“And who decides when you come?”
“You do.”
His thumb strokes my jaw, almost tender, while his eyes burn into mine. “That's my good girl. Now let me hear you beg for it properly.”
Again, he lands the belt across my arse until I feel a strange sort of floating sensation begin to take over.
“Sir,” I say, but my words come out slurred, and I can’t speak right.
“Good girl,” he says, cradling me in his lap. “Oh, that’s my lovely girl. Now, I’d love to have my way with you, but I want you totally sober and awake for that. It’s not right to take advantage when you’re drunk.”
“Not drunk,” I say, but my words are slurred, and I can’t open my eyes.
“You’re a good girl,” he whispers in my ear. “You took that so well, lass.”
“Thank you.”
I try to get to my feet, but I can’t. I’m jello, floating, when the sound of an alarm blaring breaks the silence.
“Fuck,” Cavin says. “Erin, can you stand? Can you walk, love?”
I open my bleary eyes and get to my feet, shaking. “I think… I think so.” But I’m feeling woozy.
“Christ,” he growls. “You stay right here and let me see what’s happened. Don’t come out. Do you hear me? Are you aware of what I’m saying right now?”
“Yes,” I whisper, but the word feels far away, floating somewhere outside my body. Everything’s soft around the edges, warm anddistant. I’m cold, but I don’t care. Nothing matters except the sound of his voice anchoring me.
He reaches for a thick, warm blanket and drapes it around my shoulders. The weight of it makes me sink deeper into whatever this floating feeling is.
Safe. I’m safe here.
His phone vibrates with a message. I’m vaguely aware of him scowling at it. I feel like I’m half asleep. My eyes are fluttering closed.
“Well,” he says softly. “We’ll see what she does withthis.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Cavin
Of fuckingcourseErin’s tripped out on a scene. The lass is ripe for it, primed and ready, but I need her lucid.
“Tell Declan to wait,” I mutter. “He can send whatever he needs to me. I’ll be sure she sees it.”
Then I wrap her tighter in the blanket while she shivers, holding her close to me. If she wasn’t half asleep, the lass would be asking me a million questions, but she’s practically floating. I kiss the top of her head. She’s half giggling, half asleep, high on what just happened. Christ, but she’s perfect.
I hold her in my arms, pliant and quiet. I’ve heard that if you hold somebody chest-to-chest, after four minutes, your heartbeats sync.
I like to think ours already have.
“What do they need?” she whispers, even as she looks up at me withher eyes blown wide, her cheeks flushed pink—even the top of her chest is pink. She’s naked under the blanket I’ve wrapped around her.
“They’ve got information you asked for,” I say. “We have three more weeks to find out who the fuck is demanding this tribute.”
“Mmm. Been mulling that over,” she says quietly as her head lolls to the side, and I make a decision right then. Whatever information Declan has to send me, he can send us right here at The Craic. It’s not that I don’t want to take her home tonight, but I don’t want to move her.
I want her right here with me until the morning light filters through the windows.
So I draw a bath. I squint at the little bottle next to the tub with pearly green-tinted beads and read “bath salts.” Okay, that’s supposed to be nice, I guess. So I shake some in, and soon the bath is lightly fragranced like eucalyptus and mint, and it makes the whole space feel clean and green.
