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I can see the raw honesty and vulnerability in his gaze. He is taking a leap of faith and this time it’s my turn to catch him.
“I want that too,” I say. Standing on my toes I kiss the underside of his chin. “But I think we should start with the fucking. A wedding can wait until after everything else settles down.”
My words have barely left my lips before he turns me toward the intricate wooden pulpit.
“Hold tight, wife,” he says beside my ear. “Your men will be wanting to see you shortly so this will be hard and fast.”
“Yes!” I hiss as he flips my dress over my ass.
The sound of rending material is loud in the cavernous room as he tears my underwear from my body. My fingers curl around the wooden edges as I stand on my toes, pushing my ass further into the air. Rafe’s fingers run through my folds, gathering my wetness before rubbing my clit harshly.
“I love that only I get to see you this way. In public, you are the perfect wife, slightly unhinged but always so formal. Even when you’re taking someone’s life. And I love you for it.” His engorged cock slips into my channel with ease and a moan escapes us both. “But it’s this, this is the part that has me burning for you. My perfect whore, always ready and waiting for me to fuck you. Even in a goddamned house of God.”
My cunt flutters with my impending orgasm. His filthy words spur me on, ramping up my arousal. Rafe fucks me harder, the sounds of our connecting flesh and my arousal ringing through the room. His hand caresses my stomach through the material of my dress.
“I can’t wait to fuck you when you’re round with our child.”
His words set me off. My orgasm steals my breath and my knees buckle. Rafe catches me and drapes my spent body across the pulpit, never stopping his punishing thrusts. The wood scrapes at my skin and a corner hits me in the hip but I don’t complain. More moans fall from my lips as my husband becomes crazed, thrusting into me so harshly if I didn’t know better I would think he was trying to breed me right this minute.
He loses his tempo and soon a roar reaches the rafters as his cock thickens inside me before he paints my insides with his seed. Taking me with him, he collapses to the floor, breathing heavily. I lay spread across his chest with a smile I can’t, and quite honestly don’t want to, hide.
“Don’t knock me up too soon,” I say, softly. His entire body goes rigid beneath me and I chuckle. Lifting myself up I kiss the tip of his nose. “I really am enjoying the practice rounds.”
Chapter Seventeen
A Guard Down
Rafe
Blood stains my rug. Willow is back home. Diego has been patched up and evicted—nicely. I’m not that sort of asshole. Can’t say the same for Dom who drew a bead on the man’s back as he limped away. Even Regina has settled somewhat.
The surprising outlier to my peace is Roman.
He alone seems uncomfortable with heading back to the Hernandez house, not that I blame him. Initially, I thought it was Willow he sought out, but after finding him in almost every one of my meetings and eating beside him for a week it finally clicked. The person he’s clinging to is … me.
Not a position I’m used to, but the silent boy intrigues me as much as apparently I do him.
“He’s looking for a mentor,” Dom grunts. I watch the boy depart my study after a particularly nasty negotiation involving a one-way exchange of body fluids. Or maybe an offering, because that’s what taking down the Hennie’s man felt like. A test, to see if I was capable of holding my own against whatever Konnor threw at me.
Today will not be the last, nor will it be one-sided. Because I deported the body to his mother’s front gate in Ireland. By the time it lands, that stink will stick to Konnor, and my brand of conviction would not be questioned.
Ball is in your court, my friend.
If only for a brief time.
Roman watches the whole debacle with avid eyes, drinking in not only the actions but the subtext that lay beneath.
I roll my shoulders. “The boy needs an education.”
“He’s getting one.” Dom cants his head, trailing his gaze along the flooring. “That rug has to go.”
“Burn it.” I pull a formal-looking folder in creams and blues out of my drawer and slap it on my desk.
Dom stalls, studying the child with a fake smile wearing a boater hat depicted on the front. “The fuck is that?”
“His education.”
Laughter booms around me as I sit back and lace my fingers over my stomach. “When you’re done.”
