Chapter 49
ROWAN
Dinner feels oddly normal. Plates clink, food is served, and someone—Darragh, but I’m not naming any names—makes a comment about the wine being shit, even though it definitely isn’t.
Sorcha rolls her eyes. Maeve slaps the back of his head with a loud “tut,” and Patrick mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like agreement.
It’s so painfully ordinary I almost don’t know what to do with it.
It feels like I’m watching it happen from across the room, like if I reached out, my hand wouldn’t belong to me.
Like I’m still in that warehouse, and this is the dream I’m about to wake up from to the bloody nightmare we left behind.
Five years stolen from me. A man I trusted to protect me dead. It still feels like blood and mud are lodged under my fingernails.
And yet, we’re just sitting here having a family dinner like this is just another night. Titan’s at my feet, a paw draped over my foot like she’s protecting me or comforting me. She hasn’t left my side since we got back.
Everyone’s just here, living their lives like I didn’t walk back into this house a different woman than the one who left it to go for a day at the spa. I sit at the table, my spine straight, hands steady around my glass.
The conversation moves on around me, easy and familiar. It’s business, it’s logistics, it’s something about shipments and timing and deliveries that I only half follow.
Sorcha reaches across the table, sliding a dish toward me. Our fingers brush for a second too long, and her concerned eyes meet mine. “Are you okay?”
“I will be.” I nod. And I know it’s the truth. Not now, not yet. But some day I will be.
She nods once, like she understands. She probably does.
Darragh leans back in his chair, studying me for a beat. “You handled yourself out there, Row.” He’s not teasing or accusing. “Maybe there’s a bit of the Mahoney spirit in you after all.” He winks, his insinuation heavy in the air making my cheeks sizzle.
“I had to.”
He nods, and if I’m not mistaken, his features scream approval. The Mahoneys see me differently now. At least I fucking hope so. Not as something fragile, a liability, something they need to protect. But as a strong woman who is capable of standing beside them.
Liam’s hand brushes mine under the table before settling on my thigh again.
When I’ve eaten more food than my stomach can handle, I stifle a yawn. “I’m exhausted.”
Liam stands and offers me his hand. No one comments or reacts, no one tries to stop us, and Sorcha squeezes my arm as I walk past her.
The rest of the house is quiet. Our footsteps echo softly against the marble as we make our way to the stairs and up to Liam’s room, passing my old prison cell as we walk.
“We should burn that room to the ground.” My voice breaks as a yawn slips out of me.
Liam bumps my hip with his. “Then where would Darragh’s kidnapping victim stay when it’s their turn?”
I roll my eyes. I don’t have the energy to argue logic with a man who deals in kidnappings on a regular basis.
When we reach his bedroom door, I pause, my hand resting on the handle. I’ve been in this room before. I’ve slept in this bed, his bed, but never like this, never with everything stripped back to the truth of what we are now, what we were then, what we will be tomorrow.
Tonight, I walk in knowing exactly what monsters look like, and I choose him anyway, because he’s my monster. And maybe somewhere inside me, there’s a monster lurking too.
I push the door open and step inside, almost tripping over the damn dog who’s followed right at my heel.
I turn to face Liam, my face heating. “I…”
He steps toward me, sweeping his thumb over my cheekbone. “You just want to sleep?”
I shake my head. “No, but… you might have to wait a few days.”
He scrunches up his face like he bit into a lemon. “Why? Are you sore? Did he hurt you?” Color drains from his face, as I hurry to cover his lips with my fingers.
“No, nothing like that. I got my period.”
The eye roll he gives me should go down in history. “You think a little blood is going to stop me from fucking you, Rebel?” His eyes sparkle with challenge, like he’s daring me to say no so he can prove how little he cares.
I clear my throat. “It’s eh… not a little anything.” I twist my shirt in my fist. “My periods are fucking heavy.”
“Let me make something crystal clear.” He cups my face with both his palms. “If you want me to fuck you, I don’t care if you’re covered in the blood of our enemies, or if you have your period, I will fuck you.
” His eyes tell me he’s serious. “We have washing machines. If we make a mess…” He hikes a shoulder.
“So be it.” His grin is wicked. “You know I’ve always loved it when you make a mess. ”
It takes a moment for his words to settle into my bones. “Okay, but this time…” My voice is laden with lust, but steady. “We do it my way.”
“Whatever you need, mo rún.” His hands flex at his sides like restraint is a battle he’s barely winning.
God. His answer punches me in the solar plexus. For so long, I didn’t get a choice. And now, he’s giving me free rein.
He doesn’t touch me again. He just stands there, watching me like the next move is mine to make. I take it, closing the distance between us. My hands find his shirt first, curling into the fabric as I breathe him in.
His breath shifts, his chest rising higher with each inhale, but he still doesn’t move. I tilt my head up, meeting his gaze. There’s heat there, a hunger I feel somewhere deep inside with something darker threaded through it. But it’s held tight. For me.
“You don’t get to disappear on me again.” His voice is low, something between a command and a plea.
My fingers tighten in his shirt. “Then don’t give me a reason to run.”
Something flares in his eyes right before he lifts his hand, slowly, like he’s giving me time to pull away.
I don’t.
His fingers brush my jaw, rough and careful at the same time, almost hesitant, like he doesn’t quite trust himself. I lean into it.
“I thought I’d never have this again,” I whisper.
His whole body stills. When his mouth finally meets mine, it’s not rushed. It’s deliberate, like he’s relearning me. I drink him in. The familiar scent, the way everything inside me settles and ignites all at once.
This isn’t survival. I’m not stolen anymore. I’m home, where I was always meant to be, with the man I love.
He walks me back slowly, step by step, until the edge of the bed presses against the backs of my knees. I don’t look away from him as I sit. He follows me down, slower than I expect, like he’s not taking a single second of this for granted as he cages me in on the bed.
I pull him closer, because I hate how far away he feels even though he’s right there.
His forehead rests against mine for a beat. “You’re here,” he murmurs.
I swallow, my head skimming his as I nod. “I’m here.”
He captures my mouth with his, our tongues tangling in a slow dance of reconnection, relief, rediscovery. I don’t know how he gets us both naked without barely taking a breath and my fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck, but he does.
He explores every inch of my body with his lips and the gentlest of touches, leaving waves of gooseflesh blooming over my skin. He kisses me, palming my breasts, shifting his weight lower in the bed before settling between my legs.
“Liam.” My breathy voice is quiet, so I try again, fisting his hair and pulling his head up to make him look at me. “You don’t have to prove a point.”
He licks his lips. “If I want to eat out my woman, I’ll eat out my woman.” He tips his head to the side, my heart racing, heat pooling low in my belly. “Are you telling me I can’t eat you out, mo rún?”
He trails his thumb over my clit, dragging a guttural moan from the back of my throat as I shake my head.
“N-n-no. J-just.” I hiss out a breath as he slides his thumb over the sensitive bud again.
“Just saying you don’t have to.” My words tumble out right as his mouth seals over my clit, and he sucks.
I barely feel when he removes my tampon, and his tongue doesn’t stop, so God only knows where he drops it, but his determination to make me come only increases when he slides his fingers inside me.
I’ve never had someone touch me when I’m on my period before, but when he presses a flat palm down on my abdomen and curls his fingers against my G-spot, I make the split decision that he’ll do it every damn month. Because it’s everything I never knew I needed.
The cramps don’t stand a chance against Liam Mahoney. Fuck. He sucks my soul out of my clit, making my back bow off the bed. My hair sticks to my sweaty face as I throw my head back and scream his name, coming in wave after wave of blissful release.
He doesn’t give me a single minute to recover before he’s kissing his way up my body, pausing as he tongues my nipples until they’re so hard they could cut glass. He pauses, nudging at my entrance with his blunt cock. “Do you want me to hoke out a condom?”
I laugh because it’s the most ridiculous thing I think I’ve ever heard him say.
When we were younger, we used to talk about having kids, a big family.
He wanted an army of little girls who looked just like me, and I wanted boys with the heart of their lion father.
“No. I don’t want you to wear protection, Liam.
” I grip his hair in my fist as I kiss him greedily. “I don’t need protecting from you.”
He growls. It’s a feral, unhinged sound as he spears me with his cock, making me shiver. He pulls almost all the way out before pistoning his hips back against mine. My body is at his mercy as he thrusts, building a rhythm as he kisses me so ruthlessly my heart threatens to crack my ribs.
He’s not just kissing me, not fucking me, he’s owning me, claiming me, branding me from the inside, and as he comes on a broken sound, my name a roar from his lips, I know Liam Mahoney has rewritten me for the rest of my life. And I fucking love it.
His body melts into a boneless, chuckling mess as his arms give out. I try to make a strangled sound, but it comes out like a squeak as I push his sweaty pec. “You’re going to crush me.”
Shifting to lie next to me, he throws his arm across my hips, his fingers clutching me so tightly there’ll be fingerprint bruises in the morning. Another reminder of who I belong to.
“Just… give me a minute. Then I’ll be ready to go again.” He dots kisses along my collarbone, my shoulder, my upper arm as I giggle, exhaustion and lust tangling in every cell of my body.
“You know we have the rest of our lives for sex, right? We don’t have to do it all at once?”
He grins down at me. “We have five years to make up for, Rebel. And we’re starting right fucking now.”