Sexy as Sin

“Who cares?” I slip my arms under his leathers and tug at the fabric, making my desire known as I slide my fingers up his back. “They already talk about us.”

If our fathers weren’t in charge, the whispers would be heard far more often. I don’t care what people say. I only want Cillian. Everything I dreamed of in high school is right there in his eyes. Our whole future.

“After dinner. I promise,” he tells me with a handsome but cocky grin. “I’ll take you back to bed after dinner.”

The tip of my nose nudges against his as I let out a small moan of protest; it’s nearly a mewl of want. Cill’s deep groan as he backs me up to the wall and lowers his lips to mine forces a simper to my lips that grows into a full-blown smile as he kisses down my neck. His rough stubble and roaming hands are everything I want and need.

Just as my head falls back and my breathing turns heavy, Cill backs away and then cracks a smirk at my mouth opening in protest and disbelief.

He chuckles at me and I smack his chest. “After dinner, Hellcat.”

Swatting my ass, he keeps me moving and I don’t miss a beat, getting on my tiptoes to nip his lower lip.

The guys are already gathering in the rec room and someone must catch a glimpse of us because they call out for Cill. A low groan of annoyance leaves me and Cillian gives me a rough chuckle in response. It’s like one big family, and I love that too. One big happy family with Cillian’s dad in charge after mine handed him a business deal he couldn’t refuse. I don’t know exactly what they do, and if I’m honest, I don’t want to. Cill says not to worry; my father tells me to do as I’m told and not ask questions. All in all, I’m aware they go out on runs for weeks at a time. When they leave, Cill is anxious and calls me every night. When they come home, he can’t keep his hands off me.

He’s loyal to me and all Cill’s ever asked is for me to stay loyal to him, to trust him and not to worry. I’ll take that response over my father’s any day.

There’s already a crowd in the rec room, the chatter intensifying as we walk in and Reed, his best friend, greets us with the tip of his chin, a smile on his face. He looks like the cat that ate the canary and I wonder what he know.

My mind slips back to what I thought Cill said last night. I could have sworn he mentioned marriage. It seems silly to be nervous like I am for him to ask, since we both know we’re meant to be married. But he hasn’t yet and every day that passes by, I know he’s going to ask soon. I feel it in the pit of my stomach.

“You want a beer from the back?” Reed questions, gesturing to the other side of the floor.

“Hell yeah,” Cill answers and I nod too. I’m only eighteen and Cill’s nineteen, but liquor has always flowed easily for us here. Maybe that’s another reason I prefer this place to home.

Part of this open space is an expansive kitchen, separated from the rest by a countertop, and there are leather couches, an old coffee table and a professional pool table on the other end. The rack is on the table next to some chalk, but the cues are hung up because no one’s playing right now.

A couple of women, two friends I’ve met a handful of times but I forget their names, sit on the side of the coffee table, leaning forward and talking to Finn and Cill’s uncle, Eamon. It didn’t take me long to learn everyone’s roles. Finn is the treasurer, which seems at odds with his large stature and weight. He’s first generation and formed the club with Eamon and Cill’s father decades ago. His accent is thick, as is his Irish temper.

Eamon is the road captain … but also the enforcer. He’s much leaner and again it seems to go against natural thought until you see the man in a rink. Cill’s uncle loves to tell stories of “back in the day, when I was a fighter …”

If another person walked in right now, they might be intimidated. The room is riddled with leather and tattooed skin. Not everyone gets it, but I do. I’m not afraid.

Unlike one of those women, who has a nervous laugh that still hasn’t left her. I watch as Finn’s brow raises and he leans back. Both he and Eamon are older than the two blondes, one platinum, one dirty blonde, both of them gorgeous. The two men have always had hangers-on and it’s never sat right with me. I get that they don’t want commitment like the others; they don’t want “old ladies.” The term makes me roll my eyes. But seeing women come and go is uncomfortable. It’s family dinner and if they don’t intend on them being family, they shouldn’t be here. It’s not like it’s an intimate gathering. There are over a dozen people here already and another two dozen or so to come. But still …