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Page 56 of Stolen Rival (The Stolen #1)

SORCHA

I think my husband is going to explode.

It’s been an hour and a half since he mentioned kicking everyone out so he could rail me upstairs, but I politely declined his request.

Instead of taking it lying down, he took it as a personal fucking challenge and has spent the last ninety minutes whispering filthy things in my ear whenever I’m in earshot. Subtle touches, furtive glances, and an utterly dirty mouth.

My body’s on fire. My nipples are poking through my shirt, and I’m so fucking wet that both my underwear and my trousers are damp.

I wave goodbye to the last of our guests after an inordinate number of hugs and reassurances from both myself and Patrick that I’ll keep in touch with my old friends and see them again soon.

I still can’t believe he tracked them down and brought them here, or that he’s letting me have them back in my life, but I’m not questioning it.

I will take this gift horse and cradle it with both hands.

My husband has changed beyond all recognition from the dour and scary man I first met. And, having gotten to know his inner circle, I know he’s changed for me.

Right now, his hand is under my shirt and his thumb is tracing circles in the small of my back.

It shouldn’t be an erogenous zone, or in any way a sexual touch, but try telling my body that.

I press into him as I sweep the door to the house shut.

Maeve shoos us upstairs, brushing off every offer from me to help her clean up the aftermath of the party.

When the bedroom door closes behind me, I already know I’m in trouble.

I turn to look at Patrick. His chest is puffed out, shoulders squared, and he’s already unbuckling his belt.

“Oh, Maeve, let me help you,” he mimics before discarding his belt to the side.

“But Maeve, there’s such a mess, don’t you need more hands? ”

He unzips his trousers and shucks them and his boxers to the floor. “I can’t possibly let you clear this up by yourself.” He steps out of the pool of fabric at his feet before stalking toward me like an animal hunting its prey.

I should run, and part of me wants to, but there isn’t much space. Besides, he has much longer legs than I do. Instead, I dart to the far side of the bed. He can’t get to me if there’s a massive bed between us, can he?

My heart races as he licks his lips, tugging his shirt over his head and discarding it like it’s nothing more than an irritation. “Didn’t think that all the way through, did you, Sorcha?” He flashes a wicked grin at me. “Cornered yourself.” He gestures to the wall to my left.

My face is hot, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, and the thrum of fight-or-flight adrenaline has every nerve in my body zinging to life. I could go one of two ways: under the bed or over it.

I wait for him to make his move, and when he does, I spring onto the mattress. I make it a few steps before I’m slammed face down onto the bed. “We’ll have to work on the chase, mo mhuirnín . That wasn’t satisfactory.”

He yanks down my trousers, taking my underwear with them, and presses my shoulders into the bed so my arse is presented to him.

Dragging his cock through my wetness, he groans.

He pulls my body upright like I’m a puppet, and he’s my puppet master, his hard dick digging into my arse cheeks. “So wet for me, wife, so needy.”

I want to tell him he’s wrong, to push back and say I don’t want or need him to get me off, but my body betrays me. I grind against his length while he takes my top off, pausing to cup my breasts and tease my nipples with his thumb and index fingers.

Fuck.

Pleasure pools in my stomach as he rolls my sensitive peaks until they’re painfully hard.

“You know how much I hate when other men touch you.” His hand curls around my throat, forcing my head to tip back against his shoulder.

“And yet you danced with multiple men at your party.” He flexes his hand, drawing an inhuman noise from somewhere inside me.

“Did you forget who you belong to, mo mhuirnín? ”

I lick my lips. “Maybe? I mean, there were just so many peop—” My sentence finishes on a yelp as I’m tossed back onto my face. With one hand, he grips my hip, with the other, he lines himself up with my entrance and thrusts in so hard and fast I barely have time to breathe.

He pulls out until he’s barely grazing my pussy, then shunts inside me, stealing my breath from my lungs. “Who do you belong to, mo mhuirnín? ”

I roll my lips, knowing that what I’m about to say will make him even more unhinged. “I forget.”

He grunts. A crack rings out in the air a split second before heat blooms in my butt cheek. “Who. Do. You. Belong. To?” He punctuates his sentences with thrusts of his cock. He’s balls deep with each piston of his hips, driving himself deeper and deeper inside me.

“Uhhh…” I don’t get to finish my sentence before another slap rings out from the other cheek. I push my hips back toward him, silently begging him to do it again.

“Who do you belong to?” He barks over and over, fucking me like a man possessed, but still, I refuse to give him what he needs. “For fuck’s sake, Sorcha, answer the question so I can fill you with my cum.”

His words send a shiver rolling down my spine as my muscles clench around his swelling dick. His movements are jerkier, telling me he’s close and needs release.

The power is a heady sensation, knowing what he wants from me, how badly he needs to stay in control, and knowing I’m the only one who can give it to him at this moment is a rush I want to bottle and keep forever.

“Not until you tell me who you belong to, husband.”

“You, Sorcha. There is only you. You’re my everything.

” His words curl around my heart, squeezing until I can’t breathe and tears threaten.

“I love you more than life itself.” A firm smack on my arse brings me back from the edge.

“Now. I won’t ask you again.” His voice holds an unspoken threat that I’m almost tempted to make him follow through on.

“Who do you fucking belong to, Mrs. Mahoney?”

“You, Patrick. I belong to you.”

He comes on a grunt inside me, filling me with his release.

I don’t have time to catch my breath because as soon as he comes, he pulls out and flips me onto my back.

He grins down at me. His eyes are wild, cheeks pink, and forehead speckled with sweat.

“Not a drop of my cum drips out of you until I say so.”

He spreads my knees wide apart, and settles between them, nose-diving into my pussy like it holds the secret to eternal life.

As he laps at my clit like a starved man, his hands find their way up my body to my breasts. He’s not delicate with me, doesn’t treat me like I’m fragile. He kneads my tits, caresses and squeezes and tugs at them like he’s done it a thousand times before, like they were made for him and only him.

Like I’m his personal plaything.

A combination of being fucked into next week while he demanded an answer from me and the fact he’s strumming my clit with frantic flicks of his tongue has me on the edge in a matter of seconds.

He pulls back, my orgasm fading out of reach.

“N-no, no, no, no.” I claw at his head, trying to push it back down between my legs. “Patrick, you cruel fucker, don’t stop.” I thrash my hips, arching my back to try to lift my pussy to meet his face.

His chuckle is dark.

“I’ll kill you, Mahoney. Don’t think I won’t.” I’m panting, clawing at the sheets, my skin covered in a sticky film of sweat as I buck and writhe underneath him. “I know how to shoot now.” I writhe again. “I’ve gotten really good.”

“What’s the matter, mo mhuirnín? ”

“You know,” I spit through gritted teeth.

“Is there something I can help you with?” He’s toying with me, taunting me, punishing me for making him wait so long to hear that I belong to him .

“Make. Me. Come.” I suck in a shaky breath, my body trembling with the need to release. “Now.”

“Ah, ah, ah. Not until you repeat who you belong to. I think there was a matter of some confusion earlier. Wasn’t there?”

I bite my teeth into my bottom lip, shaking my head back and forth. “No. No confusion. Please, Patrick, please make me come.”

“Oh, I will, Mrs. Mahoney. All you have to do is tell me again who you belong to.” He blows cool air across my swollen clit, and I whimper.

“You, Patrick. I belong to you.” My voice is a desperate wail, and I don’t care who else hears it. I need to come more than I need to breathe.

He throws me a wolfish grin, his chin glistening with my arousal, before he buries his face back where I need him to be.

He drives me to the edge with ease, holding me there like he’s out for a summer stroll and there’s no rush for him to do a goddamn thing.

I open my mouth to yell, demand he gives me what I need, or beg, I’m not sure which, maybe both, but my pleas die on the back of my tongue as he throws me off the edge and into blissful oblivion.

My body bows, bucking off the bed, and a scream bursts from me as Patrick’s strong hands hold me in place.

Warmth floods my muscles as wave after wave of my orgasm crashes into me, relief weaving its way through my veins.

I’m not sure if I come for a minute or an hour, but Patrick doesn’t relent until my body is a boneless mess, the bed is soaked, and my throat is raw.

By the time we both collapse, satiated and exhausted, we’re soaked with sweat and heaving sharp breaths. I dig Patrick in the ribs. “Always knew it was just a matter of time before I figured out how to control you.”

A low growl rumbles through his chest. “I’d say you have me wrapped around your little finger, but…”

“We both know it’s my pussy that has the real power.”

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