Page 59

Orla's fingers tighten around mine. "It's complicated," she repeats.

"Complicated doesn't begin to cover this," Sarah says, but she's smiling slightly. "So what happens now?"

"Now we finish what started seven years ago," I reply. "Collins still needs to pay for your uncle's death."

"Collins is the one who ordered the murder?"

"And stole two million from my father while doing it."

Sarah shakes her head. "This is insane."

"Welcome to our world," Orla says.

That night,after Sarah falls asleep in the guest room, Orla and I sit by the fireplace. The events of the day settle between us like dust.

"She handled it well," I say.

"Better than I expected." Orla stares into the flames. "She's stronger than she looks."

"Runs in the family."

Orla turns to me. "Thank you. For saving her. For protecting someone who means nothing to you."

"She means something to you. That makes her important to me."

"Even after everything? The lies, the deception?"

I pull her closer on the couch. "Especially after everything."

Her lips find mine, soft and grateful. The kiss deepens as weeks of tension and fear release into need. I taste salt—tears she didn't know she was crying.

"Orla," I whisper against her mouth.

She responds by straddling my lap, her body pressing against mine with desperate hunger. Her hands work at my shirt buttons while I grip her hips, holding her close.

"Here?" she asks, glancing toward the hallway where Sarah sleeps.

"Quietly," I reply, capturing her mouth again.

She rocks against me, friction building through our clothes. My hands slide under her shirt, finding warm skin marked with bruises from our earlier confrontations. Each mark tells a story—our story, written in violence and desire.

I lift her shirt over her head, exposing breasts that fit perfectly in my palms. My mouth follows my hands, tasting her skin while she arches above me.

"Cillian," she breathes, fingers tangling in my hair.

I work her jeans open, sliding my hand inside to find her wet and ready. She gasps as I stroke her, her body trembling on my lap.

"I need you," she whispers urgently.

I free myself from my pants, positioning her above me. She sinks down slowly, taking me inch by inch until we're joined completely. Her heat surrounds me, perfect and tight.

We move together with careful restraint, mindful of our sleeping guest but unable to deny our need. She rides me with slow, deliberate motions while I thrust up to meet her. Each movement builds pressure between us.

"Mine," I growl against her throat.

"Yours," she confirms, voice breaking with pleasure.

I feel her body tightening around me, close to release. My thumb finds her center, circling with precise pressure. She bites my shoulder to muffle her cry as she comes, body convulsing in my arms.