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I curl my fingers inside her, finding that ridged spot that makes her thighs tremble. "Turned on by rebellion, princess?"

"By strength," she corrects, a moan escaping as I add a third finger, stretching her. "True strength, not the kind your father pretends to have."

Her words feed something dark and desperate within me. I withdraw my fingers, replacing them with the head of my cock, teasing her entrance without pushing inside. Her wetness coats me, hot and slick against my sensitive tip.

"Tell me what you want," I demand, needing to hear her surrender.

"You," she gasps, hands clutching my shoulders. "All of you. Hard. Deep. Now."

I push forward in one powerful thrust, burying myself to the hilt in her tight heat. The sensation nearly undoes me—wet, velvet walls gripping my cock like a vice, her body stretching to accommodate my size. I freeze, buried deep, fighting for control.

"Fuck," I groan, forehead pressed to hers. "You feel incredible."

"Move," she commands, nails digging into my back. "Please, Cormac."

I withdraw slowly, savoring the drag of her flesh against mine, before driving back in with enough force to shift the mattress beneath us. Her moan—half pleasure, half pain—sends a fresh surge of blood to my already aching cock.

I establish a punishing rhythm, each thrust deeper than the last. The headboard slams against the wall as I pound into her, claiming her with a ferocity born of the day's revelations. Each stroke drives home what words can't express—that she's mine, that I'd give up empires for her, that nothing matters but this connection between us.

"Touch yourself," I command, lifting slightly to create space between our bodies. "Show me how you make yourself come when I'm not inside you."

Her hand slides between us, fingers finding her clit while I continue thrusting into her. The sight of her pleasuring herself while taking my cock is obscenely erotic—her fingers working quick circles while her other hand grips my bicep for support.

"That's it," I encourage, reducing my pace to deeper, more controlled strokes. "Show me what you need."

"Just like this," she breathes, fingers working faster as her inner walls begin to flutter around my shaft. "So deep... feels so full..."

I angle my hips to hit that perfect spot inside her with each thrust, grinding against her on each downstroke. Her breath comes in short gasps, body tensing beneath me as she approaches the edge.

"Come for me," I growl, fighting my own release. "Let me feel your pussy squeeze my cock when you shatter."

My crude words push her over. Her back arches off the bed, a strangled cry tearing from her throat as her inner walls clamp down on me in rhythmic pulses. The sensation is exquisite torture—her body milking my cock with each wave of her orgasm.

I continue thrusting through her climax, prolonging her pleasure while chasing my own. When her spasms begin to subside, I flip her onto her stomach in one fluid movement, pulling her hips up as I drive into her from behind.

"Oh God," she moans, face pressed into the mattress as I mount her. "Cormac!"

This position allows me to penetrate even deeper, the head of my cock pressing against her cervix with each thrust. I grip her hips hard enough to bruise, holding her in place as I take her with primal possession.

"Mine," I growl, one hand sliding up her spine to tangle in her hair. I pull gently, arching her back at a more severe angle. "Say it."

"Yours," she gasps, pushing back against each thrust. "Completely yours."

The submission, freely given, triggers my release. I drive into her one final time, holding deep as my cock pulses, filling her with hot spurts of my seed. The orgasm tears through me with unexpected force, pleasure radiating from my core through every nerve ending.

For long moments afterward, I remain inside her, unwilling to break our connection. My body drapes over hers, both of us slick with sweat, breathing synchronized in the aftermath of shared pleasure.

Eventually, I withdraw carefully, rolling to my side and bringing her with me. She nestles against my chest, heartbeat gradually slowing against mine.

"What happens tomorrow?" she asks finally, voice soft in the darkness.

"We meet your father," I answer, fingers tracing patterns on her bare hip.

"And us?" The question carries weight beyond its simplicity.

"Complicated," I admit. "Your father won't approve. My family will consider it a betrayal. The old guards of both organizations will resist."

"Since when do you care about approval?" Her hand finds mine, fingers interlacing. "The man who just walked away from his birthright?"

"Fair point." I press a kiss to her forehead. "What do you want, Aoife? After all this?"

She considers the question, silence stretching between us. "Freedom," she says finally. "Not from you. From expectations. From legacies built on blood. From becoming what our fathers wanted rather than who we could be."

The answer resonates deeper than expected. "Freedom," I repeat, testing the concept. "I'm not sure I'd recognize it. My father wanted me to marry you?"

"We'll learn together." Her confidence warms something long cold inside me. "Starting tomorrow. Your father’s an idiot."

As she drifts toward sleep in my arms, I contemplate the day's revelations. Twenty-four hours ago, I was Cormac Donovan, heir to Dublin's most powerful criminal enterprise. Now I'm simply Cormac—still dangerous, still wealthy from personal accounts, but untethered from generations of obligation.

The meeting tomorrow is no longer about restoring Donovan supremacy or punishing Gallagher treachery. Instead, about charting a course neither family has traveled—one where enemies are allied.