Chapter 27
DOMINIC
It’s almost nine by the time I get home. I head straight for the kitchen in search of a drink. Aoife’s nowhere to be seen. Maybe she went to bed? That’s where I should go, but not before I pour myself a large Beckett’s Gold and clean the blood from my hands.
It’s one thing for Aoife to think I hurt people, and another thing to see fresh blood smeared across my knuckles. Nothing a long, hot shower won’t fix. Maybe when I’m clean, she’ll join me.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. Fuck’s sake. If there’s more trouble at Dom’s, I swear to God, I’ll murder the next mouthy fucker that darkens the door.
I pluck it out.
Mam.
I sigh and cancel the call. I’m not in the mood for wedding talk. Not when the woman I’m marrying is somewhere in this house and I’m desperate to devour her.
A text pings in right away.
Frankie knows.
Good. She must have finally cracked and told him about the wedding—a fact I was banking on. Our whirlwind wedding will sound so much more authentic if it comes from her, especially now she’s seen us together.
If he ever finds out what I’ve done, he’d take me out himself, with his bare hands.
I get that he wants to keep the family pure and true, but how much more pure can Aoife be?
She’s a goddamn virgin—though she won’t be for much longer the way I’m going.
I vowed not to take her properly until we’re married, but she’s not making it easy for me.
I pour myself a double whiskey and lean back on the kitchen counter.
Outside, there are men stationed around the property; there always are, but inside, the house is eerily quiet.
A movement in the hallway catches my eye, a split second before Aoife slips into the kitchen, her blonde curls falling softly over her face as usual.
She’s wearing one of the summer dresses Sheila bought her in Brown Thomas, clutching her chest like it has any hope of covering her incredible curves.
‘You’re home,’ she exhales what I’d swear is a sigh of relief. ‘You’ve never been this late before.’
‘Were you worried about me?’ My chest tightens. No one—other than my mother—has ever been worried about me.
‘Maybe.’ She sashays closer, eyeing my drink.
‘It’s been a long day.’ I admit wearily.
Her eyes fall to my bloody knuckles. ‘Are you okay?’
Shit. I should have at least tried to hide them. I’m doing my damndest not to terrify her, both in and out of the bedroom.
But it’s not fear that flashes through her eyes.
It’s concern.
I shove my fist into my suit pocket.
‘Let me see your hands.’ She beckons me over and ushers me to the sink, pressing a kiss to my cheek.
‘I’m fine, it’s nothing.’ I put down my glass and flex my fingers. ‘See?’
‘Those cuts need cleaning.’ It’s not lost on me that those were the exact words I said to her in my bar just over six weeks ago.
She turns the tap on, reaches for the first aid box beneath the sink, and sets to work. Her touch is tender as she washes my hands, then dabs antiseptic onto my knuckles, doing something no woman has ever done for me before—taking care of me.
Her eyes dart to mine every few seconds, like she’s checking she’s not hurting me.
I already told her I don’t feel pain.
I would though, if she decides to walk away in a year.
Already, I can’t imagine not having her here in my house, in my bed, in my life.
‘What happened?’ She asks quietly.
‘A fight broke out in Dom’s.’ It’s not the whole truth, but it’s close enough.
‘I gather you ended it.’ She swallows thickly.
‘I did.’ I wet my lips. ‘Does that horrify you?’
‘No.’ She stills for a second as she thinks about it. ‘I’m beginning to realise that you only do what you have to do.’
‘What else have you come to realise about me?’ The scent of her perfume surrounds me, and I drag it deep into my lungs.
‘That maybe you’re not as bad as people think you are.’ Her eyes lift to mine.
‘I’m worse,’ I admit. She has no idea of all the fucked up things I’ve done in Sean Beckett’s sex club. Of all the things I’ve fantasised about doing to her down there.
But with her, it would be very different.
It would be a religious experience.
Because I’ve never been with a woman I actually had feelings for before. And my feelings for her are multiplying with every passing minute. ‘But I already told you, I’ll never be bad to you.’
Silence falls between us again.
‘There.’ She peers at my knuckles, seemingly satisfied, then puts the antiseptic back in the box.
‘Thank you.’ I grab her wrists and pull her body flush against mine, pressing my lips to hers.
She melts into me. Her pupils burn with the same desire that dances through my soul.
Her breasts heave against my chest. Her nipples are two taut bullets beneath her dress.
She’s not wearing a fucking bra again. She’s doing her best to push me over the edge.
I need her to be mine, really mine, so there’s no way she can walk away from me. Not in a year. Not in a lifetime. Because she was made for me. I always said I’d know when I found the right one. And the right one is the woman I’m set to marry.
I deepen our kiss, skimming my fingers lower over her dress until I reach the hem. Her pupils blow big and black as my fingers find her flesh, sweeping up over her bare thigh. Goosebumps scatter over her skin in my wake, and I smirk, inching higher.
She tears her lips from mine. ‘Take me to bed,’ she demands.
‘I’m not fucking you tonight.’ I cup her pussy and it pulses beneath my palm.
‘When then?’ Her disappointment is palpable.
‘When we’re married.’
‘What? That’s over two weeks away.’ She pouts, running her hand over my crotch. ‘I didn’t have you pegged as the traditional type.’
I grab her hand and still it. ‘I’ve done a lot of fucked up shit in my life, but I’m determined to do right by you.’ I pause. ‘And by me.’
‘What do you mean?’ She whispers breathily, her eyes dropping to my hand restraining hers.
‘This might have started out as an arrangement, but the way I want you is very real.’ I cup her chin and tilt her face up to meet mine. ‘I assumed we could fuck this attraction out of our systems, but that foolish notion was obliterated the second my lips touched yours.’
‘You’re not going to let me walk away.’ Alarm flashes through her eyes.
‘Oh, you can walk away, sweetheart. But you don’t get to take part of me with you. If you want me.’ I glance down at my erection pressing into her hip. ‘You have to take the whole package.’ I huff out a humourless laugh. ‘Or nothing at all.’
‘You want our marriage to be real?’ Shock taints her tone. ‘That’s crazy.’
‘It’s not.’ I pull her against me until her body is flush with mine.
I’m all in.
Hell, I think deep down, I have been since the moment I met her.
But I need to make sure she is.
It’s not just the explosive attraction between us. It’s the way I crave her smiles, her laughter. The way I want to be a better man for her.
This isn’t how I planned things. This wasn’t how I envisioned things going. I control the city. I control The Syndicate. What I can’t control is how badly I want my fiancée to give us a real chance.
I know if I give myself to her, it’ll be every bit of me. And as a man who thrives on being in control, handing over my heart and seeing what she does with it simply isn’t an option.
‘I’ve been with a lot of women, Aoife.’ She flinches in my arms. ‘But none of them stirred anything in me like you do. From the minute I met you, you crawled under my skin. You’ve hijacked my head, my bed, and, fuck it, you’ve stolen my heart too.
I know you wanted to escape the world we were both brought up in, but you can’t fight fate, sweetheart.
Of all the bars in Dublin, you ran into mine.
If that isn’t fate, I don’t know what is. You were made for me.’
She twists her face up to meet my gaze. ‘What makes you so sure?’
‘Because you’re the first woman I’ve wanted—outside the club.’
Her irises glimmer. ‘What club?’