Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Ashland
Jesus fuckin' Christ, am I out of my fuckin' mind? What the hell am I doing? Trying to keep the lass safe? Not give her all the more reason to run away?
Fuck . Did she feel how fucking hard I was when I spanked her perfect, plump little arse? I'm a little out of breath, my heart hammering like I've just gone three rounds in the ring.
“Come. Eat your dinner,” I say, not making eye contact with her. I’m not sure how she'll handle it—the spanking, the heat still crackling between us like a live wire.
I help her into her chair. She winces when her arse hits the seat.
Good. That'll teach her to run again.
But as I watch, I note she doesn't just wince—she bites her lip, and her pupils dilate slightly.
She shifts in the seat again, and I catch the way her breath hitches. Not just pain, but… something else.
Fuck me .
I watch as her thighs press together under the table, and I immediately wonder if she’s turned on.
Did Crowning touch her? Is she a virgin? If he?—
No. I won’t think about that, not now.
I take her plate, give her a liberal amount of penne, crusty bread, parmesan cheese, and thick, fragrant meatballs, then push it in front of her, glaring at her as if to dare her to tell me she's not gonna put these fuckin' carbs in her belly.
She takes the fork and stabs at the pasta, not looking away from me, then takes a large bite.
Good girl.
“This is delicious,” she says reluctantly, her eyes flickering to the table, where I've got a small dish of butter.
I push it over to her with the tip of my index finger. Her eyes track the movement of my hand, like she's remembering where else it's been.
Aye, lass .
On her arse. In her hair. She swallows hard when our fingers almost touch.
“Thank you.” She pauses, then adds almost conversationally, “You'll let me cook too?”
“Let you have a knife? After I just spanked your little arse? No.”
I love the shade of pink that creeps up her neck and cheeks as she stares at the ink on my forearms. Her gaze traces the lines like she wants to touch them.
We eat in almost amiable silence.
“Thought you'd protect me,” she mutters, but she’s looking up at me from beneath lowered lashes. If I knew how easily she’d melt when I spanked her, I’d have taken her across my knee the first night.
“Mm…” I grunt, forking an entire meatball and chewing it thoughtfully.
“Well, that wasn't very nice of you.”
“The spanking?”
I meet her eyes as heat creeps up her neck, and she nods wordlessly.
“I never said I was being nice.” I set my fork down and lean forward. “Again. I'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. Do you hear me?”
Her eyes meet mine, uncertain.
“What if you have to go away again?” she asks .
I shake my head. “I wish I could make you understand how serious I am about keeping you safe.”
She's quiet for a moment, then shifts in her seat, wincing again. “Did you… Did you get what Lancelot needs?”
“Aye. It's in the car. I'll bring it up after dinner.”
“Thank you.” She pauses, her fork hovering. “Where'd you go today?”
“Had to go back to the family house. Business to attend to.” I take another sip of water, watching her over the rim of the glass. “You want wine, lass?”
“Aye,” she says, “I'd fucking love a glass of wine.”
This time, I don't mention anything about her language. I swear like a goddamn sailor. I'm sure as hell not going to censor her.
“Right.” I push up from the table and walk over to the refrigerator. The wine I pull out is perfectly chilled—waiting for her.
“It's my favorite kind, of course,” she says quietly, watching me. “It's creepy, you know?”
“Aye, you mentioned that.” I grab a glass, then pour slowly, letting her watch. “I wasn't going to waste my time buying something you wouldn't like, was I?”
“I suppose not.” She shifts in her seat, and I catch that wince again. “Still creepy.”
Get used to it .
I bring the glass back to her, setting it down close enough that our fingers brush. She doesn't pull away. “I know what you like, Bianca. All of it.”
Her breath catches, just barely, but I hear it.
“You're not drinking?” she asks, recovering.
“No.” I settle back into my chair, my eyes on her as she lifts the glass. “Someone's got to stay sober. Make sure you don't do anything foolish.”
She takes a sip, and Christ, the way her lips touch the rim makes my jaw tighten. I don’t know what brought down her guard. Being carried back to the cabin by me?
The kiss?
The spanking?
But she’s… not as abrasive as before.
“Like what?”
“Like thinking you can slip away while I'm asleep.” I lean back, casual, but my voice drops. “You're not going anywhere, lass. Not without me.”
She holds my gaze over the rim of her glass, color rising in her cheeks again. But she doesn't pull away, doesn’t flinch. Instead, she tilts her head just slightly, exposing her pale throat. I want to sink my teeth into it.
She frowns down at her ankle. “Hmm. Do you reckon it’s broken? ”
“Don’t think so,” I say, looking down at it. I kneel in front of her.
My hand wraps around her ankle, so delicate I could snap it with barely a thought, and she shivers. Not from fear. I know fear. I've seen it in countless eyes, tasted it in the air.
This is something else entirely.
Her skin pebbles with goose bumps, spreading up her calf like wildfire.
She lets me touch her and doesn’t fight it. Just watches me with those dark eyes, like she's trying to solve the puzzle of what I am.
“Doesn't look like it.” I run my thumb along the bone. “If it were broken, it'd be at an odd angle. It'd be swollen to fuck. It's not that bad, just painful. I think you got yourself a right good bruise.”
“That makes two then,” she mutters, before her pretty cheeks flush pink again and she looks away.
Fuck .
I can't help the heat in my gaze as I look at her and imagine my handprint bruised across the perfect curve of her arse cheeks, branded there like a claim.
“Good,” I murmur as my cock aches behind my zipper. “That ought to fucking teach you.”
Her cheeks flush a deeper pink, spreading down her throat.
“Why were you with your family?” she asks suddenly. “Do you have an obligation?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Trying to make conversation,” she says.
But she's not. She's trying to dig for information, testing the boundaries of what I'll tell her.
“We had legal matters to tend to for my brother,” I say quickly. Too quickly. I shouldn't tell her that I have a brother who died. I shouldn't tell her anything about Donovan. If she figures out that I'm a fucking McCarthy…
Could she hate me any more than she already does?
Absolutely.
But nothing resembling recognition lights her eyes. Thank fuck.
She pushes the plate aside. “Did I eat enough for you? It's like you're fattening me up like Hansel and Gretel.”
“I'm not trying to change anything about you, lass,” I say quietly, meaning every word. “You’re already fucking perfect.”
“Why do you keep saying things like that?” she whispers.
“Because if I say it often enough, eventually, you’ll believe it.”
She stifles a yawn, her hand coming up to cover her mouth as she averts her eyes. “I'm tired.”
“Aye?” I study her, noting the shadows under her eyes. “The ankle hurts like a motherfucker, right?”
“Right.”
“Did the pain meds help?”
“A bit. Shite, probably shouldn't be drinking with them, huh?” She shrugs, reaching for her wine glass. “Like I care at this point.”
“Well, I do.” I squint down at the bottle, checking the label.
“It's fine,” she says, taking a swig of the wine before I can stop her.
“No more wine for you, right?” I say, taking the glass away gently but firmly.
She rolls her eyes. “No more wine. No running away. Eat your carbs. I get it. You take me away from everything, then you just like to boss me around, don't you?”
I huff under my breath because I haven’t even scratched the surface of how much I want to do to her. She thinks this is bossy?
“Right. Here, let's get you in the other room.” I bend and lace her arm around my neck, stand, and we hobble to the living room together, her weight against my side making something possessive curl tight in my chest. “I'll do the washing up. You read or something, will you?”
“Can I look at my phone? ”
“No.”
“I'd like to play a game.”
“I said no. If you want to play a game, I'll give you a tablet.”
Maybe that's a bad fucking idea. What if she finds a way to send somebody a message? But I need to give her something . Can't keep her in a complete void.
She picks up a thick volume with a leather cover, one I got at a gift shop in town, knowing she'd like it—some medieval romance about knights and ladies. She’s quiet while I do the washing up. I look over.
My fucking god. She's asleep, the book open on her lap, her head tilted to the side.
I dry my hands and walk over to her. She doesn’t stir as I gently take the book from her and set it aside, the ribbon marking her place.
Bending, I pick her up and carry her for the second time today, and she wakes when I lift her, her lashes fluttering.
“Shh,” I say. It soothes something in me to hold her like this, up against my chest. Protected. Safe. Mine . “Let’s get you to bed.”
“Bed?”
She melts into me… goes soft and pliant against my chest, her body molding to mine like she was made for this. Her head is tucked under my chin as if she belongs there .
Her fingers curl into my shirt, not pushing away but holding on.
“Aye,” I say, laying her on top of the bed. I pull a blanket up over her shoulder and watch as she falls fast asleep, her breathing evening out.
She’s gotten under my skin and burrowed deep. I’ve never been so vulnerable.
I bend in and tuck the blanket around her again, as if it's somehow symbolic of keeping her safe.
I can't go back now. No. I've taken steps I can't undo. Taken her away from her life, from everyone she knows. And I have to fucking find a way to make this work. I can't quite keep her here the same way forever, can I?
I shake my head, go to the shelf, and check her phone. More crap from Marcus. More from her mam too.
I want to reach out to my brother, ask for advice, and tell him everything. I shoot him a text.
Y’alright, brother?
Lorcan
Grand. You? Fancy a pint at the club? The lads miss you
I blow out a breath.
Not tonight. Soon though
I power off my phone and turn back toward her.
This time, I don't sleep on the floor. I lie beside her, not touching her. But I remember the feel of my palm across her arse, the way she gasped, and my cock aches.
I’ve been up for damn near twenty-four hours now, and my eyes are heavy. I’m fighting sleep. My vision blurs, and my head bobs.
I remember Donovan. You can't run forever, can you? he says in my dream, his voice as clear as if he were standing beside me. And when I wake, I feel as if I've actually seen him, felt his presence. You did it, didn't you? You fucking gobshite. You let her into the dark.
Bianca rolls over, one arm strewn across her face, her dark hair fanned out on the pillow. I give myself the luxury of looking at her for another long while. God, she's beautiful, so innocent and trusting and vulnerable, even in sleep. The sweetness of the lass.
I sleep fitfully next to her and wake with my body wound tight with want. I go to the bathroom, use the facilities, and splash some water on my face. I look like shite. I need a good night's sleep.
God, I'm obsessed with this woman. Completely fucking gone on her. It may be the only time in my life I’ve lost control.