Page 185

“Gods, Triona,” he grunts, his voice thick, his hips surging upward as he thrusts harder, deeper. “Ye’re takin’ me so beautifully—squeezin’ me like you never want to let me go. Like you were made for this… made for me.”

I gasp as he lifts me slightly, nearly pulling me off him before slamming me back down, burying himself inside me again with a force that sends waves of pleasure crashing through me. My nails rake over his broad shoulders as I cling to him, frantic, overwhelmed.

Each thrust sends shockwaves of bliss radiating through my core, the friction exquisite, the heat unbearable. My peak is rising fast, the pressure coiling, winding tighter, tighter—

“Don’t stop,” I beg, my voice breaking on a moan. “Finn, I’m so close...”

“Ride me, Triona,” he commands, his fingers biting into my hips as he takes control, driving into me with a fervour that makes my vision blur. “Take yer pleasure from me. Drench my cock.”

Our bodies move in perfect synchronisation, our passion reaching new heights with each thrust. His hand finds its way between us and he creates an even more intense rhythm that only he knows how to master. Circling my swollen clit with knowing fingers, he drives me closer and closer to the edge of pure euphoria.

His mouth claims mine in a punishing kiss, swallowing my cries as his hips piston faster, rougher, claiming me in every way imaginable. I shatter with a wail, my release flooding through me in violent, breathtaking waves, my body clenching around him as I convulse in his grasp.

“Triona!” he roars, his rhythm stuttering, his thrusts turning frantic. A ragged shout tears from his throat as he jerks inside me, his seed spilling deep, filling me with his heat as he groans against my lips.

We collapse together, a tangle of limbs and sweat-slicked skin, our bodies still trembling with the aftermath. My heart races, my breath uneven, my soul alight with something more than just passion—something infinite.

“You were made for me,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse, sated. “Just as I was made for you.”

In his arms, I am remade—body, heart, and soul.

I take a deep breath, smoothing my hands down the snug fighting leathers that are just as beautiful now as the day they were when I last wore them. Gifted to me by one of the best men I will ever have had the privilege of knowing. I feel the weight of his love and his belief in me settles over my shoulders like armour. It takes all my strength not to let my emotions show as I step onto the deck.

Finn’s eyes soften when he sees me, and he nods, approval glimmering in his gaze. Callan’s voice is soft when he speaks. “They look right on ye, lass.” His words strike something deep within me, and I nod, unable to communicate past the lump in my throat.

Finn and Callan have changed into finer clothing. Finn’s usually rough attire has been replaced with a tailored coat and clean, dark trousers, while Callan wears a sharp waistcoat over his shirt, its deep green fabric catching the light. They both look uncharacteristically polished, the effort clearly made to ensure we can blend in if necessary.

I can’t help but smirk as I turn to Callan. “You know, you’d find a wife easily enough if you dressed like that more often.”

Callan snorts, rolling his eyes but not denying it. “Aye, and deal with the headaches that come with it? Absolutely not.”

Then I glance at Finn, my smirk widening. “I might just have to carry a beating stick around with me. You look ravishing.”

Callan groans, running a hand over his face. “Please feckin’ don’t.”

Finn smirks, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Lucky for you, my heart’s already claimed by a doe-eyed beauty with the most irresistible lips. Stands about, oh, yay high—” he gestures toward me, a playful glint in his gaze. “Have you seen her? Impossible to miss—she’s absolutely breathtaking.”

Before I can even muster a response, my cheeks burn at his words, and I feel my heart stutter. A giddy warmth swells in my chest, and I whisper, “You’re impossible." Finn’s smirk deepens. Ignoring Callan’s exaggerated groan, he steps closer, cups my face with both hands, and pulls me into a deep, searing kiss. His lips claim mine with a warmth that sends heat rushing through me.

The ship creaks and groans as it eases into the bustling harbour at North Wall Quay in Dublin, pulling me from that kiss. Finn kisses the tip of my nose before pulling me by the hand to the rail of the ship. The salty tang of the sea blends with the earthy aroma of the city. I lean over the railing, my braid whipping in the wind as scan the docks for a familiar face. Finn stands close behind me, his hand resting instinctively near the hilt of his sword, while Callan keeps his usual brooding silence, his sharp eyes darting through the crowd below.

“See anything, Doe?” Finn asks, his voice low and steady, though his knuckles whiten slightly on the rail.

“What, no Little?” I say with a mock pout.

He chuckles as he pushes my lip in with a pointer finger. “That would be the part you catch—ye’re not so little anymore.”

His voice dips in a way that sends heat curling low in my belly. My breath stills as his fingers trail from my lip, down my throat, pausing just at the hollow above my collarbone. He leans in, his breath warm against my ear.

“Ye’ve done things to me that only a woman would do, mo ghràdh. And I’ve touched you in ways that left my hands burned into yer skin. Made you tremble, beg, and whisper my name like it was a prayer.” His thumb sweeps over the spot, his voice turning husky. “And you still think ye’re little?”

A shiver runs through me, my pulse hammering against his touch. I should step away, I should say something sharp and teasing, but his words have taken root. My fingers twitch at my sides, aching to reach for him.

He smirks, watching me unravel. “Aye, I thought not.” He presses a lingering kiss to the side of my neck before pulling away. The moment lingers between us, charged and unspoken, before I force myself to turn, my attention shifting to the world beyond us.

“I see nothing out of sorts,” I murmur breathlessly, trying to take my mind off the heat coursing through me as I narrow my eyes against the morning sun. The docks pulse with life—fishmongers calling out their wares, sailors maneuvering crates of goods, and children weaving through the bustle with peals of laughter. Yet amidst the ceaseless movement, no eyes linger on us, no furtive glances give away our presence—a quiet uncertainty that is neither reassuring nor foreboding.

The gangplank is lowered with a resounding thud, and we descend, our boots clattering against the wooden boards. I adjust my cloak, the rich fabric a subtle marker of my status, while Finn’s eyes remain vigilant, scanning every movement around us. Callan brings up the rear, his imposing presence a silent warning to anyone considering mischief.