,” Declan says, shaking Rurik’s hand.
Mila and Katya give polite nods before moving toward the bar. Autumn greets them with a soft hug, and their faces warm instantly. She does that; people fall into ease around her without trying.
“She’s—” Kian starts, but Declan shoots him a glare sharp enough to kill. I look away so he doesn’t see me fighting a laugh.
Kian is supposed to be the disciplined one, but the second Mila walked in, he hasn’t blinked once.
Motherfucker.
Rurik and Stepan join us; we shake hands and head to the table.
Declan sits at the head, with Rurik to his right and Stepan beside him. I take Declan’s left, with Kian and Connor next. Flanaghan and the Keeffes settle further down.
The women gather at a separate table; it’s safer, quieter, out of earshot from business.
“Are the rooms to your liking?” Declan asks.