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She stands her ground and it occurs to me that she’s not scared. Not of me. She knows what I am and that scares her, but… she isn’t afraid of me.

Good.

I like that leeway.

That room to play.

“What happened? Why did you ask me about Dad?”

She’s not his spy or anything like that. I’m not even sure why he’d want a spy. On paper, the man’s got the deal he wants, and me? I’ve got what I want, too. And even if for some reason de Rosa sent us into a death trap, she wouldn’t know anything about it.

Besides, as I discussed with Seamus on the way to one of our safe houses with the girl, my trust, or lack thereof, in deRosa aside, for the man to take hold of everything of mine, he’d need to take us all out.

Paddy O’Sullivan might have the right connections to have snuck in with a bomb while we got the girl.

I don’t think Pella was the kind to martyr himself.

“What’s going on?” she asks. “You can talk to me. I just… don’t scare me.”

“Were you worried about me?”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Nice dress. Is it new?” I straighten and she finally backs away, but the flare in her hazel eyes is excitement, not fear. I grab her by the waist, pick her up, and dump her on the edge of the sink. Then I flip up the skirt. “New panties.”

“Are you obsessed with my clothes?”

I slide my hand up her thigh to the panties and bring my mouth to hers.

“No. I’m obsessed with you in them—and out of them.”

TWENTY-TWO

lucie

Callahan’s mouthis hot and delicious. Whiskey dances on his tongue as he taunts and teases mine. The piercing slides against me, promising me the pleasure of everything he has to offer.

I don’t even care we’re in a bathroom. I’d gladly go down and practice my skills. I’d offer him my pussy and my ass. Beg him to take both.

Anything for that full, stretched feeling, for the little delights those rungs of silver unleash within me.

His demanding fingers stroke over my flesh, the wetness between my thighs making everything jump like I’ve been zapped with a low bolt of electric charge. His fingertips whisper over my inner and outer lips and up to circle my clit.

I close my eyes, the hand that usually holds my hip or hair has the sink, and I’m balanced and spread for him. Blood courses through my veins with a resounding chant of “yes, yes, yes!”

Callahan’s lips trail kisses down the side of my throat and I reach for him, touching his chest. I slip a hand up under his thin t-shirt to pluck and twist and pull at his nipple piercings.

“Holy Christ, Lucie Joy,” he growls against my ear, “do you want me to fuck you in here?”

“I don’t know.” Yes, my blood chants again. Yes!

“Yes, you do, baby girl. Yes, you fucking do.”

He slides two fingers into me, turning them, curling them to rub that little bundle of nerves inside, then draws circles on my clit, pushing me closer to the edge.

“I owe you this from earlier in the kitchen. Come for me.” He starts to thrust and circle and rub. Pleasure blooms and then bursts, shooting out to every cell. His delicious magic fingers make me stutter, pulse, and then my muscles contract as a euphoric wave crashes down and roars through me.

He kisses me hard, swallowing my cry, and I clench my fingers hard on his nipple.