Chapter 34
LIAM
I stare at Rowan sashaying through the door, her perfect hips and rounded arse swaying from side to side.
What the hell have I just done? Eating her out instead of immediately telling her the murder was fake is a shitty move, even for a man like me.
Dammit, I meant to tell her, but then we kissed and logical thought disappeared faster than my self-control.
Patrick’s gonna give me shit for this, but screw him.
I palm my dick, squeezing hard through my jeans.
Damn I want to be inside her. Need it like she’s a stretch of water in an endless desert.
Taking the stairs two at a time, I beeline for my bedroom. She isn’t there. I pivot, heading for her room. As I raise my hand to knock, an unmistakable moan drifts through the wood.
She’s masturbating. So, my little Rebel needs more. Fine. I’ll give her more.
I burst inside. She’s lying in the middle of the bed, hand down her pajama bottoms. Her eyes flare at the sight of me, hand stilling like she’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t.
“Keep going.” The words scrape out of me, rough and needy. I step farther into the room and kick the door closed behind me.
“You’re… planning to watch?”
“Until I get so turned on I need to join in, yeah.” I jerk my chin. “Take them off. I want to see.”
She nibbles her bottom lip, gaze bouncing around the room, everywhere except on me.
“Rowan. I’ve just seen you bare. I had my face between your legs, not five minutes ago. Take them off.”
She looks at me then. “You always did like to watch.” The admission is a whispered confession, one I’ve been waiting for. I don’t call her on it. Later. Not now.
“I did. I do.”
She slides off her bottoms and underwear. I move to the end of the bed where the view is better. “Go on, mo rún. Make yourself come. Five years is a long time. I need to relearn everything.”
With her middle finger, she circles her clit.
Once, twice, a third time. Her other hand drifts underneath her top to her breasts.
I should’ve had her take that off, too, but I don’t want to interrupt her.
I’m transfixed, horny as fuck, hard as Connemara marble.
It’s so tempting to touch myself, but if I do that, I’ll come, and I’m not wasting an orgasm when I can save it for when I’m inside her.
She’s worth the wait. She always was.
Her hand’s moving faster now, back arching. She’s not looking at me anymore, lost to the pleasure. She’s magnificent, glorious. So fucking hot.
Mine.
Not his. Never his. He stole her with a lie, one I intend to make him suffer for.
Soon.
Rowan cries out. I reach for my belt.
“Liam!” Patrick hammers on the door. “Stop fucking your woman and get your arse downstairs. You’re needed.”
“Busy,” I snap back.
“Oh, I know. I fucking heard. I told you five minutes. That’s not a request. It’s an order.”
Boots sound on the stairs. I let out a string of curses. Rowan, pink with post-orgasmic glow, laughs. “Cockblocked by your brother.”
I point a finger at her. “Don’t fucking move. Don’t put your pajamas back on. In fact, take off the top. And don’t go anywhere.”
She’s in the middle of pulling the top over her head when I tear myself away. Somebody better be dying.
No one was dying. If I didn’t know better, I’d say my brother was trying to cockblock me. All he’s done is delay the inevitable—including the not-so-small matter of cluing Rowan in on the truth about the murder she thinks she saw.
As I head back upstairs, I have every intention of telling her as soon as I open the door.
Until I do.
She’s standing in the middle of the room wearing the burgundy dress. The one she wore the last time we fucked, right before she left me. The one I used as a test in what feels like a million years ago but was, in fact, only eight days ago.
My heartbeat pounds, a torrent of blood thundering in my ears. “Fuck me.”
Rowan grins. “That’s the spirit.”
It’s the consent I needed. I pounce. She squeals when I hoist her in the air, jamming her back against the wall. I crush my mouth to hers. Our teeth clash, our tongues duel. She claws at my hair, digs her fingernails into my scalp.
Shudders of pleasure ricochet up my spine as I grind against her, the silk fabric bunching between us. Every rational thought I had about confession… gone. There’s only this. Only us. Only her breath and my breath, her heart and my heart, reconnecting after a lifetime apart.
“Liam.” My name comes out breathless, and something primal roars to the surface.
I yank the dress up her thighs, my hands rough, impatient. Five years. Five fucking years without her in my life, in my bed. I can’t think straight. There’s only want, need, a wild animal claiming his mate.
I fumble with my belt, cursing under my breath when my hands won’t cooperate.
“Help me out here,” I mutter, and she laughs. Her fingers join mine and, in seconds, she’s made quick work of the buckle.
“Can’t wait.”
“Don’t wait,” she whispers. “I’m still wet. I’ve been waiting for you.”
I groan, pulling out my cock. The second I’m free, I shift her higher up the wall and line myself up. Our eyes lock.
“Tell me if—”
“Liam. For God’s sake, just fuck me.”
My last thread of control snaps. I thrust into her, deep, and the sound she makes, half gasp, half cry, rewires my brain. The agony of the last five years subsides.
Mine.
Not his. Never his. Mine.
I set a brutal pace, driven by five years of longing, of rage, of bitter hurt.
Five years of missing her, of hating her, of hating myself for not being good enough.
The wall takes the impact of each thrust. She burrows beneath my shirt, her nails raking down my back.
Probably drawing blood. Good. I want to bleed for her.
Need to. Need the marks to prove that this is real. That I’m not dreaming.
“God, yes.” She tips her head back, exposing her throat. I bite down on her neck, not to hurt her, but to mark her. She clenches around me.
Too much. It’s too much. It’s not enough. It’s everything.
Her breathing turns ragged, muscles tensing. She’s close.
“Come on, Rebel. Let go.”
She shatters in my arms, saying my name over and over. The feeling of her pulsing around me shatters the last threads of my restraint. I empty myself inside her, a vague realization that I didn’t suit up.
Too late now.
I pull out of her and rest my hands on her hips to steady us both. “That was…”
“Incredible.”
“Yeah. The dress. It was the dress. I couldn’t… fuck.”
“Hey.” She cups my face and stands on tiptoes to kiss me. “It’s okay.”
“I got tested not long ago. I’m clear. Tests were negative.” It’s not the sexiest conversation when my cum is dripping down her thighs, but one I feel like I owe her.
“I… haven’t. But he always used protection.”
I stiffen, her comment a reminder of the years that bastard stole from us. That he was the last man she slept with until tonight.
I fucking hate him. I’m going to destroy him.
She fixes her dress while I tuck myself away and refasten my belt. “There’s something I need to tell you.” As soon as the words spill out, a ball of anxiety lodges itself in my gut. Present me is having regrets that past me put this off as long as I have.
“Oh yeah?”
I point to the bed. “Probably best if you’re sitting down for this.”
She frowns. “Is this to do with what Patrick wanted you for?”
“No.” I sit and pat the mattress. She parks herself beside me. I take a breath. “The murder you witnessed was fake.”
Two lines make a brief appearance between her pinched eyebrows. “I’m sorry, what?”
“It was a setup. Brian faked the whole thing.”
Her jaw drops, hand pressing to her chest. “Why?” she croaks.
“Haven’t figured that bit out yet.”
She gets up. Paces. Flicks the odd glance my way. Then something shifts. Her spine straightens, shoulders squaring. “How long have you known?”
“I had Darrah do some digging, and he confirmed there was no murder. We researched it more and found one of the actors involved. He lives in France now, so Darragh and I went over there to question him. He confirmed that he was paid to stage a murder.”
She rubs her lips together, nostrils flaring. “So, when I told you about Brian and about the murder, you knew? You knew it wasn’t real, and yet, you left me hanging, fearful, still believing I was in some kind of danger from that man?”
“I suspected it. I didn’t know for certain then.”
“But you did a short while later? But instead of telling me immediately, you fucked off to France on some jolly with your brother?”
A weight settles behind my ribs, and a chant circles my mind. Should’ve told her. Should’ve fucking told her. I actually considered it before we headed for Dublin, but chose not to.
“Things kept getting in the way.” Christ, that’s pathetic.
“Really? Like what? Getting your dick wet?”
There she is. There’s my Rebel. If she wasn’t so mad, I’d celebrate. But she isn’t just mad. She’s fucking livid. “I was going to tell you as soon as Darragh confirmed it but—”
She plants both hands on her hips. “But what, Liam?”
I grimace. “I guess I wanted the whole truth before I did. In case I was wrong.”
“Utter shite. You chose not to. That’s on you.”
“Rebel, I—”
“Don’t you fucking ‘Rebel’ me.” She stabs a finger at the door. “Get out.”
I shake my head slowly. “Not like this. Not leaving you like this thinking I’m some kind of a cunt for fucking you when I had this intel.”
She glares at me, all the progress we’ve made scattering like leaves in the wind. “Too late.”