Chapter 21
DOMINIC
Of all the locations I thought Aoife might suggest, the beach wasn’t one of them.
Yet, I shouldn’t be surprised. My fiancée appears to favour the simple things in life.
I gave her free rein with my credit card, and the only things she finally caved and bought were the bare necessities in some label free online boutique.
So, she was hardly going to ask me to take her shopping and then on to Nobu, was she?
By the time I’m ready to go, she’s already waiting for me in the kitchen, looking understated and utterly stunning in a denim dress and a cream cardigan.
An oversized tan coloured tote hangs from her shoulder.
I hope to fuck she has the bikini on, or packed at least. Even though it’s probably better for my balls if she doesn’t.
She points to the square, black cool bag I packed our picnic into—a selection of cheese, crackers, Italian cured meat, grapes, two bottles of water, and some orange juice.
As an afterthought, I threw in a bottle of champagne from the fridge and carefully wrapped two crystal flutes in some oversized beach towels.
‘You have a cool bag,’ she states with surprise.
‘It’s great for transporting body parts round the city.’ I deadpan. Her full lips fall open. ‘Ah, relax, I’m just joking.’ I beam at her. ‘That thing would be useless! You’d need a portable freezer.’ I toss her a wink.
‘I hope you’re joking,’ she pulls her cream cardigan tighter around herself.
‘Of course, I’m joking,’ I grab the bag from the counter.
Body parts are Ciaran’s domain. I don’t deal in mess. I deal in ending it. Though sometimes one equates to the other, like in the cellar in Dom’s bar the day Aoife burst into my life.
‘Speaking of body parts, I’d prefer mine to remain intact.’ She frowns. ‘Are we taking security with us?’
‘I am your security today, sweetheart.’ I tip my head to hers. ‘Magheramore is dead. I haven’t so much seen a dog walker down there in years, though that could change if you packed that red bikini.’
She laughs, and the sound seeps beneath my skin, all the way into my heart. ‘You’ll find out soon enough.’
I stride out of the kitchen, through the bright, open hallway to the front door.
‘I love this house.’ Aoife says quietly, touching the elaborate foliage as we pass through.
‘Me too. It offers something the rest of my life doesn’t—space, light, solitude—things that most people take for granted.’ I open the front door. ‘I’m not most people.’
‘I’m starting to get that impression,’ she admits, following me out into the sunshine.
‘Running The Syndicate poses the same risk—prison time or death—both end in darkness and suffocation. That’s why here at home, I bask in the light every damn day I get.’
‘It makes sense.’ She nods.
‘The second I saw this place, I needed to have it.’ A bit like when she ran smack bang into my chest. I knew then, fate threw her into my path for a reason.
‘I’m sensing that’s a common theme with you,’ she says wryly. ‘See something. Want it. Take it.’ She motions to herself.
‘Not always. Like everyone, there are occasions where I have to bide my time and let what I want come to me.’
Her eyes flare. That blush inches up her neck again.
We step outside and I help her into the BMW, then go around the vehicle to hop into the driver’s seat.
Ciaran, Cathal, Owen and I all have the same make and model.
It makes it easier when we’re switching number plates.
We cruise down the driveway. Lewis, one of my security team, opens the gate for us.
I nod my thanks, then pull out onto the winding road.
Aoife’s fingers reach for the radio at the same second mine do.
That ever-present chemistry crackles along the back of my hand and up my arm.
‘Go on.’ I sweep a hand towards the radio station. ‘Put whatever you like on.’
‘Why are you being so nice to me?’ She fiddles with the stations, settling on a Lewis Capaldi song.
‘When have I been anything other than nice to you?’ I counter, thrumming my fingers on the steering wheel in time to the beat.
‘True,’ she shrugs. ‘I just don’t get why. You’re generous. Considerate. You don’t abuse our situation, when other men would.’
I stare at her for a long beat over the centre consol. ‘Did it ever occur to you that I might like you, Aoife O’Shea?’
‘And I thought you were simply pretending for the sake of the staff.’ She arches an eyebrow and bites back a smirk.
‘Spoiler alert—they’re not here. But by the time I’ve paraded you around publicly, no one will be in any doubt about how obsessed I am with you.’ I grin and she laughs.
She thinks I’m joking.
She still hasn’t realised the depth of my affection for her.
She will in time.
She’s been living in my house, sleeping in my bed for weeks.
What’s worse?
She’s taken up permanent residence in my head too.
I spend every minute we’re apart wondering how she is, where she is, and what is going through her busy, beautiful brain. Having a hot housemate isn’t conducive to productivity.
And with every second we spend together, I’m increasingly certain she was made to be mine. Not to start a war, but to bring me a peace I didn’t know I needed until she barrelled into my bar. A bit like the song that’s currently playing on the radio… everything was pointless until her.
In the past, I spent my free time fucking my way through the members of Reveal, Sean Beckett’s sex club, or skulking around the house alone.
Then she moved in, and now, instead of silence, I’m greeted with a smile, a home cooked dinner, and stolen glances that stir something in the very soul I thought the devil demanded a long time ago.
We make small talk for the hour-long drive.
The wedding. The weather. The new job she’ll start at the end of August. Her favourite flowers—pink peonies.
My favourite movie—The Godfather. If anyone had bugged the vehicle, they’d swear we were a normal couple.
Though if we were, my hand would be firmly placed on Aoife’s thigh and I’d be teasing just beneath the hem of that denim dress.
When we finally reach the beach, it’s deserted as expected.
‘You come here often?’ I ask, glancing around.
Her tinkling laugh pierces the air then, ‘Careful, Dom.’ She hops out of the car, firing me a playful glance over her shoulder, ‘That sounded suspiciously like a pick-up line.’
I dart out of the vehicle, grab the cool bag from the boot, and then stand beside her as she surveys her surroundings.
‘If I was trying to pick you up, sweetheart.’ I lean closer until my breath skims her ear.
‘I’d do it with both hands, carry you to our bed, spread your legs wide for me and slide my tongue deep inside your centre. ’
That adorable colour flushes her cheeks again. ‘You can’t say things like that!’
‘Why not?’ I shrug, placing a palm on her lower back and guiding her onto the sand. ‘Does it turn you on?’ I’m pushing her again. Pushing when I swore I wouldn’t, but that’s just what I do.
I had no idea about her brother overdosing, or that part of her held me responsible; it explains her conflicted emotions to me. Why she doesn’t want to want me. But I’m running out of reasons to keep my distance from her, and I think she feels the same.
‘We’ve been dancing around what happened between us for long enough now. I feel your eyes on me, Aoife. Don’t pretend you can’t feel the fire burning up between us. We’re one spark away from an explosion, and you know it.’
She pulls out a giant beach blanket from her bag and lays it out on the sand, looking everywhere but at me as she drops to her backside.
I lower myself to sit beside her, close enough that our elbows touch, then drop a huge hand onto her toned thigh. She looks at it, then twists her face to meet my eye. ‘Dominic.’ There’s a warning in her tone, but there’s also a raw want too.
‘Submit to me and I’ll show you so much fucking pleasure, baby.’ I brush my thumb higher over her inner thigh, teasingly.
‘Submit to you?’ Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, as her pulse flutters at the base of her throat.
‘Let me tie you to the bedposts and lick and worship every inch of your fucking beautiful body.’ I dip my face closer to hers until our lips are mere millimetres apart. ‘I need to watch your face as you come on my tongue.’
‘Kinky fucker,’ she hisses.
‘Submit, and I’ll show you.’ The thought sets blood racing to my cock.
Her fingers grip the blanket beneath her until the tips turn white.
‘Have you ever fantasised about being tied up? Licked and sucked and spanked and teased?’ I should back off, but like I said, I push. That’s just what I do.
She presses her thighs together with my hand between them. Satisfaction surges over my skin. I bet she’s soaked for me. The need to find out eats at me.
Heat pulses between us. Her pupils flash with that hint of vulnerability again. ‘Dom,’ she warns again, but with way less conviction this time.
I’ve never been interested in vanilla sex before, but the urge to carry her to my bed and fuck her six ways to Sunday eats at me like a fucking cancer.
She really is the most attractive woman I’ve seen in my thirty-five years.
She’s aesthetically beautiful, but it’s not just that.
She radiates something rare. Something I can’t put my finger on.
Something special. I’ll take her any way she’ll let me, but my preference will always be as my submissive.
I can’t help myself. ‘Yes or no, Aoife, does the idea of being tied up and worshipped turn you on?’
If she says yes, it’s fucking official—she was made for me.
If not, I’ll back off right now. Never broach the subject again.
She hesitates for a long beat. ‘Yes,’ she finally whispers, her gaze returning to the blanket again.
I curl a finger under her chin and tip her face upward to meet my eyes.
I swear I could drown in those baby blues.
The innocence they exude is more criminal than any act I’ve ever committed.
‘Say the word, sweetheart, and I’ll orchestrate every single one of your fantasies. ’
Her pupils dip to my mouth.
‘We’ve been here before, sweetheart, and I warned you then: if you keep looking at me like that, I will kiss you.’
Her pulse throbs at her throat. Breath hitches. She eyes me levelly. ‘I won’t stop you.’ Her voice cracks with raw need. ‘I’m incapable.’
I search her eyes for any hint of uncertainty. ‘Promise not to freak out on me again.’
‘I promise,’ she whispers.
‘Good girl.’ Our eyes meet, hers spark and dilate, and she presses herself harder against me.
No fucking way… my fiancée has a fucking praise kink. I bet she’s not even fully aware of it herself yet.
I lower my lips to hers, slowly this time.
They’re warm and soft and taste of spearmint and sin.
Her mouth parts for me, surrendering, submitting.
I tease her mouth with my tongue slowly.
‘I need your cunt on my face,’ I murmur.
‘I need to fuck your slit with my tongue and hear you scream my name when you come.’
Her eyes widen, and she moans against my mouth. I glance around the beach. It’s still just us. I wouldn't care if it wasn’t, but after everything I’ve done in this life, it would be a cruel twist of fate to get arrested for indecent exposure.
‘Submit to me and I will worship every inch of you.’ My fingers skim higher along her thigh until they meet Lycra. She stills. I need her to give herself to me. And I need it more than I need my next breath.
She jerks her head back, tearing her mouth from mine. My heart sinks.
But then two three-letter words slip from her lips. ‘Yes, sir.’