It makes me a little nervous. “There will be plenty of time for that, Mr. McCarthy.”
That gets me a full-on smile. Something flutters in my chest.
“And you didn’t answer my question about the brothers. How do you have so many?”
His brows furrow in confusion. “My mates in the Clan, lass. Don’t tell me your father and brother don’t call their men brothers as well?”
Again, his code is so different from theirs it startles me.
“They don’t,” I say. “Never.”
“Bloody hell.”
“Can we please just go downstairs and eat now?” My stomach gnaws with hunger, but I want to leave for a different reason. I don’t like talking about my brother and father.
“Aye. Get dressed, and we’ll go.”
He gestures to the dresser adjacent his. I open the top drawer, and find it filled with socks, nighties, bras, and knickers. Some are mine, but most are new. I look through every drawer, marveling at the quality of clothing.
Maybe I will like it here after all.Chapter 9CormacMother of God, I knew the Martins were a manky Clan, but really? Do they have any code at all? They don’t protect their women but sell them like cheap French whores. They don’t even call each other brother. Is there no fellowship between them?
Last night, when I met Blaine at the club, I delivered the bloodied sheets. He tossed them in the trunk of his car and didn’t even have the decency to acknowledge me, just turned his back and walked toward the club, the fucking twat.
I didn’t let him go, though. I wanted him to pay for his treatment of Aileen, and I didn’t want to spill his blood inside.
He paid. I sent him home with two black eyes, broken ribs, and a warning he’d better fucking heed. I would’ve preferred spending the night with my new wife, but I had a duty to perform. And her thanks and appreciation were payment enough. I want her to know that arsehole will never come near her again.
I don’t miss the way Aileen’s eyes light up when she looks at the folded clothes in her drawer. I had my staff put some of her own clothing in here, but I had quite a bit bought new. A new life. A new start.
“Let’s go,” I tell her. “You can give me a fashion show later. There are more clothes in the closet.” I gesture to the large walk-in closet in the corner of the room.
“Are you kidding me?” Her surprise is adorable.
“No. But I’m starving, too, and I get impatient when I’m starving.”
“So that’s the ticket, is it?” she asks, stepping into a tiny pair of lacy knickers. I swallow hard, my cock thickening as I watch her dress. Christ, but she’s gorgeous, that full, heart-shaped arse begging to be kissed, spanked, and bitten. I swallow.
“The ticket to what?” My voice is hoarse like a horny teen’s.
“Keeping you well fed keeps you happy. Feed your belly?”
She’s got a smart mouth, but fuck, I love it.
I have to touch her. I need to be close to her again, to inhale her seductive scent and touch her silky skin. I cross the room and reach for her from behind, anchoring my hands on her hips. She stills when I bring my mouth to her ear. Her body’s warm against mine, and my cock strains against my zipper.
“Good girl,” I whisper in her ear. “That’s right, lass. Satisfy all my appetites, and you’ll find I’m much easier to get along with.”
She closes her eyes and moans when I nibble her lobe before licking the shell of her ear. Christ, but the girl’s responsive, eager. I splay my hand on her belly, my fingers grazing the lacy edge of her knickers. She pushes her arse against me. My cock throbs.
“I’ll let you heal before I fuck you again,” I whisper in her ear, tracing her ear with my tongue. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll keep my hands to myself.”
I slide my fingers past the elastic band on her knickers. I love the way she trembles and pants before I even touch her.
“Did you like it when I made you come last night, lass?”
“Oh, God,” she says in a strangled whisper. “Are you joking? I fucking loved it.”
“Good girl. Tell me, sweetheart. Do you touch yourself?”
She grabs my arm, holding on so she doesn’t sway. She nods, then swallows hard when I cup her bare, hot pussy.
“Do you make yourself come?”
She bites her lip but nods again. “Aye.”
“Tell me what you think of when you come.” I take one finger and part her folds. Waiting.
She whimpers a bit.
“Tell me,” I repeat.
“I… I sometimes think about… being dominated.”
Christ. I mentally fist bump in victory.
I reward her with one stroke of my finger. She gasps, and parts her legs, silently begging me for more.
“Do you? How so?”
“I… I’ve imagined being handcuffed and used,” she whispers. Again, another rewarding stroke of my fingers, but this time I enter her core. Gently probing. The sweet, seductive scent of her arousal makes my mouth go dry.