He paused as if his brain needed a reboot, and then he smiled. “Yeah? You want me to come inside you?”
I licked my lips and tasted him. “I’m on birth control.”
He slid into me languidly, just stroking himself in and out, his eyes hot on mine. “Someday, Wildcat, I’m going to want more….”
His erection swelled inside me, and I could see the idea of making me pregnant excited him.
Well, it made me wet, too.
What was happening to me? I hadn’t known this man for a long time, but here I was on board with making a baby with him.
But he’s your man, Dee. And you’re his woman.
I lifted my hips to feel him fill me. “Come in me, Jax.”
He lost it then, became feral.
I saw control escape him.
It was exciting to see a man as easy-going and laid-back as Jax become animalistic, almost unhinged with desire.
This kind of wanting wasn’t normal, was it?
“Jax,” I whimpered as he began to slam inside me.
“Yes, baby. I’m with you. Give it to me again. Come again for me.”
As if he controlled me, pulling the strings like a puppet master while I moved to his rhythm, powerless to resist—I felt my release.
He followed soon after.
I’d had sex before; this hadn’t been that—this had been a mating, a bonding. This was what trusting someone body and soul felt like.
“I love you,” I whispered, wrapping myself around him, feeling the kind of certainty I’d never felt before.
CHAPTER 34
Jax
Icame alone to Cork because it was delivery day at The Banshee’s Rest, and Dee had vendors to yell at.
I’d managed to get an appointment with Fiona Hennessey, a sharp, no-nonsense land developer with the kind of keen eyes that made you feel like she could see straight into your intentions, according to Brad, who had done his homework.
After a bit of convincing, she agreed to meet with me to discuss my “land management concerns.”
As soon as I stepped into The Bookshelf Coffee House on South Mall, which Fiona had chosen for our meeting, I knew I’d like her because this was just the kind of place I liked—understated charm, delicious smells of baked goods and coffee, and a sleek modern décor that offered a surprisingly warm atmosphere.
She was having coffee, black, while I was having a café latte and a mouth-wateringly deliciouspain au chocolat.
She took a sip of her coffee and set the porcelain cup back in its saucer. “Let me be frank, Mr. Caldwell,” she said, her Cork accent soft and pointed. “You’ve gotten yourself tangled up with a bad one in Cillian O’Farrell.”
“I figured as much.” I broke a piece of the croissant. “But whatexactlymakes him bad? Other than the fact that he’s a smug prick with a penchant for screwing people over.”
She gave a dry laugh. “That’s putting it kindly. He’s the kind of man who promises the moon and the stars to these big developers and leads them straight to places like…Ballybeg, which your manager said was your focus—places that don’t want or need development.”
I chewed on my croissant thoughtfully. “So, he’s a con artist with a real estate license.”
“That and more.” She shook her head as if disgusted. “What he does is sell the idea of a development dream to foreign investors who don’t know better. He’s good at spinning tales. But what he never mentions is how places like Ballybeg will fight tooth and nail to keep their land. And the kicker?” She arched an eyebrow. “He’s not even showing them the best properties. I’ve got files here on two areasthat are far more suited for a golf resort—better access, less resistance, and the kind of infrastructure already in place that Ballybeg doesn’t have.”
