Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 93463 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93463 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
And as I hold her, I start to make my plan.
My plan to secure what’s mine.
To lock down my kingdom, brick by bloody brick.
To protect her from everything that’s ever tried to break me.
To save us both, no matter the cost.
I bring her hand to my lips, one knuckle at a time, kissing each one with the reverence of a vow I’m too much of a coward to speak aloud.
She softens even more, her body melting into mine like some part of her already knows. Already trusts. Already believes I’ll do it.
She sleeps.
I close my eyes and try to follow her into that quiet place, but I can’t.
Not yet.
My thoughts are a storm, wild and restless. Schemes twist through my mind like smoke from something already burning. So instead of sleeping, I plot. I prepare.
I wait for the sun to rise.
So I can finally move.
So I can finally begin.
Chapter 20
ZOYA
I wake to warmth. His warmth.
The early light spills through the curtains, soft and blinding. His arm is draped over my waist, heavy and grounding. His breath brushes the back of my neck in soft, even bursts.
For a fleeting second, I keep my eyes closed and let myself believe we’re normal.
Ordinary.
We’re newlyweds on a honeymoon.
We had a beautiful wedding.
There’s no one chasing us, no shadows clawing at our heels.
No enemies who want us dead.
Just peace. Just us.
Safe, finally. Blessedly safe.
But then the memories come flooding back. Dreams that felt too real to just be dreams.
I saw an angry Irishman dragging him away from me.
I screamed, reached for him, and begged, but they wouldn’t let me.
Rafail. Stern, stone-faced, and shaking his head like I’d disappointed him. Like he was already mourning something inevitable.
Seamus sighs and moves. It’s just a small shift, the slow drag of his thick, calloused palm down the curve of my hip, but it starts something in me.
A chain reaction.
My body remembers his touch. Remembers everything we did. And I respond before I can think.
He kisses the base of my neck softly, and I tilt my head back without thinking. My eyes flutter shut.
We don’t speak.
We don’t need to.
We move like this isn’t new, as if he didn’t take my virginity just two nights ago.
Like our bodies already know each other, like they’ve always known.
He rolls me onto my back, his body covering mine like a shield. I feel the weight of him, the length of his erection pressing against my belly. He cups my face, so gently, it’s like he’s scared to break me.
And then he presses down, slow and deep, his cock throbbing against me.
This isn’t about power or control or domination.
This isn’t a lesson in obedience.
This is something else entirely.
Something sweet, aching and wordless.
We say everything with our bodies because the words would shatter the moment.
I love you.
You are my safe place.
You complete me.
We breathe in tandem.
His mouth finds mine, his tongue sweeps inside, and we kiss like we’ve got forever.
But we both know we don’t.
I’m naked from the night before, nothing between us now but his boxers. I reach for the waistband. He shifts his hips to help me, and then he’s bare—hot, thick, ready.
He spreads my legs gently with his knee and settles between them. Then he positions himself at my entrance and pushes in.
There’s no pain this time. Just heat. Pressure.
I’m full. Stretched, but ready.
So ready.
He glides in and out with ease, slick with how wet I am. We move together in a slow, sacred rhythm. His left hand finds mine, fingers lacing tight, palm to palm.
We make love like this might be the last time. Like we’ll never get another morning like this.
“Seamus,” I whisper, my breath catching. “I’m going to—”
“Come, lass,” he finishes for me. “Come. I want to feel you.”
And I do. I come apart around him. And as I do, he follows, groaning against my skin.
It’s not as rough or frenzied as the night before, but it’s just as sweet. Just as intimate.
I love being connected to him like this.
I love having him inside me.
I love the heat of his body, the weight of him.
And in that moment, I imagine a future.
A baby.
Maybe this time…
This time, maybe I’ll get pregnant.
And maybe, just maybe, that could end this war.
By the time we’re done, the sun has crested the horizon, painting the world in soft gold.
He rests his forehead against my shoulder, almost boyish in the way he clings to me. His skin is damp, his heartbeat still racing beneath it.
I trace the tattoos on his shoulders with the tip of my finger. Memorizing. Holding on.
He whispers something, a confession, a plea.
I nod… because I understand.
Time is slipping away.
The silence from my family is too sharp. It’s not peace.
It’s a pause before a strike.
Like his—too quiet, too still.
“They’re watching,” he whispers.
“I know,” I say.
We lie there, tangled in each other, saying nothing more.