Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 120240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
She shatters, her body arching clean off the desk as she comes with a cry that's nearly a scream. Her cunt clenches around me, rhythmic and tight, milking my cock.
“That's it, that's fucking it, Erin—” I can barely get the words out. “Christ, I can feel you coming—”
The sight of her, the feel of her, sends me over the edge, and I follow her into bliss, burying my face in her neck as I groan and come.
For a while we stay like that, breathing hard, connected.
“The hat,” she says, her voice sleepy, amused but satisfied.
I reach up. It’s still on my head. “Told you it was staying on.”
“Who knew a little navy cap would turn you on like that, love?”
She giggles, and the sound makes me smile against her skin. She didn't giggle once in my presence at school. Now she giggles every damn day.
“Come on,” I say. “Let's move to the sofa before your arse gets a splinter from this damn desk.”
“Romantic,” she teases, but she lets me carry her to the sofa, settling her on my lap. I grab a throw blanket from the back and drape it over us, tucking her against my chest. The fire's burnt low, casting warm shadows around the room.
“Cavin,” she says after a while, “I'm glad you kept the hat on.”
“That's grand with me,” I say, running my fingers through her hair.
We're tangled on the sofa, her head on my chest, the fire burning low. I feel half asleep, content in a way I've never been. And somehow the contentment sets me on edge.
“You keeping that hat?” she murmurs.
“I'll wear it every day if this is the reaction I get.”
My phone buzzes on the side table.
“Cavin,” she whispers against my mouth, “leave it.”
It keeps buzzing, insistent.
“You know I can't,” I murmur. Between Bridget, the tribute, the damn intel from Declan…
It's Declan. The message on the screen stops me cold.
Declan
West Coast contact is pissed. The trade route doesn't fucking exist. Padraic played us. Call me now.
Her da.
Goddamn fucking traitor. If he were anyone else—
But Christ. It’s her father. I can’t bloody well murder the traitorous bastard. But there will be repercussions.
I can't let her know. No. She'll worry about Bridget and Dr. Rosenberg. About us. She'll worry about her parents. And to be honest, she ought to. She's in trouble—but she's mine.
“I've been working on something, Cavin,” she says.
I turn my phone over so she can't see the message.
“The tribute payments. I've been tracking them like you asked me to. And I found something more.”
My hand stills in her hair. “What'd you find?”
“I think I'm getting closer to figuring out who's collecting them.” She sits up a bit, pulling the blanket around her shoulders. “But there's something that doesn't make sense.”
“What doesn't make sense?”
“The timing, the amounts…” She chews her lip, thinking. “It's like someone knows exactly when you're vulnerable, when to catch you off guard, when you're stretched thin.”
Ice slides down my spine. “Go on.”
She faces me, her eyes worried. “I think there's someone on the… on the inside. Someone feeding information to whoever's behind this. Possibly even—”
“No.” The word comes out harder than I mean it. “Look again, Erin. I told you before, that's not possible. I know my men. That’s my family you’re talking about.”
“Cavin, I—”
“I said no. Every single one of them. They're loyal.”
“I'm not saying it's one of your crew, per se,” she says carefully.
I stand, dislodging her. “You're taking the piss now, seeing patterns that aren't fucking there.”
“You’re some thick if you think I’m droppin’ this.” She's on her feet now, clutching the blanket. “The numbers don't lie. Someone's leaking information, and if we can't figure out who—”
“Drop it, Erin.”
“Don't tell me to drop it.” Her cheeks flush with anger. “You asked me to help with this, and now that I've found something, you're just going to dismiss it because you don't want to face the truth?”
“You don't know my family, Erin. You don't know shite about how we operate.” My hands curl into fists at my sides.
She pulls the blanket tighter, her eyes flashing. “Then explain it to me! Why was there no record at the funeral? Why couldn’t you figure out who bombed your car? Explain how else someone would know exactly when to hit you, exactly where you are, exactly how much you can afford—”
“I said drop it.” My voice cracks through the room like a whip.
Silence falls between us, heavy and sharp.
Her eyes go hard. “You asked me to help. You put me on this. And now that I'm actually getting somewhere, you want to pretend there's no problem because you can't handle the idea that someone you trust might be—”
My phone buzzes again. Another message from Declan.
Declan
Did you get my text?
“What is it?” Erin says, her anger fading into concern.
“Nothing.” I shove the phone back down. “Just Declan.”