"Tragic," Lorcan says, but he's smiling. "Though I have to admit, despite the Vatican plot holes, the second book somehow?—"
"—makes it worse!" I interrupt. "Because he doubles down on the conspiracy instead of pivoting to the Irish mythology, which is clearly his strength!"
"But the folklore research?—"
"—is impeccable! That's what makes it so frustrating!"
We're both grinning like idiots now. Just... talking. About books. About ridiculous thriller plots and historical accuracy and whether Declan Cross should have hired a better Vatican consultant.
It's the first normal conversation I've had in... God. Weeks? Months?
Not Emmaleen-the-submissive and Giovanni-the-monster.
Not Miss Take earning demerits.
Not the slave girl learning positions.
Just... two people who read too much and have opinions about fictional Irish archaeologists.
Lorcan's watching me with something soft in his expression. Almost tender.
"Would ya like a book to read?" he asks quietly.
The question hits me like a physical thing. My throat tightens. "You'd... let me?"
"Letya?" He cups my face gently. "Emmaleen. You're not a prisoner here. You're..." He trails off, seeming to search for the right word. "You're under my protection. That includes feeding your mind as well as your body."
"I—" My voice cracks. "I'd love a book." God, I sound pathetic. Desperate.
But Iamdesperate. Suddenly, violently desperate to lose myself in someone else's story. To remember what it feels like to turn pages and forget myself and just...read.
"You'll let me browse your library?" I whisper, and I'm begging again but this time it's not for punishment or pain or pleasure.
It's forwords.
Lorcan's cock twitches inside me, and his eyes darken slightly. "Aye," he says, voice rougher now. "I'll show ya everything."
I'm vibrating with excitement. Actual, genuine excitement that has nothing to do with sex or submission or any of the twisted dynamics I've been swimming in.
"Now?" I breathe.
"After your bath," he says firmly, and there's Saint Lorcan again—that command wrapped in care. His thumb brushes my cheek. "Ya need tending first.Thenthe library."
I want to argue. Want to demand booksnow, immediately, before this moment evaporates.
But something in his tone—that gentle firmness—makes me nod instead.
"Okay," I whisper. "Bath first."
"Good girl," he murmurs. And then he's standing, hands gripping my ass, lifting me like I weigh nothing.
I gasp and wrap my legs around his waist instinctively—not because I'm trained to, but because I'm desperate to keep him inside me. To stay connected just a little longer.
His cock shifts as he moves, and I bite back a whimper.
"Easy," he says against my hair. "I've got ya."
I expect that we'll leave the chapel now, but we don't. Lorcan carries me over to the bank of red votives along the wall and bends down. Once again, his cock shifts and for a moment, I'm panicking, thinking it will slip out of me.
