“Why are you really here?” I ask, low. My voice drops to that place I know she can’t fight.
Her lashes flutter. “I told you—” I cut her off by leaning in, grazing the tip of my nose down the curve of her neck. She smellslike snow and seduction. I press my lips just beneath her ear, voice like a curse and a prayer.
“Tá tú chomh álainn gur mhaith liom mo dhóchas a chailleadh ionat.”2
Her breath catches sharp. I trail my mouth lower, across her throat, tasting skin I used to worship in the dark. Her pulse flutters beneath my tongue.
“Stop it,” she whispers, but there’s no weight behind the words.
“You don’t want me to stop.”
I look down. My voice turns rough. “You came back. You’re wearing my family’s jewels. Standing in my house, in my fucking lingerie, in the middle of a storm—and you want me to believe this is about a party?”
Her silence tells me everything I need to know. I pull back just enough to meet her gaze. My eyes drop to her lips. Her body trembles like she’s caught between fight and surrender. I know which one I want. But first—I want the truth.
Her gaze flares. Her voice drops like a goddamn guillotine. “I’ll leave then.” She brushes past again—faster this time. Intent sharp. “I’ll buy my own fucking ticket. I don’t need your jet or your goddamn protection.”
I block the door. "Siobhán," I warn, low and guttural.
She spins, fury glittering like frost in those green eyes. “You don’t get to keep me here, Cillian.”
"You’re not a hostage," I snap. “You’re mine.”
She laughs, bitter and wild. “No, I was your mistake. Remember? I was the one you buried, not the one you chose.”
“Don’t,” I growl. “Don’t twist this.”
She steps in close, that sexy, infuriating kind of angry—like when she made me kneel, made me beg. “What, afraid I’ll say something true?”
I snap. My mouth crashes to hers like a fucking avalanche, all teeth and heat and vengeance. Her nails dig into my shirt as I spin her, pin her against the wall—then lift her onto the dresser like she weighs nothing. She moans into my mouth, breath hitching as I drag my hand up the curve of her thigh.
"Tell me why you’re really here," I snarl between kisses, "before I ruin you for every man who ever looks at you again."
Her lips curl. “Maybe that’s what I want.”
I still. Her voice is silk-wrapped steel, that soft command slipping under my skin like a blade. Her gaze pins me, defiant and daring. She’s trying to flip the script. I turn us both and lay her out on the bed. I see it the moment she arches her back, her wrists tugging from beneath mine. She’s testing the weight of mygrip, shifting her hips until I lose balance, just enough for her to roll me onto my back. She straddles me like a queen ascending her throne.
“You forget,” she whispers, leaning down so her breath ghosts over my lips, “I’ve had five years to imagine this moment. I knowexactlywhat I want.” Her hand drags down my chest. Fingertips slow. Teasing. I let her. For a moment. She leans closer, her mouth at my ear now. “And I wantyouon your knees forme.”
I laugh. Quiet. Dangerous. It makes her falter—but only for a heartbeat. She kisses down my throat, slow and calculated, trailing her tongue over every spot she knows will make me curse. Her hands slip beneath my shirt, nails dragging. She’s beautiful like this—wild and wicked and so sure she’s in control. Her hips roll once. Twice. A groan slips from my lips.
“See?” she murmurs, voice thick and breathy. “Youwantto obey.”
And that’s when I move. Fast. I grab her wrists, flip her back beneath me before she can blink. She gasps—shocked, breathless, aroused.
“You want to play duchess?” I growl into her ear, pinning her wrists above her head. “Then learn the fucking rules.”
Her thighs tighten around me. She’s panting now, cheeks flushed, eyes blown wide. I kiss her once—hard—then drag my mouth down her throat, over her collarbone, until she’strembling beneath me again. I release her wrists. She doesn’t move.
My mouth hovers just above hers. “You don’t get to command me, Siobhán.”
“Why not?” she whispers, desperate now. “You said you wanted the truth. You want this. You wantme.”
I lower my mouth to hers—barely touching. “I do.”
Then I pull away. Completely. Her eyes fly open. Confused. Wanting. I stand, adjust my shirt, and rake a hand through my hair as I fight every fucking urge in my body not to crawl back into that bed and ruin her.
“You don’t get to crawl into my house, in my fucking jewels, try to fuck the power back, and pretend that’s your apology.”
