17. Chapter 17
Rory
Two weeks passed quickly, but strangely slow at the same time. It seemed like five minutes ago, but also five years ago, that Cal and I had stood outside my door after discussing the fate of a man who had betrayed him.
Us. He’d betrayed us.
Cal wanted a teammate, not just a wife, and he’d encouraged me when I’d stood up to Kallum at the warehouse.
I woke the morning of the wedding to discover I’d started my period. I groaned and got in the shower.
“Gotta be fucking kidding me. Seriously? Fuck you, Mother Nature,” I grumbled while I let the hot water beat down my back, loosening muscles and draining tension that had no right to be there ten minutes after I woke up.
I washed quickly and handled the business of menstruation before pulling on some sweats and an old tee. As I was brushing my teeth, Ebony knocked on my door, the same as she did every morning. Three knocks, a turn of the knob and a cheery, “It’s me, Rory!”
When she saw my wet, haggard state, her steps faltered. “Good Lord, woman, what are you doing? The wedding is in eight hours!”
I sighed. “Which means I can nap for four more hours before I have to start getting ready.”
Her eyes widened. “Are you kidding?! Your aesthetician will be here in an hour for your facial and waxing, then your nail tech. Elaine will be here at 2 for a final fitting and last minute alterations. Hair and makeup will be here after that, and then we have to get you back in the dress.”
The dress in question was a shimmery pearlescent silk, fitted to the knees and then flaring out in a small train. It was simple and understated, but beautiful. The light blue buttons down the back were my favorite feature. Sleeves draped off my shoulders and reached to a point at the back of my hand.
I spit toothpaste in the sink and rinsed my mouth. “Fine. But could you please find me some aspirin or midol or a fucking gallon of tequila?”
“How about an aspirin and a mimosa?” she asked with a sly smile.
And so the day went. A couple mimosas, a delectable breakfast of yogurts, fresh fruits and french toast - because Orla knew it was my favorite - and a reunion with Charlotte, who I hadn’t seen in weeks.
We were shined, buffed, painted and waxed to within an inch of our lives. I wanted to roll over and die when the aesthetician, a Russian woman named Ilya, told me to lay back on the table and spread my legs. I’d looked at Ebony who just grinned innocently while her hair was braided with flowers. I’d refused, claiming that I was sufficiently groomed, thank you very much, but Charlotte took advantage of the service.
My makeup was artfully applied, kept light with a pale blue shimmer on the lids but still a little smoky in the corners. My lips were painted a nude pink and my nails were french manicured.
Ebony, Charlotte and Elaine helped me into my too-fancy undergarments, telling me if I needed to pee, now was the time. I did and then they finished dressing me, hooking my garter to my stockings, laying the dress out for me to step into and wiggling the tight bodice over my hips.
Before I was emotionally prepared, I was ready to walk down the aisle and Lorcan was knocking on the door. Ebony stepped out from behind the changing curtain, shaking out the long skirt of her baby blue dress.
Charlotte answered the door, only cracking it in case it was my groom on the other side.
Oh fuck.
My groom.
I was getting married. Sweat broke out across the back of my neck and I began to hyperventilate.
Ilya started yelling at me in Russian, fanning my face with a stack of papers. Lorcan, who had delayed his trip home for the wedding, stepped in the room just as I collapsed into the makeup chair.
“Hey dolly, what’s going on?” he asked as he crouched in front of me.
I tried to tell him I couldn’t get married, I was too nervous, I was going to mess something up, but no sensible words would come out.
“Yes you can, dolly,” he said, somehow knowing what was going on inside my head. “You are going to walk down that aisle and you are going to prove the Marinos wrong. They’ve treated you like nothing for years and you are going to walk down there and marry my nephew and become more than that family could ever hope to be, do you understand me?”
I looked between his eyes, found strength in his resolution and belief in me, and stood, nodding to Ebony.
“Let’s get fuckin’ married.”
Cal pulled me close as a man with an acoustic guitar played the first notes of I Hope You’re the End of My Story by Pistol Annies. A woman’s sultry voice sang the words and I had a hard time tearing my gaze from Cal’s, the words resonating in a way I hadn’t expected them to. Though I was an experienced dancer, I didn’t have much experience with this kind of dancing, but Cal made it easy. He guided me around the floor expertly.
The guests all watched from their tables, Elio and Fern placed firmly in the back. Even from here, I could see her angry, jealous expression.
“So, Mrs. Byrne, have you enjoyed yourself today?” Cal asked quietly in my ear, his cheek pressed to my temple. I shivered as his breath ghosted my ear.
“It’s been a bit of a whirlwind. You’re lucky you didn’t have twenty women in your room, painting, waxing, buffing, pulling your hair and slapping ten pounds of makeup on your face.”
He laughed softly, adding some pressure against the side of my head with his cheek as he smelled my hair. “You don’t like having your hair pulled?” His voice was pure gravel and a full-bodied shiver raced from my scalp to my toes. “Or maybe you do?” he asked mischievously.
“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. That’s for you to find out, husband.”
He shivered this time. “I really like that word coming from your mouth, mo solas.” He pulled back to look into my eyes, still speaking lowly as we enjoyed our little first dance bubble. “I know this started as a contract marriage, but I want you to know, I’m happy with the result. I wouldn’t change any of it, if it led me to this moment.” His fingers stroked in soft circles where they rested on my lower back.
And then he kissed me. Until the wedding, he hadn’t really kissed me since that night outside my door. The little pecks he peppered my skin with always left me wanting more, but he’d held himself back. Now, it seemed that he couldn’t keep his mouth off mine. He kept it mostly appropriate, but I noted that he turned us so we were directly in Fern’s line of sight. I laughed softly against his lips.
“You’re really goading them tonight, aren’t you?” I asked, smiling against his mouth.
“Why wouldn’t I? I escaped that vile woman and married mo solas beag instead.” He grinned proudly.
“Are you going to tell me what that means now?” I asked, looking back and forth between his eyes.
His grin faded until it was more of a smirk, but it softened his face and made him almost too beautiful when his cheeks flushed just a little. He rubbed a loose curl between his fingers before he tucked it behind my ear, watching his fingers as he traced the shell of my ear and then the curve of my jaw. “My little light,” he said softly. Butterflies fluttered in my belly and I melted against him, laying my forehead against his chest.
“Why that?” I whispered against his chest.
His answer was breathed into my hair, where his cheek rested on top of my head. “Because the first time I saw you, I thought your hair was so pale, it seemed like it was glowing on its own. The way the sun shone through the restaurant window and bounced off your hair, it made it seem like its very own light source. I couldn’t tear my eyes away until Lorcan yelled at me to get in the car.” I tightened my arms around him and my chest fluttered in delight.
He swayed us around the floor until the song was over, dipped me dramatically and kissed me in front of the guests.
We ate, had cake, opened gifts, socialized, shook hands with people I both knew and didn’t know. I danced with Charlotte and Ebony, until Charlotte’s father said they had to head back to D.C. because he had an early morning meeting. And finally we were seated at our table, Cal’s arm resting casually along the back on my chair. I sipped on a pink wine while he drank a whiskey.
I leaned back in my chair and then immediately adjusted my position, wiggling this way and that as I tried to get comfortable in the annoyingly pinchy lingerie under my dress. There was one fucking piece of boning that was determined to slip between my ribs and make it’s way to my lung. It was trying to kill me, I was certain of it.
“Are you alright, mo solas?” Cal asked, brushing his fingers up and down my neck and shoulder. Now that I knew what it meant, the name made me blush every time he said it.
“Yes, I’m fine. Just uncomfortable. I’m really ready to get out of this dress and the ridiculous lacy medieval torture devices Ebony made me wear under it.”
His head whipped in my direction. “You’re wearing lace under that dress?”
I tried really, really hard to keep the grin off my face. “Well, what do you think brides normally wear under their wedding gowns?”
He stood and pulled me to my feet, apparently sending some kind of signal to the singer who trailed off and announced it was time for the bride and groom send-off.
We made our way through the crowd who threw flower petals in the air over our heads and blew bubbles from little blue glass jars.
In the back of the limo, Cal pressed a button and a divider separated us from Seamus in the front seat. He grabbed my hips and slid me closer to him, running his fingers over my side and feeling the slight bumps of lace and boning in the bustier I wore underneath.
He cupped the side of my neck and brought my mouth to his. There was no gentleness this time, no easing me into it. He devoured me, sucking on my tongue, tracing the shape of my teeth, nipping at my lips. He drove me wild until I was trembling with desire and forgot about the fact that there would be no wedding night sex.
He grabbed me by the hips and lifted me so that I was sitting across his lap, my legs stretched across the seat. He ran his hands up my thighs, groaning as his fingers slid along the garter straps that held up my stockings.
We made out like teenagers the whole drive home until Seamus knocked on the divider, letting us know we’d arrived.
He carried me through the foyer and then up to our rooms. He passed my room and stopped in front of his, setting me on my feet and tangling his fingers with mine. He opened the door slowly and gently pulled me inside, allowing me to decline if I wanted, but pulling with enough force that I knew he was anxious to have me in that room with him.
I stepped through the threshold and closed the door, leaning my back against it. He removed his bowtie and jacket, laying them over the back of a chair by a stone fireplace at the foot of his bed.
I looked around the room, gathering courage. His bed was large, just as large as the one in my room. A TV hung above the fireplace, a desk sat in the corner, and several doors spotted the walls around the room.
“You’re uncomfortable,” he said softly, coming to stand in front of me.
I swallowed and looked up at him, still leaning against the door. I saw the gentle understanding in his eyes and it gave me the boost I needed. I shook my head. “Not uncomfortable. Just…feeling a little guilty.” He frowned, his head cocked to the side in question. “I’m feeling like…like maybe I led you on. We were so hot and heavy in the car, and I know you’re still…interested,” I said, trying to be polite about his current state of arousal. “But…well, I…um, started my period…this morning. So…I feel like I led you on because, clearly, there can be no...”
I stuttered through my explanation, blushing so hard I could feel the heat radiating from my face until my voice finally trailed off. He blinked at me twice before a grin spread over his face.
“Stop smiling.” He didn’t. “What are you smiling at?”
“This is good, mo solas. This is a good thing.”
I looked over his shoulder and then over my own, seeing nobody behind him and only the door behind me. Drowning in confusion, I frowned as I looked back at him. “Uh, I’m not following. I thought that you…” I trailed off and glanced at his groin.
“Oh, I do, mo solas. Believe me, I do,” he said, adjusting his length behind his slacks. “But you were worried about the sheet presentation. Your body took care of that little problem for-”
“No! Absolutely not.” I shook my head adamantly, my voice panicky and shrill. “Hell no. We are not having period sex. No. Not for our first time and especially not on my wedding night! No way.”
He looked like he was fighting a grin, running his tongue along his lower lip, and took a step forward, forcing me back against the door. “Mo solas, you’re going to bleed on my dick one way or another. Either tonight, or when we finally do have sex, you will bleed. You’ve only done it once before and that was years ago. We can do this tonight and then we will use the bloody sheets to make Elio look like a fool. He’s been telling anyone who will listen how I married the wrong daughter, the ruined daughter. His words not mine,” he added when I raised my eyebrows. “We can not only fulfill his clause in the contract, but make him look like a fool at the same time.” Something like vengeful glee glittered in his green irises.
But I was shaking my head before he finished. “No. There’s like…blood and stuff. You’re not…we’re not doing that. It’s a period! Aren’t you supposed to be grossed out? Plugging your ears and shoving tampons and chocolate at me as you usher me out the door? Oh my GOD, would you stop smiling at me like you think this is funny?!”
A cocky smirk filled his goatee and my stomach trembled at the sexy expression on his stupid, smug, sexy face despite my irritation. He leaned forward, his hands planted on either side of my head, and ran his nose along my cheek and up into the hair and down over my ear.
“Mo solas,” he whispered, his lips brushing the sensitive spot right under my ear, that spot behind the curve of my jaw that he liked so much, as he chuckled softly. “I’m a mob boss, mo solas. Do you think my wife’s blood is the worst blood I will have ever had on my hands?”
There was something wrong with me. Because, honestly, that should not have turned me on.
But holy fuck, it did. I trembled in arousal at the thought of his bloody hands smearing my wedding dress.
Yeah, definitely something wrong with me.
“You’re thinking too loud, wife.” And he silenced my loud thoughts with a hungry kiss.
His fingers dug into my hair and tilted my head to the exact angle he wanted, his tongue pushing past my lips and boldly stroking mine. His other hand traced down my ribcage, digging into the sensitive skin at my waist and pushing me more firmly against the door.
He ground his hips into mine and I moaned and squirmed against him. On instinct, I tried to lift my leg around his hip, but my stupid, tight wedding dress wouldn’t let me. I groaned in frustration and then moaned when he dipped his head and licked a long stripe up my neck. As he paid homage to my skin, his hands slid around to my back and slowly worked free the buttons running the back of the dress.
The bodice sagged but he kept going until he could wiggle the tight dress past my hips. When it pooled at my feet, he stood back and groaned, palming his erection and pressing against it as his eyes slid up and down my lace clad body.
He took one large step, his big hands wrapping around my hips and lifting me so that I could wrap my legs around his waist. I dug my fingers into his dark locks and pulled his mouth back to mine.
He threw the comforter off the bed and laid me down, catching himself on his hands and holding most of his weight off my smaller frame as he devoured me, driving me crazy with desire.
His mouth wandered my body, licking at my skin, pulling my nipples through the lace. I was panting, writhing, dragging my fingers through his hair and over his shoulders. It wasn’t until he unclipped the straps on my garterbelt that I remembered why we were doing this. He moved to pull my panties down and I panicked.
“Wait!” I panted. He licked my thigh and looked up at me with glassy, dilated eyes.
“What is it, mo solas?”
“I just um…need to…”
He didn’t wait for me to finish and slid his fingers into the waistband of my thong and pulled it down my legs. He bunched it in one hand and pressed it against his nose, inhaling deeply. He groaned and his eyes rolled before he shoved them in his pocket and reached back between my legs.
I flushed bright red and tried to sit up as I realized his intention, but he planted a heavy hand on my lower belly and held me still as he pulled the string, removing my tampon. I swear I died of embarrassment about ten times in those three seconds. He tossed it into a waste bin beside the nightstand and pulled my hips so that I was at the foot of the bed, him standing but leaning over me.
I trembled with nerves and desire and embarrassment. My muscles seemed to be firing at off intervals, my breathing shaky and sweat beading on my skin. He smoothed a hand over my quivering belly and whispered, “You never have to be afraid when my hands are on you, mo solas. I will always make sure you are safe.” He bent further, pressing his mouth to mine in a gentle, calming kiss that eased my tumultuous emotions. He stroked my inner thigh, waiting for my muscles to relax before he brushed his thumb over my clit. My whole body jolted and I let out a sound that was part surprise, part pleasure.
With his free hand, he pulled down the top of my bustier, exposing one breast to his hungry gaze. He leaned down and sucked it into his mouth, while rubbing slow, gentle circles against me.
When my thighs were clenching and I was crying out, he leaned up, looked down between my thighs. He watched his thumb circle my clit before he leaned down a little, meeting my eyes as he opened his mouth.
Spit dripped from his tongue and landed square on my clit, dripping down my slit until he stopped his with his fingers, smoothing through it before placing them at my entrance. The arousal burning in my lower belly flared white hot.
My thighs shook around his hand and he made me wait for it, drawing out the moment and ratcheting up my nerves. He finally slid his thick fingers inside, painfully slow and yet, not slow enough. The pressure was perfect, the stretch just enough.
He pressed his fingers in until his knuckles met my skin and then slowly pulled them out. He maintained eye contact the whole time and it was the single most intimate moment of my life. Then he spit on my flesh again and pushed his fingers back in, faster this time. Instinctually, my hips raised to meet his hand each time he pumped his fingers into me.
I was so close to the edge that I could feel the tingles in the tips of my toes and fingers. I was a moaning, groaning, sweaty mess for him, my body begging him to make me come.
He leaned over, planting his hand beside my head and whispered, “Come on my fingers, mo solas.” And then he hooked his fingers against my walls and I exploded.