Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
I can't help the low chuckle that rumbles through my chest. “Things to explore, she said?”
“Mm-hmm.” She's trying to sound careful, casual, but I can feel her pulse racing against my palm. Can see the way her pupils have dilated.
My girl loves being dominated. Loves when I take control. When I push her boundaries and make her feel things she didn't know she could feel.
“I'll explore you,” I growl, pulling her into my lap properly so she straddles me. The ribs have healed, the bruises have faded, and my knuckles are mostly mended now. Everything's healing.
She gasps and winces as she settles against my already hard cock, her sore arse pressing against my thighs.
“Ashland.”
“The club will be a fun place for us. We'll get dinner first.”
“That sounds lovely.” Her hands come to rest on my shoulders. “What kind of things are at the club?”
Ha. Of course she’s fixated on that.
“All kinds of things.” I lean in, brushing my lips against the shell of her ear. “Private rooms where I can tie you up and make you scream. Open spaces where I can show everyone how beautiful you are when you fall apart.”
“I don't know if I'm into that.”
“We'll see if you are.”
“What else?”
“Equipment I haven't got here. It's impeccably clean and highly curated.”
“Is it a place you went to often?” she asks, unable to hide the jealousy in her voice.
“No, lass. I haven't been in years.”
She's trembling now. “Would you let other people watch?”
“Only if you want. No one ever touches you but me. Only ever me. But if you want them to see, if you want them to watch while I make you come, if you want me to prove to the whole bloody world that you're mine—I'll give you that.”
“Oh my god.” She breathes. “That's so dirty.”
I slide my hand up her spine, into her hair, and grip tight enough to make her gasp. “You trust me?”
“Always,” she whispers. “Forever.”
“Then I'll take care of you. Always,” I echo.
I kiss her slow and deep, pouring everything I can't say into it. When I pull back, her lips are swollen and her eyes glazed.
“We'll go next weekend. I'll show you what it's like to be worshipped properly.”
“You worship me plenty,” she says with a smile, but her voice is shaky.
“It's never enough.” I stand and lift her with me, and she wraps her legs around my waist on instinct. She doesn't protest anymore. I love it.
Lancelot huffs and moves over to his place by the fire, clearly unimpressed by being disturbed.
“I'm going to spend the rest of this week making sure you know exactly who you belong to.”
“Oh, I already know that,” she says, but she's grinning against my neck now, that beautiful spark back in her eyes.
“Aye, but I like reminding you, don't I?” I carry her toward the bedroom, my cock throbbing with need. “And when I get you to that club, when I've got you tied up and begging, when everyone can see how perfect you are, they'll know. They'll know you're mine.”
“Yeah,” she whispers against my lips. “Yours.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Bianca
Three days later, I stand in the McCarthys’ formal living room and watch Ashland pace like a caged animal. He's been doing this for the past hour, wearing a path in the damn rug, while Lorcan and Seamus discuss strategy around the table and how to handle Crowning's men—the stragglers who helped Marcus orchestrate everything, the ones who turned a blind eye to his two dead exes and nearly a third. I should be frightened, horrified by the cold calculation, but no. I feel nothing but relief.
They'll leave no stone unturned.
“Harbor warehouse,” Lorcan says. “That's where they're regrouping. Without Marcus, they're coming together. They're scrambling. Vulnerable.”
“And Crowning Sr.?” Ashland asks Seamus.
“Handled.” Seamus's smile is cold. “Erin found enough dirt on the brother to bury him ten times over. Crowning’s exes? We've got proof his brother covered up his connection. Sent it to Crowning Sr. with a simple message: We have the recording of Marcus agreeing to the fight, and we have evidence that his other son is a corrupt cop. He can accept that his son died honorably in the ring, or we expose everything, and he loses both sons, plus his political connections.”
Ashland stands still. “And?”
“He's a businessman. He chose survival over revenge.”
Ashland nods. “How many of his men are still standing?”
“Unconfirmed. Maybe ten, though there’s suspicion some went home to Boston, crying.” He scrubs a hand across his brow. “You know we’re on tenterhooks with the Boston contingent.”
“Only a matter of time before they come calling,” Lorcan says, his eyes darkening as he makes a quiet fist, ready to fight.
“Aye,” Seamus says. “But I have it on good authority their structure’s been dismantled from within. They don’t have the leadership to form an attack.”
“Not now, anyway,” Ashland says, and I take it to mean there will come a time when their grievances with the Boston contingent will rear their ugly head, but we’re momentarily at peace.