“Mywife!” I roar. I punch one and then round out and punch the second.
When someone grabs me from behind and touches my wrist, I lift them, just about vaulting them across the room.
“Cavin!” It’s Erin’s voice in my ear. “Cavin, Cavin, wakeup.”
I blink. When I come to, I have Erin pinned in my grasp beneath me, with the sheets tangled around my legs.
Holyfuckingshit. Oh mygod.
Erin.
I release her like she’s a hot coal and shake my head, trying to blink it all away. The desperation, trying to find her. The coldness of the cell. The way I knew I was going to be attacked and beaten by a gang.
Oh my god.
I cage myself over her and run my hands over every inch of her skin, looking at her eyes, her arms. “Did I hurt you? Are you alright?” The last time Lorcan grabbed me, I tossed him across the fucking table at the bar.
“I’m fine. You were just—you were sleeping, and you were tangled in the sheets, and you were very upset,” she says softly. “Are you alright now?”
She rests her hand on my cheek, and for the first time, I feel what she says I do for her.I’mquieting. My voice—the one in my head that constantly berates and judges me—falls silent.
“I’m fine.”
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. My voice is hoarse with worry. “You’ll have to sleep in another room.”
“Cavin,” she says, giving me a long look. “I’mnotsleeping in another room.”
“You need to,” I snap, too harsh, too firm. “I’m sorry.” I run a hand through my hair. “I didn’t mean that. I just—my god, Erin.” I shake my head and look heavenward. “I’m sorry. I just don’t want to hurt you.”
She sits up in bed, my beautiful bride, and eyes me curiously. “You didn’t hurt me, and I’m not sleeping alone.” She crosses her arms over her chest. Stubborn lass. I push out of bed and pace the room.
“I don’t want you to either. After that first night together, I thought we’d be fine. I thought that I’d been cured of my nightmares with my wife next to me. The second night was the same. But now…” I shake my head.
“Come here, Cavin,” she says, “please.” She pats the bed beside her, and I walk over. I sit on the bed, and she crawls over and curls up in my arms.
“It’s okay. You had a nightmare. Of course you did. After everything you’ve seen and you’ve done—especially that time in prison—of course you had a nightmare. It’s okay,” she says quietly.
I run my hands over her again, reassuring myself that she’s alright. “Thank you.”
“Of course,” she says. “Now let’s get up. I made some overnight oats. You have to soak them for exactly eight hours. The clock says it’s been precisely eight hours and fifteen minutes.”
When she tries to slip out of bed, I reach for her, wrapping my arm around her waist to pull her back. But she doesn't just let me—she turns in my grip, her hands already sliding up my chest as she presses against me.
“Going somewhere?” I murmur against her mouth.
“The oats”—she bites my bottom lip, hard enough to sting—“can wait.”
Her kiss is hungry, demanding, and suddenly, I'm the one being pushed back against the mattress. She straddles me, her hair falling around us like a curtain as she grinds down, making me groan.
“Thought you were worried about your fuckin’ breakfast,” I manage, gripping her hips.
“I changed my mind.” Her nails rake down my chest. “You can make it worth my while, can't you?”
“Is that achallenge,Mrs. McCarthy?”
She rocks against me, slow and deliberate, watching my face. “Maybe. You up for it,Mr. McCarthy?”
I flip her in one quick movement, but she's already wrapping her legs around my waist, pulling me closer. Christ, but I love it when I make her giggle.
