The angle is perfect, hitting something deep inside me that makes stars burst behind my eyelids. His hand slides around to rub my clit in tight circles, and suddenly I’m coming, my pussy clenching around him as I cry out his name.
The feeling of me coming undone triggers his release. He groans against my neck, his hips snapping hard as he empties himself inside me.
We stay like that for a long moment, both of us breathing hard. His forehead rests against my shoulder blade, and I can feel his heart hammering against my back.
“I have to go,” he says finally. But he doesn’t move.
“I know.”
“I can’t take you with me, and I I don’t know when I’ll be back.”
“I’ll be here.” I turn my head back toward him. “I’ll be here, Vin.”
He’s silent for another few seconds then he pulls out of me, yanking my dress down and already reaching for his phone.
“When you’re ready, go back to the safe house with the guards and stay there,” he orders, as he tucks himself back in his pants and zips up. His voice is cold and commanding. “Make sure two guards are in the room with you at all times. ”
“I will, Vin.”
His eyes flash to mine and for a split second he softens, but just as fast, he’s gone, striding out of the restaurant without looking back.
I sink down onto the floor, my legs too shaky to hold me. I’m still having aftershocks after coming, but my chest feels tight.
He’s going to kill his father. After that, everything changes.
I wrap my arms around myself and stare at the empty doorway, wondering if the man who comes back will still be mine.
45
Vin
The whiskey burns going down, but not as much as the fucking guilt.
I don’t want to be here. I want to be back at the safe house with Sophie, buried balls deep inside her while she makes those sweet little sounds that drive me insane.
Instead, I’m at my friend Ronan MacCuinn’s place, surrounded by Irish bastards who can drink me under the table, trying to gather intel before I end this shit with my own father.
Maybe find out what this fucking promise is that I supposedly made without letting on that I have no fucking idea what it is I’m supposedly on the hook for.
“Another round!” Ronan slaps the table, grinning like a fucking idiot. “We’re celebrating!”
“Celebrating what?” I drain my glass, barely tasting it. My mind keeps drifting back to Sophie bent over that kitchen counter, laughing while I fucked her, talking about christeningevery surface. Christ, just thinking about her makes my cock hard.
“You getting married, you dense fuck!” One of Ronan’s cousins—Declan? Liam? I can’t keep the Irish straight when I’m sober, much less three drinks in—laughs while one of Ronan’s sisters whose been hovering over my shoulder all night shoves another glass in my hand.
I freeze, the glass halfway to my lips. Does he mean Sophie? How the fuck does he know about her? “What the fuck are you talking about?”
The table goes quiet. Ronan’s smile falters. “The contract between our fathers. You and Ashlyn.”
He juts his chin toward the woman who’s been hanging two feet away all night: auburn hair, big tits squeezed into a dress two sizes too small, perfume so strong it makes my eyes water. She chooses that moment to slide into my lap. I push the flat of my palm against her back immediately, keeping her at a distance, as my mind races.
Contract. Marriage. Ashlyn. Is this the fucking promise?
“My father just told us,” Ronan continues, watching me carefully now. “I thought you knew. I mean, you must have known, right? The deal was made years ago, when we were about 20.”
Twenty. I was 20 when my father was still running the family into the ground, making deals I knew nothing about, treating me like a weapon instead of a son. When he was fucking the woman he planted as my girlfriend to control me.
I force a laugh, because confusion is weakness, and I don’t show weakness. “Right. The contract.”
