Though I’d raised the topic, I despised the fact another man had brought some walls up between us. Then I had to remind myself that Aoife had only known me for a few hours, and that what she did know of me wouldn’t make anyone all that at ease with ‘sharing.’
She’d learn, though. And soon.
I moved to her side and dipped my head, pressing a kiss to her mouth, I bit at her bottom lip, raking it with my teeth. I fucking loved how she whimpered at that move, her tension of seconds before bleeding out like it had never existed.
“Later on tonight, I’m going to think of you, baking in this kitchen, and I’m going to jerk off to it.” I reached back and pressed my finger to her mouth. When she sucked it in, my cock leaped to attention, and I was hard pressed not to moan as I thrust my finger between her lips for a few seconds.
When I pulled out, she nipped at my fingertip, making me groan. Her eyes were sparkling for the first time that morning and I knew, point blank, that the way to get her more comfortable around me, the way to make her at ease with my sudden intrusion in her life, was to overwhelm her with sex.
Because I couldn’t do that to her, not when she had to be sore as fuck, I had to take myself out of the equation.
Earlier on, I’d known that. I had business to take care of, I needed my focus, while she needed to heal. But now? The very prospect had me cursing.
My hands turned into fists as I gritted out, “Be good,” and then, without a backward glance, I stormed out.
Fifteen hours later, after several meetings from hell with Aidan and my brothers, when I walked into my home, the sweet scent of freshly baked bread hit me.
I’d forgotten.
Not Aoife, never her, but my request. I’d forgotten that I’d asked her to make me some. Now, my house scented of the gift she’d left me, and it reminded me of how fucking empty the penthouse was.
I stalked toward the kitchen, uncaring that all I’d intended on doing was heading for the shower to jack off and clean up before diving into bed.
The sight of five loaves on the counter had my lips curving.
They were like what my mother had used to make. Farmhouse white, she’d called it. Big things like cartoon loaves. All doughy and pillowy, not sweet like the bread here.
It was uncanny how I knew what the bread would taste like before I even cut into it, slathered it with butter, and took a bite.
The taste of home hit me, and for once, it didn’t turn my stomach. Before things had been so bad, my mom and I had been close. This reminded me of those times.
As I chomped on three slices, I reached for my cell. It was two AM, and Aidan had brought me back here after a meeting at his office. I’d seen no point in calling Samuel out from his warm bed, but now that I was here, I had questions.
Me: Did Aoife get home safely?
It didn’t take Sam even thirty seconds to reply—it didn’t matter that it was late.
Samuel: Yes. She left at four—covered in flour she was, too. Gave me a loaf of bread of all things.
Me: Good. Enjoy the bread. I need you here at six tomorrow.
Samuel: Sure thing, boss.
Putting the phone down, I smiled at the thought of her baking half a dozen loaves. As I looked at the army of bread, I had to concede that it wouldn’t take me long to power through it.
In fact, I might be on the last loaf when I could finally bring her back here, and claim her as mine again.
❖
Aoife
“I can’t believe it.”
I winced. “Me, either.”
Jenny and I both stood outside what had been, until five days ago, my tea room.
Like rats that had left the sinking ship, the building was now vacated, and Acuig had builders swarming all over the place like fleas.
Even knowing Finn was at the head of Acuig—or Aidan Donnelly, I figured to be accurate—I hated what I was seeing.
It hurt knowing that the place Mom and I had built together would be no more.
“What made you do it, Eef?” she asked, shortening my name the way I’d allow only her to do. The nickname made me sound like some kind of Vape manufacturer, and only she could get away with it, considering I’d known her since I was ten years old, and she’d been at my side through most of the crappiest parts of my life.
This included.
“The money was too good to be true,” I half-lied. I couldn’t exactly tell her about my father, could I? Not even Jenny knew the Senator was my biological dad.
“That sucks. Are you going to open somewhere new?”
I pondered that a second, and shook my head. When disappointment flashed over her features, something I only saw thanks to her reflection in a car that trundled by, I murmured, “Not a tea room.”
“Not a tea room?” She frowned. “Then, what else?”
“A bakery. Just a bakery.”
“With a store front?”
“Of course. Where else could you sell stuff for me?”
She grinned at me. “Really?”
“Yeah. Really.” I elbowed her gently. “I just don’t know where.”
“Has to be this neighborhood. Your rep has already soared, so let’s face it, not being in this vicinity would just be stupid.”
“True. But it limits us. It’s not like there’s a nice storefront around here that we don’t know about.”
She harrumphed. “We could think outside the box.”
“We could?” I cocked a brow at her. “I’m all ears.”
While she fell silent, I turned back to stare at the little cafe that had been the culmination of years of my mother’s hopes and dreams. I felt so sad that it was coming to an end. Like a final chapter of a book I wasn’t ready to put down, and yet, the tea room wasn’t my dream.
I hated being nice to people.
Seriously.
I know it made me sound like a bitch, but I didn’t want to be sociable, I wanted to bake. I wanted to try new pie recipes, make my name Insta-famous. I wanted to start the newest trends and have people coming from all over the States to find my treats.
That was my dream.
I refused to think that, in his own way, Finn had set me free. By paying above the market value, I had more than enough to buy the things I needed. And most of the equipment was paid off. Thanks to my father.
After that first initial meeting those many years ago, I’d had a call from the bank telling me that my student loans, as well as all the debt under my name, was cleared.
Yeah, talk about a big old birthday gift.
At first, I’d thought it was like a ‘keep quiet’ payment, but when he’d sent me a burner phone that was only for him to use, I’d realized it was to take the pressure off me.
I was lucky, I guess. Or maybe the fact that I hadn’t demanded anything from him had made it easier for him to want to get to know me?
I didn’t know, probably never would. Still, I was in a good position because of him and Finn. Especially when Dad had helped me after Mom’s death. It meant that I could probably afford better premises than I even knew.
“What about that old hair salon on Seventh?”
I curled my nose. “The stench of old peroxide is stained into the floor.”
She snorted then raised her hand and began to tick off on her fingers, “It’s big. It has an outdoor space where we could put a few tables for people wanting to just sit down rather than run off on the go. It would probably be easy to customize the place to how you need it, and also, it’s been empty for ages. The owner would probably snatch your fingers if he thought you were interested in renting that place.”
I gnawed on my bottom lip. “That is very true.”
“I think we should go get a coffee,” she told me softly, and I realized I’d been staring at the building, while she’d been staring at me for only God knew how long.
“Yeah, sure,” I replied, but my answer was lackluster.
She tipped her head to the side. “He screwed you, didn’t he?”
Jenny smirked. “Thought as much. Also thought you were walking a bit stiffly this morning.” She let out a low moan that had my cheeks flushing crimson. “He looks like the type of guy who knows what to do with his body. Was he good? Was he big?” She groaned, like she was turning herself on with thoughts of my man.
That phrasing, even though it was inwardly spoken, had me freezing internally.
Finn wasn’t my anything.
I needed to come to terms with that very, very quickly.
“Eef,” she whined. “Please. I need the details. I need to live vicariously through you.”
I had to laugh at her melodramatics. “That’s a change. Normally I’m living through you.”
She pouted. “I know. Gah, you’re lucky I love you like a sister, or I’d be jealous as hell. As it stands, I’m just relieved you got laid, and he popped your damn cherry. Now, just promise he did it well, so I won’t go and knee him in the balls.”
When her tone went from lusty to growly, I was touched that she cared enough for me to give a shit whether Finn had made it good for me or not.
Of course, we were like sisters, but Jenny was weird with men. That whole bros before hoes thing? Well, in reverse, that wasn’t how she lived her life.
I mean, I loved her, too, but she would dump me as soon as a guy in a bar waved at her from across the room.
I was used to it, even if, once upon a time, it had pissed me off.
“It was like . . .” I couldn’t even describe what that first night with Finn had been like. The two subsequent nights after, I hadn’t heard from him, and had been certain his promise of ‘next time’ had just been BS. Then, the third night, the car had appeared out of nowhere at my side on Canal Street, and he’d pushed open the door with a ground out, “Get the fuck inside.”
I’d been surprised as hell, but something in me had leapt to obey.
I wasn’t the obeying sort. That was why I loved owning my own business. Liked being the boss, and where my kitchen was concerned, I ruled with an iron fist. But with Finn? It was like all that turned to dust.
I’d climbed in, and the minute the door had closed, he’d been on me like pastrami on rye. His mouth devouring me, his body pinning mine to the seat.
Even as I’d tried to get my breath, he’d bitten off against my mouth, “You’re fucking addictive.”
He hadn’t sounded happy about it, but I’d definitely been content at his statement.
Later that night, he’d told me he’d had no choice but to avoid me for two days. If he hadn’t, he’d have fucked me, and he knew I needed to heal.
It was like reverse chivalry, but I was learning I was far too easy where Finn was concerned.
I’d determined, though, that I needed to cut myself some slack.
Jenny went through more guys than I did panties, and she was used to the hustle. Used to the game. I wasn’t. This was new to me. I was allowed to be overwhelmed, allowed to act like a fool for this, my first foray into what went down between men and women in the bedroom, and I’d also allowed myself to hurt and to rage when he eventually decided things were over.
It all sounded very wishy-washy, but I was on the bullet train to Finn-sville, and it was a direct stop.
There was no avoiding him when he could and would appear in my life at his whim, and more than anything, there was no avoiding what he could make me feel.
Many women might judge me as pathetic, might say Finn was using me for sex, but I’d challenge them to spend a night with a man like Finn O’Grady and not be affected. Truth was, I loved the way he bossed me around. I loved the way I wanted to obey because everything he asked of me was so damn dirty, it felt wrong to comply without being pressured into it. If he used me for sex, I was using him right back, and to me, that was Feminism 101.
Except, in my class, I came out with a shit-ton of orgasms, some that were close to nuclear, and I also came out of it with a body confidence that was better than six months of dieting.
I was suddenly hyperaware of my form. Of my strong legs, of my round breasts. Finn seemed to have taken the shutters off, and I was loving it.
“You know the sex you see in movies?” I finally said, managing to get some of my thoughts into words.
“Porn or regular?”
I pondered that. “A bit of both?”
She moaned again. “You lucky bitch!” she whined, and hell, I couldn’t disagree.
Laughing as we headed into the nearest coffee shop that had, until five days ago, been my direct competition, we ordered coffee at the counter then headed for a small seating area.
As we plunked ourselves in the comfortable seats, I told her, “He’s filthy, Jenny.”
“Fuck,” she whispered back. “How filthy?”
“Super filthy.”
She snickered. “Only you could say that so piously.”
“I went to Catholic school,” I teased her.
“So did I!” she retorted, but we both laughed because Jenny had attended, but she’d spent most of the time not trying to learn or get her diploma, instead trying to get Father Bryan, the only priest on campus under thirty-five and who was surprisingly dishy, into her bed.
She’d spent years attempting to ruin the man’s vows, and I was really glad she’d never managed it.
Jenny wore her sexuality like a suit of armor around her. It pissed me off sometimes, but she was my friend, and I could talk to her about anything.
Well, anything except my father. That was, for his sake, a no-go.
And though I was talking about Finn, there were some things I just couldn’t discuss. Like how, that first morning, he’d fed me breakfast. How I’d felt his eyes on me as I’d moved around his kitchen. His request that I bake him bread, while anything but sexual, felt so intrinsically private, that I couldn’t share that with anyone.
I’d used Fiona’s recipe. It was imprinted in my brain anyway, and I guess I’d been mean trying to remind him of home. . . .
I wasn’t sure if he’d been serious, first off. Asking your sexual partner to bake you some bread had to be one of the oddest requests around, right? Then, I hadn’t been sure if I’d ever see him again. He’d been tender with me that morning, tender but strained. I’d felt certain I’d never see him again, even though he’d left me with the images of him jacking off that morning.
So, even though I’d complied with his request, I’d tried to make it bittersweet for him by reminding him of the mother he’d abandoned years before.
As I’d made the dough, kneading it by hand as Fiona had taught me, wasting hours at Finn’s place while I let it rise then bake, I’d realized how much I’d missed baking. It was what had prompted me to think of this venture.
I wanted to bake. Nothing more, nothing less.
I didn’t want to piss around with tiny canapés. I didn’t want to deal with fiddly amuse bouches to tempt the tiny appetites of size-zero women.
I wanted, I’d realized as I knocked back the dough in Finn’s ultra luxurious kitchen, to go back to my roots.
After I took a sip of coffee, I stated, “Fancy coming to the salon with me now?”
Jenny blinked at me. “Hell, yeah.”
I nodded and downed the rest of my coffee, something in me settling as I felt like this was the right move to make. “If the management company can’t fit me in then we can just case out the area.”
Jenny snorted. “Honey, if they’re not around like a fucking shot, they’re morons. That place has been empty for years.”
My lips curved at her statement. Jenny had many flaws but when it boiled down to it, she never packed her punches. Because I was accustomed to that, I figured it would keep me in good stead for however long Finn O’Grady graced my bed.
He might have my head in the clouds, but Jenny would ensure my feet stayed firmly on the ground.
Chapter Nine
Finn
I’d never liked anyone watching me sleep
, and had never appreciated the notion of watching anyone sleep, either.
It was fucking creepy in my mind, but Aoife was so goddamn peaceful that sometimes, I couldn’t stop myself from waking up, and rather than heading to my personal gym, just watching her. The way her lashes fluttered in REM sleep, the way she slept on her side, her tits smushed together and quivering with each breath she took—it was like watching an angel. An angel with really big tits.
Yeah. I knew I sounded crazy. Knew that this thing, whatever the fuck it was, had taken on a life of its own, but even crazier, I was okay with that.
Was okay with this need that was unfurling inside of me for her.
It was pitch black outside—that happened when you woke up at three AM—and in the distance, the city lights sent tiny glittering specks along her creamy form. I wanted to touch her. I always wanted to touch her. Wanted to connect with her, and not always sexually, either.
My heartbeat seemed to slow when I was around her, and so far, we’d done nothing but fuck and eat together. I barely knew her, and I wanted that to change. I wanted to know everything, and not from some fucking file, but from her lips. I wanted everything, the full story, in her words.
This craving to know all of her came as a slight shock. I never usually gave a fuck about any of my other lays, but everything about Aoife was unusual.
She shuffled in her sleep, dragging me from my thoughts, and carefully, I crept out of bed, not wanting to disturb her. Only whack jobs like me got up at this time of the night, but I had a schedule to fulfill and these nutty hours were a part of it.
When I padded over to the bathroom, I had to shake my head at the clothes I’d put in there before bed last night. Yeah. I didn’t want to disturb her so much that I’d begun anticipating the need to grab workout gear before I slept.
My throat tightened at whatever the fuck that meant as I pulled on a pair of basketball shorts and a shirt. I always dumped my sneakers in the gym, so I padded out, letting one long lingering glance drift over her resting form before I told myself to man the fuck up and get on with my day.
Screw You: A Screwed Duet (Five Points, Hell's Kitchen Book 1) Page 11