Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
“I know, Seamus. I know. I'm keeping this girl, if she'll have me.”
“Oh, she'll have you,” he says with a laugh. “She looks at you as if you're the savior himself.”
He takes another swig of his beer. “Just don't fuck it up.”
“Helpful advice, as always.” I sip my drink.
“I'm a helpful man.” He claps me on the shoulder and wanders off to find his wife.
I turn back to watch Bianca. She catches me staring and smiles, that shy, beautiful smile that makes my chest tight.
Keeping her. That's one way to put it.
I take her to the training room in the basement after we have supper, where Seamus and I spar to work out the tension and rage that come with this life.
“We're going to do a little practice on how to defend yourself,” I tell her. “Just in case I'm ever not there, right?”
“I don't understand,” she says, looking around at the mats, the punching bags, and the weights. “You're always with me. You barely even let anybody look at me sideways.”
“I'm not omnipresent,” I tell her, moving behind her and adjusting her stance.
“Oh, using the big words now, are we?”
I slap her arse hard, and she giggles.
“Now listen. You plant your feet shoulder-width apart. Good. When you throw a punch, you don't just use your arm. Use your whole body. Put everything into it.”
I guide her through the motion, my hands on her hips, turning her into it. She's focused, determined, her brow furrowed in concentration.
“Like this?” She throws a punch at the bag, and it barely moves, dust puffing from the edge.
“Come on, love, you can do better than that. You know you can.”
She tries again. Better, but still holding back.
“What are you afraid of?” I ask.
“Hurting myself, I guess.”
“You won't. Trust me.” I move in front of her and hold my hands up. “Hit me. Right here.”
“What? No, Ashland—”
“Hit me.”
“I'm not going to—”
“Pretend I'm Marcus.” My voice goes hard. “Pretend I'm the bastard who grabbed you and tried to kill you. Now hit me.”
Her eyes flash. She winds up and throws a punch that connects with my palm, hard enough to sting.
“That's my girl.” I grin. “Do it again.”
We work for an hour. By the end of it, she's sweating and breathless and glowing. I'm hard as a rock, watching her fucking move. Watching her fight. Watching her become stronger, right in front of me.
“That's enough for the time being.” I kiss her hard and deep, and she melts into me. “Shower,” I growl against her mouth. “Now.”
But we don't even make it to the shower.
By the time we get to the room, my mouth is on hers, my hands are everywhere, mapping every curve, every soft inch of her.
“Ashland,” she whispers as I drop to my knees and hook her leg over my shoulder, dragging down her knickers and leggings in one quick tug.
I love eating her fucking cunt.
“Let me taste you, love. Let me make you come.”
I feast on her like a man starved, my tongue working her clit, my fingers curled inside her. She's so fucking sweet, so wet for me.
Her hands grip my head as she rides my face. “Oh god, Ashland, I love that. Don't stop. Don't fucking stop.”
She comes with a cry, her thighs trembling, her pussy clenching around my fingers. I don't stop until I've wrung out every last aftershock and she's whimpering.
“Wrap your legs around me,” I whisper in her ear, hard as fuck.
I pin her against the bed, then line myself up. “You want this?”
“Yes,” she begs. “Please. Love me. Take me. I want you.”
I sink into her in one hard thrust, and she gasps at the intrusion. She's so wet, so hot, so tight. I groan into her neck. She's so perfect, her body made for mine.
I fuck her hard and deep, her nails digging into my shoulders.
“You're mine,” I growl in her ear. “Fucking say it.”
“Yours.” She gasps. “Yours, Ashland.”
“That's right.” I mark her with a sharp slap of my hand against her arse. “That's my girl.”
I bite her neck, marking her, claiming her. “Come for me again. Come on my fucking cock.”
She does, and her body seizes, her cries echoing in the room. I follow her over, emptying myself into her with a roar.
We stay like that for several heartbeats, both of us breathing hard, her forehead pressed to mine, sweating skin to skin.
“I love you,” she whispers, and the words still hit me like a punch to the gut.
“I fucking love you too,” I say. “I love you, and I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to be what you need, but I'm going to spend the rest of my life trying. I know that much.”
“You couldn't tell a lie if you tried, Ashland McCarthy.”
Then she kisses me, soft and sweet and full of promise, and for the first time since my brother died, I think maybe, just maybe, I can be the man she deserves.