Chapter 16
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
I lean against Saoirse's doorframe, watching her pack with jerky movements that make my cock throb. The scent of our fucking still hangs in the air, mixing with her perfume to create something that has me half-hard despite having her three times last night.
She's wearing my shirt—white cotton barely covering her ass—and nothing else. Every time she bends over that suitcase, I catch glimpses of her bare pussy, of the bite marks I left on her inner thighs. My mouth waters remembering how she tasted when I made her come on my tongue.
"Going somewhere?" My voice comes out rougher than intended.
Her hands still on a silk blouse. "Back to Oxford. Before father trades me to those Russian bastards for shipping routes."
The word 'trades' sends rage through my veins. Images flash of her bound and displayed, of other men thinking they can touch what belongs to me. My hands fist at my sides.
"He won't force the alliance."
She laughs, bitter and sharp, tossing the blouse into her case. The movement makes my shirt ride up, exposing the curve of her ass. "Won't he? I refuse to be bartered like cattle, Conall."
"Cattle." The word tastes wrong. I step into the room, close enough to smell the musk between her legs. "Is that what last night felt like? When you were riding my cock and begging me to fill you up?"
Color floods her cheeks. Her nipples peak against the thin cotton, showing me she's remembering how I sucked them until she screamed.
"Last night was crossing a line we can never uncross." Her voice wavers as I crowd her space. "What happens now? Do you report to father that his daughter spread her legs for the help?"
The accusation burns. My hand shoots out, gripping her throat. Not choking, just claiming.
"You think I'd betray what we did? After twenty years of wanting to bury my cock in your tight little cunt?"
Her breath catches. "Twenty years?"
"Christ, Saoirse. I've jerked off thinking about you since you turned eighteen." My thumb traces her racing pulse. "That yellow sundress you wore home from finishing school? I came so hard to the thought of bending you over in it, I nearly passed out."
Her pupils dilate. "You never?—"
"Every boy you dated, every man who looked at you, I wanted to cut their throats." My other hand slides under the shirt, palming her bare breast. "You think I could trust myself around you?"
She arches into my touch, nipple hardening against my palm. "Then why didn't you take what you wanted?"
I release her throat, step back before I throw her on the bed and fuck her until she can't remember her own name.
"Because you're Tiernan Kavanagh's daughter, and I'm street trash who earned his place through violence." My voice turns harsh. "You deserve Oxford professors with clean hands, not a killer who gets hard from spilling blood."
Instead of agreeing, she steps toward me. Her hands slide up my chest, nails scraping through the hair there.
"I don't want clean hands." Her fingers find the scar above my heart, the one from taking a blade meant for her father. "I want these hands. The ones that kill to protect us. The ones that made me come so hard I couldn't speak."
My cock strains against my zipper. She notices, her gaze dropping to the bulge.
"I compared every man to you," she continues, her hand sliding down to cup me through the fabric. "Every kiss felt wrong. Every touch left me cold. Because they weren't you."
"Fuck." The word tears from my throat as she works my belt.
"I didn't come back just for the family crisis." She frees my cock, wrapping her small fist around my shaft. "I came back because I was tired of pretending I didn't dream about you fucking me senseless."
My control snaps. I grab her waist, lifting her onto the dresser behind her. Her legs part automatically, and I step between them, my hands fisting in her hair.
"You want me to fuck you senseless?" I growl against her ear, my cock pressing against her slick entrance. "Want me to ruin you for every other man?"
"Yes." She guides me to where she's already wet and ready. "Make me yours, Conall. Completely."
I drive into her with one brutal thrust, swallowing her scream with my mouth. She's so fucking tight, her pussy gripping my cock like it was made for me.
"This what you want?" I pull out and slam back in, making her bounce on my dick. "My cock splitting you open where anyone could walk in?"
"God, yes." Her nails rake down my back, probably drawing blood. "Harder. Fuck me harder."
I pound into her soaked cunt, making the mirror shake behind her. Makeup containers crash to the floor. She doesn't care, too busy taking every inch I give her.
"Look at us." I grab her chin, forcing her to watch our reflection. "See how perfectly your tight little pussy takes my cock?"
She stares at where we're joined, watching my thick shaft disappear into her pink flesh over and over. "I can feel you so deep."
"That's right, love. Deep in your cunt where I belong." I bite her neck hard enough to mark her. "This pussy is mine now. Say it."
"Yours." She rolls her hips, grinding her clit against me. "My pussy belongs to you."
I reach between us, pinching her swollen clit between my fingers. She detonates around me, cunt clamping down so hard I see stars. Her scream bounces off the walls as she soaks my cock with her release.
The sight of her coming undone on my dick pushes me over the edge. I bury myself to the hilt and empty my balls deep inside her, filling her with my seed.
We stay connected, both breathing hard. My come leaks out around my cock, marking her thighs.
"Still planning to run back to Oxford?" I ask, voice wrecked from groaning her name.
She looks at her forgotten suitcase, then back at me with a satisfied smile that makes my cock twitch inside her.
"Try to make me leave now."
I laugh, carrying her to the bed as I start to harden again. Her luggage hits the floor with a crash.
"Challenge accepted, princess." I lay her down, spreading her legs to watch my come drip from her well-fucked pussy. "Hope you cleared your schedule. We're not leaving this room until I've had you in every position I've dreamed about."
She pulls my mouth down to hers, tongue sliding against mine. "How long have you been dreaming?"
"Twenty years, love. We've got a lot of lost time to make up for."
I do exactly that.