Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 54814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
“God, I’m close. I’m so close,” he moaned.
“Come in my mouth,” she panted. “I want to remember what you taste like.”
Pulling free of her pussy, he slid her legs down and moved upward, letting her fragile body slip past him. He stroked himself, rolling the tip of his cock across her lips and watching as she opened her beautiful mouth to drink what he had to offer. With a few quick jerks of his hand, he sent a load of warm cum across her tongue, milking every drop into her open orifice until he was emptied.
Afterward, they lay there, her arm curled into the crook of his neck. Neither spoke about tomorrow nor acknowledged that this might be their last time doing this, but they were both eager to enjoy it as much as possible before it had to come to an end. They made love several more times during the night, in every way possible, from rough and tumble to soft and sweet.
Eventually, they drifted off to sleep together, unsure of what tomorrow would bring, other than the wind of change was in the air, and it couldn’t be denied.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Eimear
Eimear didn’t want to fall in love with Fergus. How could she? He was a brutal member of one of the deadliest Irish mafia factions in Boston. It was hard to reconcile who he was with how things were between them now. How she came to be here with him had been all but forgotten. It had been replaced with something else, something she wasn’t quite ready to define, but also didn’t want to give up.
“I think we’re getting close to sewing this thing up. You and I will likely be leaving very soon, maybe even today.”
“Will I be safe from him?”
“I don’t know.”
“I don’t know how he’s going to react when I tell him we’re over. I mean, we’ve already missed the wedding,” she said, realizing it had barely registered to her that she was missing her wedding day on what seemed like eons ago now. It had barely been an afterthought of, “Oh, I was supposed to get married today,” and she’d what should have been her honeymoon night getting gloriously fucked by a much better lover.
“Is he normally violent?”
“He’s short-tempered, but more bark than bite.”
“At least where you are concerned.”
“Yes. Well, where I was concerned. He doesn’t take rejection well. I’ve seen him go after former clients with a vengeance when they’ve crossed him.”
“Are you scared?”
“A little, I guess.”
“Listen, Eimear. There is no reason for you to even go see him. You can call him, send him a text, hire a fucking carrier pigeon to deliver a scroll. It doesn’t matter. He’s a blackhole, and you’d likely do well to not get too close to him again.”
She looked down at her feet and then back up at him. She’d really hoped to hear something else, like he wanted her to stay, but she’d not heard anything like that from him. He seemed content to just hang out and have sex while she was there. She could only suppose he’d forget all about her when she was gone, so why was she getting so hung up about what he thought?
She tried to focus on her plans for the future. Her first order of business was finding a place to stay. She could crash at her moms, but not for long. They were okay together in small doses, but long term, they were oil and water. The quicker she could get into a place, the better. She didn’t have any money or even identification. What had become of her purse when they’d taken her was a mystery. Or was it?
“Fergus, do you know where my purse is? I had it when you took me to the van.”
“Aye. I have it.”
“You do? Can I have it back?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he stood up and went to his room, returning with her bag in one hand. He handed it to her and she smiled. There was something normal feeling about having her own purse back, but as she shifted through it, she realized that the one thing she wanted was gone.
“Where is my phone?”
“Oh. I tossed it.”
“What do you mean? Why would you do that?”
“Men like Ciaron keep tabs on their women. I have no doubt that it had a tracker on it. I couldn’t take the chance of him tracing your whereabouts.”
“How do you know he didn’t put a chip or something in the purse itself, 007?” she asked, half-annoyed and half-amused.
“Because we swept it for bugs.”
“Of course you did. All right, well, thanks for giving me the rest of my bag back.”
“Did you need to call someone?” he asked.
“I wanted to scroll through the housing ads for a place to live besides my mother’s sofa.”
“Ah. Hold on.”
She watched as he returned to his bedroom and came back with another phone, handing it to her.