“Yes, Ma’am,” he barks before driving into me again. His free hand moves from my hip and slips under my shirt. He finds my breast, then my sensitive nipple, and my head falls back on a moan.
He thrusts again and again.
Until the burning need between my legs coils tighter, faster. “Matteo,” I groan. “I’m going to come…”
“Good girl, Kitty Cat,” he purrs, his voice ragged against my ear. Then his finger circles more quickly, driving me closer and closer until only pleasure exists. His cock drives deeper in perfect time with his thumb. My breath catches and desire ignites at the tip of my spine, exploding through me in a wave of pure pleasure.
He holds me up as the orgasm rips through, cock still drawing out every last ounce of pleasure. All I see are stars, my knees wobbling from the intensity. He keeps me standing, pressed against the unyielding pillar of his body.
Once my breathing returns to normal, he scoops me into his arms, irises blown out and eyes sparkling with desire. “I’m not done with you yet, Kitty Cat. We’re only teenagers, remember?”
We stumble back through the door, hands still everywhere, the latch snicking shut behind us. We don’t bother to slow, and we’re certainly not careful because we’re eighteen and nineteen and terrible again. We knock into the sofa, half-laughing at it, then Matteo finds the bed by feel. The room tilts with the sea, and we match it. He throws me on top of the bed, and he’s inside me again, breath and bodies one, and the kind of kiss that erases time.
It isn’t pretty. It isn’t poised. It’s fingers gripping and mouths finding, of skin warmed in patches, and of whispered curses in two languages that meandon’t stop. He says my name like a vow and a mistake, and I answer with his like a dare.
For the entire night there’s no London or Belfast, no Tiernan, and no bargains I can’t keep. There’s only heat and the thunder of water and the way his hands know exactly where to anchor me when the world tilts. We move until the ache turns to relief, until the noise in my head finally quiets, until the spirits of our past have to wait outside the door with the wind.
Hours later, we lie tangled and panting, hair wind-blown and damp. Matteo touches my cheek with the back of his knuckles, reverent in spite of everything, and I steal one last kiss like a thief who can’t help herself.
“One more minute,” he whispers, tasting like the sea and a promise.
“Maybe two,” I breathe, and let the white capped waves drown our secret.
CHAPTER 39
A PROMISE
Matteo
Belfast greets us like it’s holding its breath. Or maybe that’s just me. There are no sirens, no convoys, and none of Quinlan’s men looming in the shadows. When Cat and I emerge from our peaceful sanctuary, that momentary respite, all we find are wet streets and a wind that smells like old rain.
Leo keeps a quiet line in my ear as the car rolls off the ferry and we take the long way around the docks. “Quinlan’s shuttered the Annesley warehouse,” he reports. “There’s movement around the shipyard and the linen mill. Tiernan himself hasn’t shown his face in twenty-four hours. There are too many foreign scopes on roofs.”
“Geminis?” I ask, watching the rearview mirror as we turn a corner. A white van hangs back, then peels off like it had another errand.
“They’re closing the ring,” Leo replies. “We’ve got eyes west and south. If Tiernan runs, he runs to ground, not away. The window for a clean strike comes at night between two to foura.m. when he swaps crews. Ale has it all clocked out. We’re striking tomorrow.”
“Alessandro is here?” I blurt, guilt twisting my insides.
“On his way. He’s thirsting for revenge, Matteo. You know he would never sit this one out.”
Forme. Fuck. The last thing I wanted was my cousin in Belfast. I thought for sure with Rory pregnant, he’d hang back.
“Who else is coming?” I grit out.
“All of them.”
The spiral of guilt intensifies, a tornado ripping at my insides. Of course, they all came. Because they think I’m dead because of the Quinlans. They’ll raze the entire city in my memory. And what if one of them gets hurt in the massacre? What if one of my cousins dies for me?
I could never live with myself… knowing it was my fault.
“I’ll text you the timing. Just keep breathing until then.”
I hang up but I can’t sit still. I have to end this before it starts. If I can get to Quinlan first, there might still be time.
Cat exhales a soft breath, drawing my attention. I hazard a glance at the woman who wrecked me last night in the best way. Even now, memories of her body curled against mine, of the sounds she made as I coaxed out orgasm after orgasm, rush my mind. They’ll live there forever, rent free. She rides beside me, hood up and face turned to the blur of orange on the horizon. She’s quiet, her body coiled with tension. Her hand stays on her chest like she’s holding a secret in place like if she lifts her palm it will escape and ruin us both.
I turn the car north and head outside the city. We don’t go anywhere with a name that would show up in anyone’s mouth. No safehouses, no Rossi or Quinlan ties. Instead, we find a random two-story motel off a quiet road, its sign buzzing between two letters so it reads HO_EL, which feels accurate.
