Maintaining our positions, Mik makes his way to a vacant couch. Sitting down, he ends our kiss and rearranges me until I’m straddling him with my back to the crowd. Resting my forehead on his, I take in his worried expression, guilt at my discernible weakness eating away at me. Lips pressed together in a tight line, Mik’s arms tighten around me, and he lets out a drawn-out sigh. “You’re a mess, Mo Ghrá. We need to get you back into therapy.”
As much as it pains me to admit how much I struggle without him, I nod my agreement.
“Therapy with Dr. Louise—” My man pauses, looking at me with eyes that twinkle with mischief. Lifting his hips, he rubs his hardening bulge against my core as he says, “And plenty of therapy from my cock. He knows what you need.”
The first real burst of humour that I’ve felt in months leaves me in the form of loud giggles when Mik winks at me. Once I start snickering at his blatant come-on, I can’t stop. Lowering my head onto his left shoulder, laughter bubbles from me, shaking my body and filling me with some much-needed relief. My man joins me, his matching laughter rumbling in his chest.
“What’s so fucking funny?” Timber’s gruff voice cuts into our moment. Mik stiffens under me for a short second before he lifts me off his lap and onto the couch beside him. He stands to greet his—our—best friend.
“Timber.” He holds out his hand, and they perform their usual weird-ass handshake before Mik pulls Timber into him for a man-hug and a slap on the back. “Congratulations, Dad. How’s it feel? I hear he’s a fucking giant like his old man.”
Timber chuckles as they both sit down on the couch. Mik angles himself so his back is half facing me, hiding me from Timber’s sight. The big blond giant shoots me a quizzical glance over Mik’s shoulder before he answers the questions. I shrug in response, unsure what Mik’s doing.
“It’s fucking awesome, Mad Dog. Bloody magic holding your own flesh and blood in your arms, knowing that you created this little person.”
The unnatural straightness of Mik’s shoulders and his ramrod posture alerts me to his unease so I slide forward until I’m pressed against him. Putting my legs around his hips before winding my arms around his waist, I cling to him like a backpack. His chest expands and retracts when he takes in a deep breath. Some of the stiffness leaves his frame, reducing my worry a little. I don’t understand his behaviour. Only thing I can think of is that he’s uncomfortable because Timber’s still wearing the President’s patch. The patch that’s his now he’s out.
“Can’t fucking wait until it’s our time,” Mik pats my hands where they sit on his stomach. “One day soon. Very bloody soon.”
Shifting so he can look at me over his shoulder, he smiles and then looks back at Timber without waiting to see if I agree. “But before that we need a wedding.”
It’s my turn to stiffen. Wedding? Baby? Hell, we’re not even engaged anymore so he’s getting a bit ahead of himself. Granted, we were together for over four years and planning our wedding until Mik walked away from me after I killed Brendan. The thing is, we were back together for less than forty-eight hours when he was arrested. I might need this man more than I need my next breath, however, we have a long way to go until I’m in any state to get married and become a mother.
“What’s Princess think about all this?” Timber covers the seriousness of his question with a laugh. I’ve confided in him many times about my internal conflict over diving headfirst back into a relationship with my ex-fiancé. The small amount of common sense that I manage to hold onto when I’m in Mik’s vicinity shouts at me to guard my heart, in case he changes his mind about us in the future. I feel Mik’s shoulders straighten once more, his answer barked in a voice that leaves no room for argument. “She knows who she wants. Just like she knows who loves her the most. Who’ll do any-fucking-thing to keep her.”
His confusing answer makes my eyebrows knit together. I don’t have time to examine his strange behaviour because both men stand and face each other. A silent conversation takes place in front of me, narrowed eyes and strained expressions telecasting the gravity of the moment. This is not a friendly exchange; something’s going down between the life-long friends. Timber clears his throat, ceding to Mik in this instance. “I’ll leave you both to it. JJ’ll kick my ass if I don’t get back to the hospital tonight before visiting hours’ finish.”
He holds out his fist to Mik, who regards it with suspicion for a second before he accepts the offer and meets his knuckles with his own. “Have fun. Tell JJ we said hi. We’ll come see her tomorrow.”
Nodding my agreement with Mik’s assertion, I speak up, determined to break the tension between them. “When do you get to bring Kaden home?”
Timber barely acknowledges me, answering me over his shoulder as he makes his way to the exit. “Tomorrow morning, hopefully.”
From my spot on the couch, I observe Mik watching Timber leave. His eyes are hard; his nose curled in a sneer. Hands on his hips, he nods at our giant-sized friend when he turns back to look at us before he goes through the door. I’m taken aback by the sadness in Timber’s expression as he regards first Mik and then me with a solemn air that I can feel all the way across the bar. He pulls the door shut behind him, disappearing from my sight but not from my worries.
“Like what you see?” Mik snaps at me, dragging me out of my vacant staring into the distance.
“Huh?”
“Nothin’,” Mik mumbles. I peer up at him, trying to gauge his mood. He’s been in good spirits all night—even when he found the cuts on my thigh, he didn’t react like this—so his bad mood makes no sense to me. Especially since it seems to be directed toward Timber. The one person I’ve never seen him fight with. Without another word, Mik grabs me by the top of the arm closest to him and hauls me to my feet. Stunned at his actions, I gasp and pull from his grip. Our gazes lock together, my eyes widening with shock. Pure, unadulterated agony fills his hazel gaze.
Agony from what? He’s free, about to assume control of the Shamrocks, and he’s bought us a new house which allays some of my fears that he might leave me. We should be celebrating; not on the cusp of an argument. I was worried about what’s going down between him and Timber, but that falls by the wayside with the realization that the man in front of me bears little resemblance to the one they took away from me.
And for that, I have my father to thank.
In the time it takes me to read his expression, Mik shakes off whatever it is that’s causing the pain in his gaze. Gripping the top of my arm again, he pulls me back to him. With one thick arm, he sweeps me off my feet and into his arms. Clasping me against his upper body in the classic bridal hold, he strides through the bar toward the bedrooms.
As is the Shamrocks way, everyone clears a path for us, patting Mik on the back and catcalling as we pass. After our tense moment minutes earlier, I’m certain that they’re barking up the wrong tree with their assumptions. Mik kicks the door to the room we call ours at the Clubhouse open, nudging it shut with his heel once we’re through it. Setting me back on my feet, I wait for him to speak—to commence the argument that we were on the tipping point of falling into back in the bar.
“Strip.”
I was in the process of putting my hands on my hips to brace for our disagreement. My arms fall uselessly to my sides at his terse command. Surprise takes hold of me, followed quickly by confusion. Crossing my arms under my breasts, I stare at him with one eyebrow arched. The man who’s messing with my mind gazes back at me without blinking. Our silent standoff continues until Mik breaks it.
Closing the space between us, he pushes my arms down to my sides, taking hold of the bottom of my shirt and yanking it over my head. Then he pulls me toward him by the waistband of my jeans. “Next time I tell you to do something; fucking do it. Don’t stand there silently daring me to bend you over my knee and spank your ass.”
My heart jumps into my throat, anticipation heating my blood when I realize what he’s trying to do. Memories of the last time I let hi
m dominate me circulate through my mind, giving me a highlight reel of one of the best nights of my life.
“Oh,” I say, taking a step back from him and unbuttoning my pants. Shimmying them down my hips along with my panties, I try my hardest to ignore the twinge of pain in my injured thigh as my pants move over the bandage. Mik’s way of resetting my psyche is much, much better than slicing my skin. As I step out of my clothes; I promise myself, the universe, and Mik that I won’t do it ever again. Once I’m standing naked before him, Mik twirls his index finger in a circle in the air. Understanding what he wants, I execute a full turn in front of him.
“Very nice. A little thinner than normal, but we can fix that now I’m home.” Trying not to let his honest appraisal upset me—he’s right, I have let myself get too skinny—I smile when he palms one of my naked breasts in each hand. Lifting them as if he’s testing their weight, he grins at me. “At least, I still have these bad boys to play with.”
Flicking a thumb over each of my nipples, they peak straightaway in response to his touch. I’ve missed him more than I can say, and so has my body. Every atom of my being, each nerve ending, and inch of skin yearns for his touch. It’s been too long; our quick session at the new house definitely wasn’t enough to satiate my unquenchable desire for him.
Although, I know that I should wait for him to tell me what to do next, my hands have a mind of their own. I’ve pushed his cut off his shoulders and grasped the hem of his T-shirt with both hands before he can protest. As I begin to lift it, Mik stops me with firm fingers around my wrists, before picking me up in one smooth motion and tossing me onto the bed.
Sprawled on my back, I prop myself upright with my elbows and wait for him to strip off. My eyes are dying to drink in the sight of his muscled, tattooed body. It’s been months since I was able to run my fingers down the ridges of his six-pack, free to dig my nails into his wide shoulders while he’s driving himself into me. God, just thinking about it has me pressing my thighs together. The throbbing in my core is a delicious prelude to what’s coming. I’m left disappointed when Mik kicks his jeans off and crawls onto the bed, covering me with his large frame.
“Mik—”
“Shhhh.” He places a finger over my lips. I eye him through a narrowed gaze, not able to let my protest go without making my unhappiness known. The feral glint in his eyes as they roam my face is saying loud and clear that he’s not going to stand for any further insubordination from me. Knocking my arms out of the way, he chuckles when I let out a small squeal of surprise. My head and shoulders land on the mattress and I bounce slightly. I’m still swaying when big hands pull my thighs apart and I feel his hot breath blowing over my pussy. Tensing, I wait for his next move.
Please, lick me. Please, lick me. Please, lick me. I chant this over and over in my head. So far tonight hasn’t gone the way I expected so I’m not holding out hope that my man’s next move is going to be the one I’m anticipating.
“Safe word?”
His question hangs in the air. Challenging me. It’s time to choose which way tonight is heading—rough fucking or sweet lovemaking. The agony I glimpsed in his expression back in the bar, his strange behaviour toward Timber, and my own need to let go of the cast-iron control I require to function without him, settles the decision in a split second.
“Angel.”
With a curt nod of his head, Mik acknowledges my acquiescence. All I can see is the top of his head, the copper-brown hair shorter than usual due to prison regulations, as he buries his face between my legs. I close my eyes and lay back, determined to enjoy every delicious morsel of attention he’s about to shower on me. In my mind, this is my reward for making it through the past five months.
Warm, soft lips clamp around my clit and suck, then his tongue flicks the sensitive nub. A finger prods at my entrance, sliding into my aching pussy, then back out again. With infinite patience, Mik works me over using his talented tongue and his finger. Adding a second and then a third digit, he has me on the verge of climaxing in a matter of minutes. A continuous moan that builds into low-pitched cries of pleasure leaves my mouth. They bounce off the walls, ringing in my ears as I near the precipice, teetering on the edge of what promises to be an earth-shaking orgasm.
His teeth nip at my clit and I scream from the unexpected pain. I claw at the sheets on either side of me and arch my back when he curls his fingers upward and hits that spot inside of me that sends me spiralling into a new stratosphere of pleasure and then straight into a soul-defining climax. I’m riding the crest; relishing the lava-like ecstasy that flows through my body, turning every limb languid, and wiping the anxiety I’ve been crumbling under from my mind. The epicentre of my world is Mik—his tongue, his teeth, his fingers—as he uses his many talents to soothe all of the damage rained down on me due to the treachery of the one person I should be able to trust above everyone else.
My dad.
Just when I think I can’t stand anymore, Mik slows his ministrations and my climax begins to lessen to a more manageable level. I become aware of the sweat that’s dampening my body, my tight hold on the sheets, and my trembling thighs. Only God knows how I managed to survive without this man and his ability to wipe away all that’s wrong with my world with his tongue.
Except Mik’s not done. He quickens the pace of his fingers, draws my clit back into his mouth and sucking it again. My desire returns full force; building to a peak once more. I’m petrified of edging over the ledge. Afraid that I’ll pass out if I have another orgasm this soon.
A finger prods at my back entrance, before sliding into my backside. I’m left in two minds—call off the climax that’s stalking me by using my safe word or see if this feels as good as it did the first time he touched me back there many, many months ago. The decision’s taken out of my hands when Mik pumps his fingers in unison into both of my entrances, pushing me closer to another dose of ecstasy. My blood pounds in my ears, my entire body quivering around him as I reach the pinnacle for the second time mere minutes after my first climb.
“Oh, my God. I can’t. I can’t.” My screams are piercing as I attempt to survive my second orgasm. My eyes roll back in my head as I mount a final protest. “Mik. Stop. STOP.”
As I’m battling to withstand the onslaught of pleasure he’s wringing from me, Mik removes his fingers and makes his way up my body. He mashes his lips on mine, pushing his tongue into my mouth and his cock into my pussy without preamble. I gasp against his mouth as he drives his erection into me with savage force. Placing his arm under my hips, he lifts them so that he can push as far as possible into my body.
I try to meet him stroke for stroke in an effort to control the pace, but it’s impossible. His rhythm is manic. Wild. When I look up at his face, I’m met with eyes that are glazed, his expression fierce and dominating. I can taste cigarettes, the beer he drank in the bar, and myself on his tongue. He explores my mouth; his tongue tangling with mine in a similar cadence to the frantic pumping of his cock. It’s almost too much. The riot of sensations bordering on unbearable.
My hands push on his shoulders. Feeling the fabric of his T-shirt under my hands, I grip it and try to pull it over his head. I want skin on skin. My breasts rubbing against the sparse hair of his chest. My fingernails leaving long, red scratches along his back. I have the material halfway over his head when my hands are seized in an iron grip and lifted above my head. With one hand, Mik pins me. I strain against him, unhappy with his decision. He simply tightens his hold and fucks me harder. With pleading eyes, I beg him to let me undress him. I want to reacquaint myself with his body like he has mine. Mik’s answering glare has me submitting to his wishes this time. I let my arms relax and concentrate on the feeling of his shaft sliding within my channel. It’s euphoric. This perfect joining of our bodies melding our damaged souls together. Solidifying us as a unit again. God, I’ve missed him.
Tilting my lower body so his cock rubs over my G-spot, Mik slows to a more rhythmical tempo. He pumps into me w
ith methodical intent, each upward stroke pushing me up the bed, leaving me a trembling mess beneath him. My inner walls grip him tightly as my third climax approaches without warning. It takes me by surprise, throwing me into a vortex that leaves my universe centred on the spot where our bodies are united and the agonizingly painful bliss it brings. I’m done. Absolutely spent. Unable to stand another second of his delectable torment.
“Angel. Angel. Angel,” I scream. I fight his hold on my wrists, squirming beneath him when he doesn’t stop. Mik ignores me. Instead, he continues to thrust himself into me, still chasing his release. He drops his forehead on mine. Staring deep into my eyes, unheeding of my repeated attempts to safe word, he fucks me with abandon until I feel him spasm within me as he comes.
“My Angel. Mine,” he groans as he fills me with his hot ejaculation. “Always mine.”
Tears I didn’t realize were coming, run down my cheeks at the naked need in his voice. His obvious pain forces me to let go of the fear tinged anger that had started building inside me when he ignored my use of my safe word. My heart is aching for him as I nod as much as I can with his head on mine and whisper, “Always.”
CHAPTER THREE
MIK
Fighting with all I have against the hands that are holding me down, my desperation kicks up a notch when I see the blade of a knife heading toward me. It’s a last ditch effort, and in the back of my mind I know it’s fucking futile, but I use my free arm to pat the hard floor next to me. Laying as I am, pinned on my stomach by four heavy fuckers, my disadvantage is obvious. I need a weapon—anything; big or fucking small—to put the odds more in my favour. I touch a warm body, not the cold concrete I was expecting. Skin that’s smooth as silk glides under my fingertips and I grab hold of it in a firm grip. The body moves and then murmurs my name. “Mik?”
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