Page 10 of Sins of Arrogance (Syndicate Sins #1)

KARA

He collapses on top of me, his weight pressing me into the mattress like he’s trying to fuse us together. For a few seconds, I can’t breathe. Not because it’s too much, but because it's not enough.

I don’t want him to move. Not yet. I want this. All of it.

The stretch, the soreness, the wet heat between my thighs. The scent of sex and sweat on my skin. The way his heart pounds hard against my chest, like maybe – just maybe – it beats faster for me.

He calls me mo chuisle . His pulse.

That means something, right?

His breath is hot against my neck as he whispers words I can’t quite make out. Not English. Not Gaeilge either.

Just Mick. Raw. Bare. Unmasked.

He doesn’t say anything else. Instead, he presses a kiss to the side of my throat, then another to my collarbone, and another, softer still, right over my heart.

My eyes burn.

Because this? This version of Mick – the one who touches me like I’m breakable and sacred all at once – only comes out after he’s been inside me. After I’ve been wrung out and made to take every inch of him. Like now.

I stroke his back with trembling fingers, feeling the tension slowly drain from his body. He’s always so tightly wound. So armored. But after sex, when he’s empty and satisfied, the mask slips. And for a few precious minutes, I get to see the man I want to believe is hiding underneath.

"Stay," I whisper, my voice barely audible.

He stiffens just a little, barely noticeable. But I feel it. I'm tuned to him like I'm a Mick-receiver.

"I’m not going anywhere," he murmurs.

But he doesn't mean what I want him to. He'll stay physically, but this softened version of him will disappear soon enough.

He rolls onto his side and pulls me with him, keeping me wrapped in his arms, one hand curving around my hip possessively. His other hand cradles the back of my head like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he lets go.

His cock is still inside me, softening but not fully gone. Like he’s anchoring himself inside my body.

Maybe he is.

I tuck my face against his throat and breathe him in. Salt and soap and sin.

"I like this," I say before I can stop myself. "When you hold me after."

Mick doesn’t respond. His fingers just tighten on my waist. That’s answer enough.

I shouldn’t push. I never push. Not anymore.

But something about what we just did, how primal it was…it makes me reckless. Makes me want.

"You’re different when we’re like this."

"Different how?"

I press my lips to his chest, right over his heart. "You touch me like you feel something."

He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move.

I don’t need him to say he loves me. I gave up hoping for that a long time ago. But right now, in this moment, I want something. Anything.

He brushes a kiss to my temple. "I feel everything with you."

And somehow, that hurts more than if he’d said nothing at all.

Because it's a nothing answer. We both know he doesn't feel everything with me. And his words imply, maybe he doesn't actually feel anything.

Except sexual need.

But is sex a strong enough glue to hold two people together without love?

What happens if he finds someone else he wants like this? An image of Dierdre flashes in my mind's eye but I force it away.

He had Dierdre, according to her. And he still chose to marry me.

For ambition's sake, but he still chose me over her when he agreed to the marriage contract. And again when he left Ireland to follow through on it.

I let my eyes slide closed and my body relax on that thought.

MICK

The tension leaves Kara's body and seconds later, she's asleep in my arms.

Her breathing evens out, and that soft, sated expression replaces the fire that burned so fiercely in her hazel gaze while I was inside her.

My wife looks peaceful.

So feckin' trusting.

She shouldn’t.

If she knew what I was thinking right now, she’d throw herself from this bed and run.

I stroke my hand down her bare back, slow and steady, and try to pretend to myself it’s soothing. But my cock’s already getting hard again. Still semi erect from earlier, it thickens with every second I stay inside her.

I could push deeper right now. She’s wet and warm and open for me, her pussy still so tender from the last round that I know it would take almost nothing to make her come again.

I could wake her with it. Or not.

I could fuck her slow and deep until she came in her sleep, muscles clenching around me without ever knowing why. I could take her while she dreams, over and over again, until her body gives out and she can’t walk straight for days.

The idea sends blood surging into my dick.

But I don’t move.

Because I’d rather die than see horror in her eyes when she wakes up. She and Fitz are the only two people I never want to look at me with fear.

I love him.

And Kara? She's the addiction I have no intention of trying to kick. She is mine .

The need to own every inch of mo chuisle , every sound she makes, every look she gives, rides me like a speeding roller coaster barely clinging to the rails.

She’s not mine because we’re married. She’s mine because I've given her a place inside me no one else touches and I’ve carved out a place inside her that belongs to me alone.

But sometimes, like now, there’s a tightness in my chest I can’t explain. Not just lust. Not just protectiveness. Something else. But it's not love.

A man like me can't love.

But one thing is undeniable, Kara makes me want to burn down everything just to keep her close.

My hand slides over the curve of her ass. Soft, full, perfect. My cock is hard again now, steel and need pressing against the slippery heat of her cunt.

I want to take her.

Again.

Forcing my body to stillness and my hand up to her back again, I press my mouth to her shoulder and breathe her in.

"I’ll keep you safe, mo chuisle ," I whisper. "Even from me."

She shifts in her sleep, her leg sliding higher on my thigh, opening herself to me in irresistible temptation. She’s warm, soft, and still slick with everything I gave her earlier. Her pussy pulses faintly around my dick.

I could fuck her.

Right now. Slow. Deep. Let her wake up with me already moving just enough to draw those soft gasps from her lips, to claim her even in her sleep.

I've thought about it thousands of times. I've never done it

But feckin' hell, I want to.

Instead, I let my hand drift further down on each pass on her back until I'm caressing her ass again. She doesn’t stir.

Not until I slide my middle finger between her ass cheeks and press gently against her tight little rosebud, just enough to tease. I've never taken her this way.

I never will.

But touching her like this is almost enough to make me blow my load inside her without a single stroke of my cock.

She whimpers. Half-asleep. Dreaming.

Her thighs part further, her body canting back, seeking more of my touch. Controlling the temptation to push my fingertip past her sphincter muscles makes sweat bead at my temples.

"Michael," she murmurs.

My control shatters. That single utterance tells me she's not fully asleep.

At least that's what I tell myself.

I push my cock deeper into her heat, letting her feel the thickness of it, the promise of what’s coming.

"Mmm…yes…" Her voice is slurred, honey-thick with sleep and sex.

But there’s no fear in it. No hesitation. Only need.

I roll my hips.

Her breath catches. Her body shifts, spine bowing as I fill her. Lips parting in a soft moan, her eyelids flutter but they don't open.

"Yes," she whispers again.

Definitely awake now. Just enough. And she’s still saying yes.

"You always want me," I murmur into her hair, thrusting once, deep and slow. "Even when you’re sleeping."

Kara tilts her head up, eyes barely open. Dazed. Glowing. "Only you," she breathes.

Fuck.

I start to move, and she pushes forward to meet me, sleep-heavy but eager. There’s no rhythm, just instinct. Just our bodies finding the beat we always fall into.

She clutches my shoulders. I grab her hip with one hand, slide the other between our bodies to cup her tit. She whines when I pinch her nipple, louder when I lean down and bite the side of her neck.

"Mine," I growl.

"Yours," she gasps, shuddering.

She comes fast, hard, her body clamping around my cock like she’s trying to drag me with her.

I let her.

I thrust deep and stay there, groaning as I spill inside her again, my vision going white for a second with the force of it.

When I come back to myself, she’s still gasping, still shaking. I wrap myself around her, still inside, and pull her close like I can keep the world away if I just hold her tight enough.

She drifts off again before I can say a word.

And I lie there in the dark, my arms around my wife, my cock still pulsing inside her – and that tight feeling in my chest that won’t go away.

I don’t know what it is.

But I know I’d kill to keep it.