“I want to see you come.”
It’s my words that finally undo him. His head arches back, his neck corded, and a deep groan rips from his throat. Then hot spurts of cum pulse over my hand, spilling onto his stomach. I keep stroking through it, milking every last shudder from him until he’s done and his body slackens.
He pulls me close then, crushing me against his chest, his lips finding mine in a messy, grateful kiss that tastes like relief and something deeper—affection, maybe. Maybe even the start of something more.
I feel powerful. Me. Powerful. It’s not a feeling I’m used to.
I rest my head on his shoulder, our bodies sticky and sated, and for the first time, I let myself imagine this could be real—us, building a real marriage. Something strong and bonding.
Or maybe I’m living in a fantasy world.
His fingers trace lazypatterns on my back, and I close my eyes, savoring the quiet intimacy, the way his heartbeat syncs with mine. This is a feeling I can get used to.
The buzzing of his phone shatters our peaceful afterglow. Groaning, he reaches for it and reads the screen.
“Fuck. Family dinner tonight. I forgot.”
My pulse spikes. “Your family?”
“This is going to be…something.”
I’m not sure what he means by that, but the statement fills me with anxiety.
“Do you think your mother will like me?” I can hear the anxiety in my voice. I desperately want to make a good impression.
He kisses the top of my head. “If she doesn’t, it doesn’t change a goddamn thing.”
Chapter 9
Nora
The estate materializes like something from a dream—iron gates, a long gravel drive lined with mature oaks, and a house at the end of it that isn’t a house at all. It’s a manor. Three stories of stone and glass, lit from below, with expensive cars already arranged in front of it like a high-end showroom.
I count the trees as we pass. Twenty-seven on the left; twenty-seven on the right. Then I count the cars. Six.
Cillian parks and kills the engine. He doesn’t move immediately, and neither do I. The silence between us is different from the easy quiet we’ve built over the last few days. This one has teeth.
“Stay with me. I’ve got you.” His hand finds mine on my lap. “You’ll be fine.”
I’m uncertain who he’s trying to reassure—me, or himself—but I nod, because speaking feels dangerous right now. My throat is wound tight with something I refuse to call panic.
He squeezes once, then gets out and comes around to open my door.
I smooth the front of my dress—the green one, the one he chose—and take his arm.
With every step toward the front door, I think about how this morning I was in his lap with his hands on me. That woman and this woman feel like strangers to each other.
A housekeeper opens the door before we reach it, and we are ushered into a formal dining room that makes my thrift-store bones ache. A table long enough to seat twelve is set with china and crystal. The crystal glasses catch the overhead light and throw it in a dozen directions. There are sprays of flowers in the center. Real ones.
Three men are already seated. They all turn when we walk in.
Cillian first introduces me to Declan, the second oldest after Cillian. He has Cillian’s darkness, only more so. He’s built like a wall, and he looks at me the way a person looks at something that doesn’t add up. Not hostile. Just a confused curiosity. His scarred hands rest flat on the table. He doesn’t blink.
The third brother—Ronan—tips his chin and offers a polite smile. He’s also curious. Cautious. He’s taking me apart and putting me back together in his head, and he’s smooth enough that it’s hardly noticeable.
Lorcan, the youngest, grins at me from across the table. A real grin, crooked and unguarded. He gives me a little wave, like we’re already friends.
And then there’s the woman at the head of the table.
