Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 83384 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83384 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
I nod. But the question of our consummation looms. I want to know.
“Cormac?”
“Yes?” He’s taking off his t-shirt, revealing again his muscled torso. I couldn’t put my arms around him if I tried. His arms are as large as small trees, his hands could span my waist. He’s got several tattoos, but the only one I recognize is the Dara knot. Is it a McCarthy one, then?
I realize I’m staring.
“Did you have a question, lass?” he asks, his fingers coming to his waist.
“The… our… our consummation,” I say in a strangled sort of voice. I don’t know how to ask this, so I just say let the words fall from my lips unchecked. “When? How?”
“After I shower. We’ve not time to waste.” He looks at his wristwatch.
My heart thunders in my chest. “So soon?” I ask. “Why?”
“Your brother will want proof. And I want the bastard off my arse as soon as possible.”
Oh, God. Oh God.
Proof that he’s taken my virginity. My legs give way and I sit heavily on the bed while he shuts the door to the bathroom.
Chapter 7
Cormac
When I enter the bathroom, I make up my mind. That was the last fucking time I’m asking Caitlin to do anything hospitable. Even the bathroom’s strewn with flowers like a goddamn greenhouse. The scent is nearly cloying, but at least Aileen seems to like them. And I suppose that matters.
God, but the lass pisses me off. She’s got a smart mouth she’ll learn to tame, but a quick wit I hope she doesn’t. I like that about her. She’s a clever lass.
I wonder if she thinks she’s been given some freedom in here, but soon she’ll see she hasn’t. My men stand guard outside the door, and the windows are barred with thick metal. Though the purpose is to protect us from intruders, it goes both ways. If she’s foolish enough to try to escape again, she’ll have no luck.
I strip off the rest of my clothes. My rock hard cock springs free. I grip it and groan.
I know this is a job. I know she’s afraid. But damn if I’m not at least a little eager to fuck that pretty, virgin cunt of hers. I stroke my cock, momentarily contemplating the thought of stroking one off so I’m not so eager to take her. So I can have some fucking self-control when I finally do.
Christ.
But I decide against it. I need evidence of our consummation, and soon. I quickly lather up, welcoming the steaming hot stream of water that cleanses the Martin filth from my pores. I stand under the billows of steam and water and think of what’s happened today. How I punished her. How we took our vows. Our terse talk in the car on the way here. The way her eyes lit up when she saw the garden, the view of the ocean from the front door, the flowers in the room. She hasn’t even seen the full estate, the greenhouse we built last year, or the woodshed behind it where we store wood for winter’s hearths.
The Martin scum live in near squalor, the manky bastards. At any rate, I can offer her a better home, and happily. Reckon it’ll help me tame the lass.
I shut off the shower, and reach for a towel, cursing when I knock over a fucking vase on the floor. The glass shatters, pink tulips splayed on the floor like lily pads in a pond. I grunt, step over them and onto the small bath mat, and towel dry off. I’ll have to have someone clean those up.
I open the bathroom door to find Aileen in the doorway. She’s white as a ghost, and her eyes are wide and fear filled. My pulse spikes.
“What happened? Are you alright?”
The poor girl looks a fright. Her long, blonde hair has come loose from the pins that held it, damp strands clinging to her forehead. Her makeup’s running, black eyeliner or whatever the fuck giving her the look of a raccoon.
I’m out of patience. “I asked you a question, lass.”
“I heard the glass break,” she whispers, her fingers coming to her throat as if in self-preservation. “I—I fancied you were angry about what you had to do and you—you broke it on purpose.”
Anger spirals in my belly. What sort of fucking bastards were the Martins that she acts like this? When I get my hands on her brother, I’m going to enjoy pummeling the living hell out of him. Her father, too.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “Caitlin’s filled the feckin’ bathroom with all sorts. Flowers and greens and vases like a goddamn garden.”
She blinks.
“Knocked it over by accident is all.”
“Oh.” Now that her fear’s been put to rest, it seems she realizes I’m wearing nothing but a towel. Her eyes roam over my body, and her fingers on her throat splay.