Chapter 18
RONAN
Guilt floods me so intensely that I can’t sleep.
What the fuck was I thinking, fucking her like that? I needed to take it slow, of course, make sure that she was ready to take my sizable cock and ensure that I didn’t hurt her, but I didn’t have to… seduce her. Say those things to her. I touched her like I was starving.
But I was. I was so hungry for her that it felt like a physical pain.
It’s been almost two years since I let myself go with a woman like that.
Two years of begging for Siobhan to give me anything: a moan, a whimper, a sign of arousal.
Two years of trying slavishly to please her before I gave up and just fucked her coldly every time, thinking of whatever I needed to in order to come inside of her and be done with it.
Everything I did for Siobhan, from our wedding night on, was focused on trying to please her.
With Leila, it was so fucking easy. She was aroused from the moment I started to undress her, and it was intoxicating.
It felt like a drug: her gasps, her small breaths, her moans.
The way she shuddered when I touched her skin for the first time.
I didn’t realize how deprived I’d been until I felt her respond instantly, and I lost all control.
I couldn’t stop myself from touching her the way I’d imagined, arousing her slowly, giving in to the need to taste her.
Couldn’t stop myself from saying all the things that ran through my head, no matter how much I knew that I shouldn’t talk to her like that.
I should have kept it perfunctory. Businesslike. A necessity. I should have done what I needed to in order to prepare her physically, and then come as quickly as possible after breaching her virginity.
I should have remembered a fucking condom.
Even though I pulled out, that’s not foolproof.
And rubbing my cum into her clit like that?
Fuck. I can feel myself getting hard again just thinking about it, but it was a stupid thing to do.
The last thing either of us needs is my cum getting anywhere near her pussy.
That thought has me rock hard again, even the idea of me filling her with my cum, spurting inside of her until she’s dripping with it, making me so hard that it’s all I can do not to roll over and take her again.
She’d let me. And that’s my fault. She’s going to want me now, and I’m going to hurt her more by rejecting her. If I’d just made it cold and practical, she might not have.
But I couldn’t. I fucking couldn’t take another night of that kind of sex. Not after Siobhan. Not when this was Leila’s first time, and I could either ruin it for her or make it perfect.
I wanted it to be perfect for her.
I grit my teeth, enduring the aching throb in my shaft as I close my eyes and try to go to sleep.
We have a long day tomorrow, during which I need to figure out what my next steps are after the attack, and doubtless endure a lecture from my father.
Fucking Leila tonight should have satisfied me.
Should have let me put my lust for her aside.
Instead, all I want to do is fuck her until the sun comes up.
I can hear from her breathing that she’s not asleep yet, either. Another pang of guilt hits me. I should have told her about Siobhan. But something in me balked at telling her something so vulnerable, this woman who is only a temporary bride, who is going to leave sooner rather than later.
I told myself that I didn’t want to scare her. Knowing that Rocco targeted my first wife would only make her more fearful for her own safety. But truthfully, I just couldn’t open up to her that way. Not yet—not ever, because we won’t have enough time.
I can’t touch her again. I remind myself of that, even as my body wholly rejects the idea of never sliding inside of her again.
There are a dozen reasons why, beginning with the fact that this marriage is temporary.
I can’t risk getting her pregnant, a complication that would make everything a thousand times worse.
And I can’t risk her getting attached to me. Developing feelings.
I can’t risk developing feelings for her. Letting myself want her to the point that I’ll start to feel as if I can’t let her go.
Being my wife got Siobhan killed. Leila isn’t safe from Rocco, not yet.
And while I’ll do everything in my power to keep her safe, I can’t imagine how it would feel to lose her if I felt more for her than I do now.
I can’t imagine what it would have felt like to see Siobhan lying there, bloodied and cold, if I had loved her.
How the guilt would have crushed me, how the grief would have obliterated me.
It was difficult enough when there was only disdain between us.
The thought of losing a woman I love is incomprehensible. And there’s an easy way to make sure that never happens.
Don’t fall in love.
Especially with a woman whom I’ve already planned to divorce before I even said my wedding vows.
—
Somehow, despite my aching cock and racing mind, I manage to fall asleep. I wake up in the early morning still rock-hard, my cock almost painful, and I slide slowly out of bed, careful not to wake Leila.
It’s not entirely successful. She stirs, rolling toward me, and her hand brushes against my hip. My cock jolts, and my teeth grind together as I force myself not to roll toward her. I could be in her in a matter of seconds, could have her tight wet heat wrapped around me, could feel—
I hiss, sliding from the bed and retreating to the bathroom.
I yank down the front of my sleep pants the moment the door is closed, wrapping my hand around my length and stroking myself forcefully.
There’s no drawing it out, I practically rub my cock raw with the urgency to come, leaning my hip against the counter as I clench my jaw to keep from making any noise as I come hard, spilling into the porcelain of the sink.
I squeeze my cock roughly, purging every last drop of my release before I let go of it and grip the counter with both hands, breathing hard.
I have to get control of this. I don’t have to sleep in the same bedroom as her every night, thank God, and maybe that will help.
Maybe I can just avoid her as much as possible until the time comes to sign the divorce papers.
The problem is, I don’t want to avoid her. I want to fuck my wife again.
I clean up and quietly pad back out into the bedroom, dragging on a t-shirt before slipping out to head downstairs and reconvene with Finn. I find him in the living room, looking exhausted, and he looks up the moment I walk in.
“Morning, boss.”
“Morning.” I run my hand through my hair, seeing the smirk on his face and knowing how disheveled I must look. Back at the mansion, I’d have made sure I was put together before I came down, but the safe house feels like a liminal space, one where the normal rules don’t apply.
In that case, go upstairs and bury your cock in your wife again. You can put space between yourselves later.
I ignore the urging of my own lust, focusing in on Finn. “No issues overnight?”
He shakes his head. “De Luca took losses at the church. All of the men he sent. I doubt he cares, but even if he knows where we are, I don’t think he’d send more so quickly. That was a message. He’ll wait to see what you do before he sends another.”
“He wants Leila back.” I run my hand through my hair again. “I was meant to return her the day before yesterday. According to my father, anyway. I married her instead. So I imagine he thought he’d kill me for the insult and take her anyway. Do you think he really thought he’d succeed?”
“Maybe.” Finn shrugs. “He’s arrogant. I think he assumed that either way, he wins. Either he succeeded and got the girl back, or he failed, and you saw what he was willing to sacrifice to send a message.”
“So what message should we send back?”
Finn hesitates. “I get we can’t let this stand, boss. But your… wife… just got her first real taste of this life today. Maybe give her a minute to adjust before you escalate things."
My wife. The words hit me harder than they should.
Twenty-four hours ago, Leila was just a woman I was helping, a problem I was solving.
Now she's my wife, legally and officially, and the thought of anyone trying to hurt her makes me want to burn Boston to the ground and watch Rocco De Luca writhe in the flames.
The reaction brings me up short. That possessiveness is startling. Worrisome. It’s more than just the reaction of a man who wants to see an innocent woman protected.
I didn’t feel that when Siobhan died. I felt the pressure of my duty to avenge her, fury that Rocco would be so bold, that he would overstep and hurt what belonged to me… but it wasn’t this. Not an overwhelming desire to flay him to the bone if he threatens her again.
I need to bury that feeling, to be cold and focused. To not let emotion get in the way of planning. But the feeling remains, burning behind my ribs as I consider what Finn said.
“My father is going to want to talk to me,” I say finally. “He’s going to be pissed I married her. I’ll see what he says, then make plans from there.”
Finn nods, a sympathetic expression on his face. “Good idea, boss.”
For an hour or so, as the sun finishes coming up, we discuss logistics and security, the situation back at home.
I call one of my assistants to arrange flowers and well-wishes to anyone injured in the attack at the church.
And then, after Ida comes into the living room to let me know that breakfast is being prepared, I head back upstairs to where my wife is sleeping.