Page 41 of Stolen Rival (The Stolen #1)

PATRICK

Dancing around the kitchen in the middle of the night with my wife was not something I ever thought I’d be doing. Yet here we are, and the oddest thing about it is that it doesn’t feel odd. It feels right.

In my line of business, weaknesses that can be exploited by my enemies are something I have avoided for years.

And make no mistake, Sorcha is a weakness.

But it’s too late to keep fighting the inevitable.

Somehow the scrappy little redhead with a clear death wish, considering how she has spoken to me from the very beginning, has burrowed beneath my skin.

Which makes it even more important that I never let my feelings for her show outside of this house.

Whatever it takes, I have to control the narrative, make it known that she’s a means to an end, not someone I care about.

I slow, then stop. She climbs off my feet, but as she begins to move away, I tighten my hold, caressing her lower back in clockwise circles.

The truth is, I don’t want to let her go. Intimacy is a challenge for me, tied yet again into my fear of losing control. I have spent years honing my aversion to it. As the eldest son, I’ve always known my duty, even if I was thrust into leadership long before I was ready. But I’m tired.

Tired of always having to be the strong one.

Tired of having no one to pour out my troubles to.

I can’t talk to my brothers. Being raised in a mafia family doesn’t allow for vulnerability.

If I sat them down and told them how exhausted combining Dylan’s business interests with my own has made me, and at the same time trying to figure out where the Mahoney’s former empire fit, they’d laugh and crack a joke.

Tell me this is what I wanted and to get over myself.

They’d be right. I did want this. I still do. But that doesn’t mean I can’t have a fucking whine about it on occasion. Except publicly, that’s exactly what it means.

Then Sorcha went and showed genuine interest in how I’m doing and opened a floodgate inside me that I can’t close. I want to have someone to talk to, to share troubles with, and despite how this union came about, I think that one day, she might fulfill that role.

There will always be a piece of her that hates me for what I did to her family, but if she searches deep inside, she will understand it, too.

Her father and brothers might’ve kept her out of the business directly, but she’s lived her entire life in our world.

She knows that if I’d let what the McCarthys did to the O’Sullivans go unpunished, they’d keep coming until me and mine were in the ground.

I graze my fingers up her sides until they brush the curve of her tits.

The sound of her breathing picks up, an obvious signal of arousal.

She’s braless beneath her nightgown, and I take full advantage, gripping roughly, my fingers and thumbs pinching her nipples simultaneously.

She gasps, head thrown back, the creamy column of her neck extended for my pleasure .

Dipping down, I kiss her throat, her jawline, run my teeth over her earlobe. My cock thickens, unrestrained in the gray tracksuit bottoms I threw on before leaving my bedroom. Her pelvis tilts, her body seeking friction.

I span her waist and lift her, setting her down on the kitchen worktop. Parting her legs, I step between them, and her nightgown rides up, revealing shapely thighs. I shove it further up her legs until I get the answer I wanted.

“No underwear. Perfect.”

The scent of her arousal is like a siren call, but as I lower my head, she grabs a handful of my hair. “Stop.”

Blue is not a color I favor, especially when it comes to my balls. I arch a brow. “No?”

“I didn’t say no. I said stop.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“Before you… we… I need you to promise me something.”

“Negotiations? Your timing could be better.”

She huffs, glaring at me. It’s so fucking cute that I can’t stop my lips from twitching.

“The last two times we’ve been together, after you were done with me, you dismissed me like a servant rather than your wife. If your plan is to go for a hat trick, then this isn’t happening.” She shakes her head. “Don’t need to feel like scum for a third time, thanks very much.”

Shame fills my chest, crawling into my throat until swallowing becomes a challenge. For a man who rarely apologizes, my wife is due yet another one from me.

“I’m sorry.” I plant my hands on the worktop on either side of her thighs.

“Intimacy is… not something I’m used to or proficient in.

I meant my earlier apology. What I said to you in New York was disgraceful, and I’m not proud of myself.

And the other day, in my office, I was angry after overhearing wh at you said to Cathal.

I wanted to make a point. But I admit, that wasn’t the way to go about things. ”

“And what was the point?”

She’s not letting me off lightly. I admire her for the strength of her spine. She’s a tough one, and that bodes well for our future. “That I’m in control, not you. That I am always watching. That there are no such things as secrets when it comes to you.”

“You realize how fucked up that is.”

“It’s… necessary. I already explained. You’re a weakness my enemies will exploit given half a chance.”

“I am not weak.”

“That’s not what I mean. You’re my weakness. Our relationship was born out of a need for revenge but that was then. Things are different for me. I’d hoped they were maybe starting to be different for you, too.”

Several seconds pass. I don’t push, even though patience is not a skill I have in abundance.

“They are.” She says it so quietly, I only just catch the words. “I haven’t forgiven you, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to fully get past what you took from me, but I understand it. I understand this world we live in and how normal rules don’t apply to people like us.”

It’s more of a concession than I thought I would get. I cup her face in my hands. “I’m glad to hear you say that, and I can promise you that what happened in New York and in my office will never happen again.”

“You said that before.”

I push as much sincerity into my expression as I can and gaze into her eyes. “I truly mean it. Believe me, Sorcha. It won’t happen again.”

She nibbles her lip. “Okay. ”

I angle my head. “Okay? So, this is okay?” I push her legs wide until her pussy is exposed and brush my thumb over her clit.

She sucks in a sharp breath. “Yes.”

“And this?” I ease one finger inside her, then two.

“Yes.” She groans when I curve them inside her. “Definitely yes.”

Reaching my free hand around the nape of her neck, I massage the tight muscles. The urge to kiss her roughly, take her roughly , consumes me, but I curb it. After the way I’ve treated her, it’s tenderness she needs, and that’s what I plan to give to her.

I cover her mouth with mine, teasing, coaxing, until she opens beneath me. My tongue spears her, mirroring my fingers. Low, deep moans echo through her chest, and she grabs my wrist, pushing me deeper inside her.

The straps on her nightgown fall down her arms, and her tits spill free. I break away from her mouth, sucking on a rosy nipple. Withdrawing my fingers, I spread her arousal over her clit and rub in circles, slow and steady, my eyes locked on hers.

I spear her again, using my thumb to tease her clit, bringing her closer and closer to orgasm. Her gasps and pants and moans are music to my fucking ears.

“Close. Don’t stop.” She grips my wrist again, telling me what she wants, and I give it to her. “God, oh God.”

Her muscles ripple along my fingers as she climaxes.

Her clit pulses under my thumb, and I keep up the pressure until the pulses stop.

Careful not to hurt her, I gently withdraw my fingers.

My cock has broken free of my tracksuit bottoms, the tip shining with pre cum, the crown purple where the skin is stretched tight.

Shoving my trackies down to my knees, I hook her calves over my hips then run the head of my cock through her soaking pussy.

“Is this okay?”

Another of those adorable huffs spills out of her, and I swear there’s a tiny growling sound. Fuck. This woman owns me.

“If you don’t put your cock into me right this second, I’m filing for divorce.”

A chuckle vibrates through my chest, but when I drive inside her in one thrust, neither of us are laughing.

Home. She feels like home.

It’s not the easiest angle to fuck someone, but I couldn’t move us somewhere else if I tried. I thrust into her, over and over, my hips chaotic as I chase my release. She clamps both hands onto my arse, and as I shove in, she pushes herself onto me.

It’s bliss. It’s fucking heaven.

“Coming,” I grunt, lowering my forehead to hers as I silently empty my cum inside her. I wait for the spurts to stop, but although I’m satiated, I’m unwilling to pull out of her just yet. We stay there for at least thirty seconds, our breathing slowing in time with one another.

She winces as I pull out, but as she makes a move to jump down, I put a hand on her thigh. “Wait.”

“If you’re looking for round two, I might need a minute.”

I look down at my cock, still half hard but fading fast. “You’re not the only one.”

She laughs, and something warm and unfamiliar shifts in my chest. Is this what intimacy feels like? As it’s not something I’ve ever understood or experienced, I can’t say for sure.

I pull up my tracksuit bottoms and rinse a dishcloth under the hot tap, then return to where she’s swinging her legs, her hair a wild tumble around her shoulders, and looking thoroughly fucked.

“Open your legs.” When she does, I clean her with the cloth, then toss it in the bin. Capturing her around the waist, I lift her down from the worktop and move the straps of her nightgown back into place. She bites on her lip, appearing uncertain of what her next move should be.

I make it for her.

“Come to bed.” I hold out my hand. She looks at it, then at me.

“Whose bed?”

Kissing her temple, I murmur, “Ours.”