by Bethany-Kris
“She’ll be grand,” Connor assured Evelyn. “Maybe make a friend or two.”
Ciara could use that, he imagined.
Every kid needed a friend.
“I know.”
“You don’t sound like it, love.”
Evelyn frowned, and rubbed her hands together. “It’s a church. Everything is safe and fine at church, right?”
Well, he didn’t think he was the right person to answer that, given his non-history with attending service. Connor did have something else that might reassure Evelyn, though.
“One of my guys is waiting in a vehicle just across the way there,” Connor said, pointing to the gray sedan idling on the other side of the street from the church. “He won’t leave until we do, and he knows to keep watch, or let me know if something happens. All right?”
Evelyn relaxed a bit. “Okay.”
“Grand. Let’s get this shite over with, so I can get home, and salvage some of my afternoon in bed.”
“Connor!”
“What?’ he asked, fixing his jacket with one hand as he directed her toward the doors. “I don’t do church, or God.”
None of that nonsense …
“Well, I would like to,” Evelyn said quietly.
Despite speaking softly, Connor heard the firmness and strength in Evelyn’s words all the same. He decided then and there to stop making such a big fuss over this whole thing that clearly meant something to her.
Once they had found a pew closer to the back, Connor slung his arm around Evelyn’s shoulders, and drew her into his side.
“It’s an every Sunday thing?” he asked.
“Every Sunday.”
“Why this—church?”
“God,” she corrected gently.
Connor made a noise under his breath. “I’m not sure I believe in that sort of thing.”
“Faith and belief are not always the same, Connor.”
“Fair enough.”
Evelyn sighed. “You’re still angry with me, aren’t you? For leaving, I mean.”
Yes.
And terrified she might do it again.
Disturbed that she had walked back into his life and went straight back to how things had used to be—or essentially the same, without all of the problems like his father, and her strange behaviors—before she left him without so much as an explanation.
“Connor?” Evelyn asked.
He squeezed her shoulder. “I’m worried that there’s going to come a morning when I wake up, and you’re not there. The problem with that is, I love you too much to let it make me frightened enough to send you on your way. So, instead, I live anxiously—constantly—waiting for that morning. I’m more sad than angry, Evelyn.”
Evelyn wiped under her eyes with her thumbs, then whispered, “I was always coming back.”
“It didn’t feel like that, love.”
“But I was.”
“That doesn’t make the anxiety or fear any less real now, either.”
Evelyn pursed her lips, her fingertips dancing along his that were resting on her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
His fears—his problems—were not something he should put entirely on her. She had come back, after all, just as she promised. Her reason for going was a beautiful, important one, and he would never deny her something like her own flesh and blood child. And she had come back different, more than just the physical changes, but emotionally, she was more settled, had less childlike outbursts, and even seemed more at peace … with him.
It was not her.
It was him.
Connor was only now realizing that perhaps his biggest issue was his need to make sure she never left him again, though he was quite aware of how selfish that was. Even though she didn’t suggest she would leave, he was subconsciously keeping her stuck at his side, even if it was to his own emotional detriment.
Like not allowing her to learn to drive, so that she could take her damn self to church.
Simple, stupid things.
Connor pulled an envelope from his inner jacket pocket that he had been holding onto for quite a while. He had gotten it put together when Evelyn had left, though he’d had it in the works for longer than that. He should have given it to her the moment she was back in his sights, as it was hers, and it was everything she deserved, but he hadn’t.
Another way he had been … keeping her.
Connor handed the item over without saying a word.
“What’s this?”
“Something you should have, lass.”
Evelyn’s brow puckered as she tore open the top of the envelope, and pulled out the folded-up pieces of information inside. As the Mass began, and the priest walked down the aisle, Connor stayed quiet, letting Evelyn absorb every piece of information she now held in her hands.
Some of it was her history.
Her real mother, how she had been killed, and Evelyn’s subsequent kidnapping. It held her real birthdate, her actual heritage—born in America to an Irish immigrant, who had turned to prostitution to support her addiction and newborn child—and the last name she had been given at birth.
Some of it was her future.
Documents that would allow her to have a life of her own, with a real name that existed, with him … or not, if she chose.
So much of her life had been inflicted upon her by the people around her—men, mostly. They chose what name she could use, when or if she could speak, what food went into her body, when and with whom she could have sex, or rather, be the warm hole to be filled when they demanded it, and the list went on and on.
Like scars, those inflictions covered her body and her psyche.
Connor was not going to inflict more on her.
“Is this …?”
“It’s you,” Connor said, “and it’s also whoever you want to be, love.”
Evelyn blinked up at him, her gaze becoming wet with tears she allowed to freely fall without wiping them away. “Thank you.”
“No need to thank me for something that was never mine to begin with, Evelyn.”
“But I am … yours, Connor.”
He smiled. “As long as you want to be, yes. That’s our deal. You can be mine, but—”
“You don’t own me.”
“Exactly.”
“Mommy?”
The quiet voice drew Connor and Evelyn’s attention to the wee child standing in the aisle, the Sunday school teacher waiting behind her. Ciara looked back at the woman, and then to her mother.
“I don’t want to stay down there,” she whispered.
Connor chuckled, knowing how happy that probably made Evelyn. “It’s all right, lass. I’m sure your mammy doesn’t mind.”
Ciara smiled brightly, and then climbed into the pew, situating herself between Connor and her mother. It put him further away from Evelyn than he wanted to be, but that was okay, too. Once Ciara was settled, Evelyn looked over her daughter’s head to meet Connor’s gaze.
“You know what I would really like?” she asked.
“What’s that?”
“To be married in a church like this someday, in a pretty white dress, with you waiting at the other end of it to meet me.”
Connor cleared his throat. “I’m not sure I’m the marrying type, love.”
“Funny, you’re the only man I’ve ever wanted to marry.”
Well, then …
He’d make sure that happened for her.
Soon.
Four months later …
“Here, let me help with that, mate.”
Connor grumbled under his breath, frustrated his fingers suddenly seemed to want to behave as if they were too fat to put his cufflinks together properly. “Thanks.”
Killian smirked as he easily slipped the diamond studded links into their proper holes, fixed the backs, and let his boss go. “A bit of nerves is normal.”
“Is it?”
“Sure.”
“Even if a man knows?”
&nbs
p; Killian shrugged one shoulder. “Knowing what is right and what you want doesn’t make a difference to how it might change things tomorrow, I suppose.”
Connor could appreciate that, but he didn’t think it was why he was so feckin’ restless on his wedding day. “That’s not the problem.”
“Then what is?”
“A lot of things. A great many things.”
Too many things.
His right-hand man barely blinked a lash at his vague omission. “Do you want me to sneak Evelyn across the church for you, so she can calm your dumb arse down before this whole show gets started?”
“That’s part of the problem.”
“Pardon?”
Connor glanced out the window, noting the light dusting of snow that had started to fall. Evelyn wanted a winter wedding, in a proper Catholic church, with a ceremony that matched the day and her beliefs. He still wasn’t one-hundred percent sure on the whole God thing, but he loved her, so he gave her whatever the feck her black heart desired.
After all, it made his black heart keep beating.
He was more than happy to play the saint in a sinner’s cloak for the day, as no matter what, by the end, it would have the same result.
“She doesn’t have anyone to sneak away from,” Connor said. “Not a father waiting; not a mother fussing. No friends fixing her dress or whatever. She’s very alone—though she never says a word about it—but I know, Killian.”
“She isn’t alone,” his friend argued, “she has you.”
And her daughter, too.
Connor still wondered if it was enough.
“And quite frankly,” Killian said, glancing over his shoulder at Connor as he headed for the door, “you are more than enough to have to deal with on a daily basis; like a whole crazy family in one insane package. She doesn’t need more. Who the feck does, where you’re concerned?”
Connor grabbed the closest thing he could find, which happened to be an innately designed vase that was probably expensive, old, and important to the church. He didn’t think about any of those things as he threw it at the back of his best friend and right-hand man.
“Feckin’ gobshite,” Connor snarled.
Killian’s laughter rung out as the vase shattered on the door when he slammed it closed. His voice was muffled behind the door, but Connor still heard it. “I can’t help it that it’s true, you prick.”
“Come back here and let me hurt you for that one, arsehole.”
“Nope.”
The bastard …
Killian was just lucky that Connor needed a best man for the day.
Connor could kill him on another day.
• • •
The interesting thing about Saint Johnathan’s church was the turrets that had been hand-built by a stone craftsman. Two turrets, actually, at the back of the building where the private rooms were sectioned off.
According to the priest and three nuns that inhabited the living space in the basement, the turrets had once been a part of the living quarters for more nuns, as they had assumed the church would always have the need for the women. As the years had gone by, they realized they didn’t need as many, some had chosen to live outside of the church, and as such, the turrets and private rooms had been redesigned for private use by the congregation and parishioners during events like weddings.
Connor was on the first floor in his private room, but just two floors above him was Evelyn’s private room. All he had to do was simply flick a lock, climb the turret stairs, and knock on her door.
So, he did just that.
He knocked on the door with the large brass “3,” stepped back, and waited. It didn’t take long at all before Evelyn opened the door, and peeked out.
“What are you doing up here?”
Connor looked her over, noting the silk robe she wore. “Where’s your dress?”
“We have another thirty minutes. It’s a heavy dress.”
“Where is Ciara?”
Evelyn smiled softly. “Running the halls with one of the younger nuns. She thought I might need a break to get ready.”
“Did you?” he asked. “Or did you just need to be alone?”
“I’m not sure.”
Connor didn’t have to question Evelyn on her answer further, because he could tell by her eyes that she was telling him the truth. It had only been a few months since she had shown back up with her daughter at her side, and while things for them had gone back to their sort of normal quickly enough, Ciara was another story.
She was a sweet child, and good God, she reminded Connor of her mother when Evelyn was younger. But Ciara had her moments, just the same as any other child might, and she had lived four years away from her mother, so a bit of distance was to be expected.
Connor hoped that changed, especially for Evelyn.
“Come here, lass,” Connor demanded.
“What—”
Evelyn didn’t even get the chance to argue before Connor had pulled her out of the doorway, and into his arms. He pulled the door to her private room closed, which left them alone together in the turret. No one was liable to interrupt them where they were, as all the rooms that led into the turret were locked for the day, and Evelyn’s was the only one unlocked at the moment.
Connor didn’t let Evelyn get out a word, kissing her to keep her quiet instead. He was careful not to mess up her hair, though the perfectly-set curls still demanded he tangle his fingers into the red-gold strands and appreciate their silkiness. Before he even realized what he had done, Connor had backed Evelyn into the bannister of the turret, and was leaning over her as their kiss deepened.
“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” Connor said gruffly as he kissed along her cheekbone.
“Don’t fuck up my makeup, Connor.”
“You’re ignoring what I said, love.”
“I’m fine.”
“Lonely?”
“Not when I know where to find you.”
Connor finally relaxed a bit, but unfortunately, his attention was quickly overtaken by the fact Evelyn’s robe had opened up under his handling. She was gripping the bannister with both hands, not even bothering to cover the black lace, full-body lingerie that did very feckin’ little to cover her body.
He ran his hands over her bare thighs, barely stopping himself from letting them wander toward the scrap of lace covering her sex and up her stomach.
“Tell me this has something to make your cunt easily assessable, because I would hate to cut it off you right now,” he muttered low.
Evelyn laughed a breathy sound. “It’s crotchless, so yes.”
Connor was sure the groan that came out of his mouth was inhuman. “There is a God.”
“Oh?”
He nodded. “And I think He loves me.”
“We don’t have time—”
Connor scoffed, stopping whatever she was going to say instantly. “We have time; we have plenty of time. We will always have time, lass.”
“Connor.”
“Turn around, bend over, get your arse and pussy high, and I’ll be nice enough to gag you quiet so no one else in this church hears you. Argue with me again, and I’ll let your feckin’ screams echo while I ride you like you need to be, love.”
Evelyn’s cheeks pinked as her lips popped open. “You wouldn’t dare.”
He met her gaze, lust and sin dancing in his mind. “Don’t test me. Bend over.”
“Connor, this is a church, you ass—”
Well, that was enough of that.
“Mouthy wee lass today, aren’t you?”
In less than fifteen seconds, Connor had Evelyn stripped of her robe, turned and bent over the bannister, and his pants down around his hips. The lingerie suit had nothing to cover her body from her cunt, to half way up her pert arse. It made it rather easy to kick her legs wide, get his cock between her thighs, and thrust home.
He muffled her first shout of surprise with his hand, but that wasn’t going to work when all he wanted to do wa
s ride Evelyn to feckin’ heaven. He needed both hands for that, or rather, he needed them for some kind of support. He used that robe of hers, twisted into a rope to gag her, knotted it around his fist, pulled her head back and went to town.
Making love was one thing.
They were almost never soft, slow and sweet.
They preferred fast, hard, and brutal.
He didn’t think the fact they were getting married, and in a church, was going to make much of a damned difference to that, so he didn’t go easy on her. Each snap of his hips pushed Evelyn into the bannister, but every single time, she backed her beautiful arse right back into his groin, her silent way of demanding more. He pulled her gag tighter, thrust deeper, and watched the water rush to her eyes as her shaking increased.
There it is …
“No time, my feckin’ Irish arse,” he grunted into Evelyn’s ear. “You’re about to come already, aren’t you? You never have any control when you’re riding my cock.”
He didn’t really need her to answer—the spasm inside her cunt, contracting tight around his cock as she broke a manicured nail against the bannister, was more than enough for him.
He’d always have time for this.
He’d always make time for it.
Evelyn never looked sweeter than when she was blissed, properly rode, and feeling it all over, long after it was done. This wasn’t going to be the exception.
“Take it like I know you can,” Connor said as he picked up his pace, his own orgasm coming on rather fast. “Take my cock until it damn well hurts, Evelyn, just how you like it.”
She did, coming again before he finally emptied himself into her clenching pussy while burying his teeth into the back of her neck like the feckin’ animal he was. She was shaky and dazed as he pulled from her body and turned her around, laying another hard kiss to her mouth.
Connor undid the robe he’d used as a makeshift gag, and helped Evelyn put the item back on, tying it at her waist, but not too snugly. Then, he pulled an extra pocket square handkerchief from inside his suit jacket, and cleaned the mess between his soon-to-be wife’s thighs that he’d made in his haste.