Kyra: The Irishman’s Wife (For The Love Of The Irish Book 2)

by V Vee

  Because at that point, everyone, outside of my wife and our children, was a suspect. And whoever I found out was involved in this attempted assassination would find themselves wishing my father’s mother had gone through with her threat to drown me when I was only three.

  Chapter Nine

  Kyra- K-Love

  I stood anxiously in the middle of the driveway, looking for my man and the rest of the guys who had gone with him. Carrick had told Nia, who’d rushed over to tell me, all about how Andrew’s car and the other three had been blown up in the parking lot. Thankfully Ronan had saved Andrew’s life, but at this point I needed to see him for myself to make sure he was okay.

  Then I could go find my sister and pull her ovaries out through her motherfucking mouth.

  When the car drove up the driveway, I barely let it come to a stop before I was yanking open the back door and tugging Carrick out of the way so I could get to Andrew who sat in the middle.

  I kissed him all over his face, telling him how happy I was that he was okay and that if he had died in that bomb I was going to kill him, and I moaned when I felt him lift me up into his arms. I knew he was carrying us through the house and upstairs to the bedroom, but I didn’t care.

  I needed him.

  “Oh don’t worry, baby. I’m going to reassure you that I’m alive. Over and over again.”

  His voice had darkened to a heated promise, and it thrilled me. A furious heat tangled deep inside me. Binding me. Enraging me. Aching in me.

  Desire raged, uncontrolled within me.

  “And then what?” I asked. “So you reassure me that you’re alive, and then what, Irishman?”

  Andrew wasn’t a man to tease.

  Or challenge. “Well, I’m going to fuck you again. So hard you forget your name, any problem or issue we’re having with your sister, and you even forget to be mad when I tug on your hair a little bit.”

  Nothing had ever sounded so utterly impossible. Me not caring about Andrew pulling my hair? He must be getting ready to fuck me so good I died and saw my grandmother again.

  That was the hottest damn thing I’d ever heard. “You want anything else? You know besides pulling my hair?” I asked.

  His expression darkened, intense and confident. “No.” His eyes scanned my body as I sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for him to do something more than simply making me wet with his words. “Now I want something else.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You. Moaning my name, your legs spread, my fingers buried deep in that tight, little pussy that gave me my babies, with my big fat cock buried in that smartass mouth of yours.”

  “You love my smartass mouth,” I pointed out, groaning as Andrew leaned forward to bury his face in my neck.

  “You’re fucking right I do.”

  Our bodies locked together in fiery passion. Our arms tangled. Chests pressed tightly together. My soft to his hard. Lips opened, pressing against one another.

  Panting.

  My fingers curled into his shirt, grinding against the hard muscle beneath my hands. I’d never wanted a man more than I wanted the one who’d claimed me the minute he saw me in a bar. The man who’d fought with me when someone shot up my grandmother’s old home. The man who’d fucked me in his bar, on top of a table, with people around us.

  The man who gave me my twins.

  The man who killed his uncle and his cousin for being racist, for disrespecting me. For disrespecting us.

  A crazed heat scorched through me, surging from my fingertips to my toes and every neglected part in between. I nibbled on his bottom lip and Andrew gripped me hard, lifting me up from the bed and walking backwards, a kiss for each step, until he spun me around, my back pressed against the wall. I gripped his neck, his shoulders, his chest.

  Andrew was the only man I’d ever been with who kissed me so roughly. Every swipe of his tongue, every squeeze of his hands along my curves was a dire warning of passion and desire.

  Andrew McCarthy didn’t fuck around when it came to bringing me pleasure, he just fucked. Rough and demanding. Crazed. His body hardened in every delightful way under my fingers.

  He clawed at my shorts, tugging them higher, then pulling away the waistband, shoving his hand beneath it, and pawing at my dark pussy beneath. The heat from his fingers teased my heat with sharp agony. I wiggled, desperate to move my soaked panties away from the slickening part of me aching for his touch.

  Andrew dropped to his knees, ripped my shorts and panties down, before he dove between my legs. He forced my legs apart and gripped my hips.

  “Better hold on baby. I’m reassuring you that I’m still alive and reminding myself why I survived. This bomb ass pussy being the main reason.”

  My shudder gave away how much his words affected me. So did my slit. My wetness. Even now. After two years of being together. I still released a breathy, lip-biting groan from my throat at his filthy words.

  His tongue flicked over the part of me that was the hottest and the wettest.

  Up and down.

  Side to side.

  In and out.

  Every swipe drew another shaking breath from my lips.

  Every little nibble of the lips of my pussy tightened the core of me to an almost impossible degree. The intensity of the way I felt about this man coiled inside me.

  How the fuck can I love him so much?

  Tight and wanting and relentless in his constant, unwavering licks to my clit, I tangled my fingers in Andrew’s hair, trying to push him away as the constant pressure pounded me.

  Harder.

  Faster.

  Hotter.

  He slurped. Sloppy noises that only made me more wet. The slickened sounds of my aching pussy echoed his harsh growls. My man was hungry as fuck and he feasted on me. One solid lick and grunt before he buried his face in my slit and crashed me against the wall. My knees were weak, legs spread, and I was one suck of my clit away from orgasming on the most dangerous man in Baltimore’s face.

  He was also the only man in the world who understood how to use a tongue like a cock and stroke me to dizzying heights. I prayed. I cursed. I panted. I gripped his hair and pounded my fists against the wall behind me. I didn’t know what to do with my hands.

  With my mouth.

  With my being.

  All I could do was be. And that pissed me the fuck off.

  Andrew chuckled, teasing my clit with a flat-tongued lick, before he pulled away just as I began to crest into my orgasm.

  What. The. Fuck?

  He waited on his knees, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. I nearly crumbled at the sight. Why was that shit so goddamn hot to me?

  “Don’t be a bitch, Andrew.”

  “Beg me.”

  “Fuck you.”

  He leaned forward and bit my inner thigh.

  “Do it.”

  “Kiss my ass. I’ll go get my Tracy’s Dog™ vibrator. I don’t need your cock that bad.”

  “Liar.”

  “You need me. That vibrator ain’t going to do shit for you right now. That pussy needs me. It needs Daddy’s fat cock.”

  Andrew stood close to me and called my bluff, his body a wall of muscle that I longed to taste. “You’re squirming. Aching. Tell me how much you need me, or I will go into the bathroom and jerk one out into the toilet.”

  I wanted to deny it, but there was something in his eyes… something had happened in that parking lot beyond a simple bombing. My husband was shook. Nothing ever phased my husband and seeing him that way, bothered me. So I took his face in my hands and…

  Andrew didn’t let me speak, instead he captured my lips in a kiss as he grabbed my legs, hoisted me up, and pressed me against the wall. My legs wrapped around him as they’d done countless times before.

  I gripped his shoulders as he released himself from his pants. A glance down revealed one of the things I loved the most about my husband. Andrew being modest when he talked about his big, fat ass, dick. The man had a monster
hidden away inside his boxer briefs and it all belonged to me.

  The head of his cock slipped against my slit, wet and waiting. Delightfully, imposingly huge. My man was impossibly built. As if he were crafted by the gods.

  Every rub of his cockhead threatened my clit with yet another cascade of shivers. The pressure built. More and more. Higher and higher. More than once, I’d tugged down his pants, while he was sleeping, stroked that delicious cock of his, just to sink down upon him, and ride him hard and fast like my own bucking horse, to a quick but oh so satisfying orgasm. But Andrew took his damn time after our frantic trip to our bedroom.

  The head of his cock pressed against my slit. “I love you,” he said firmly, and in those words, I heard everything he couldn’t say.

  I need you.

  I was afraid of leaving you.

  I’ll never go without fighting for us.

  I want you.

  I love you.

  With a piercing, raging strike into my pussy, Andrew’s cock delivered me one of the single greatest pleasures of my life. He wasn’t gentle, but my only demand was that he filled me up and do it right. Andrew read my mind. He always did.

  With a single thrust, he rammed into me. I lost control of every thought, breath, and inhibition as that raging cock stretched me to the brim and more. His entire uncompromising length conquered me with blinding pressure.

  Andrew pressed into the hilt, pinning me between him and the wall and grinding his hips to ensure I was good and fucked in every single inch of my pussy. “Yeah, get this dick, baby.”

  The heat of his shaft seared me, every velvet inch of his cock pulsed with warmth and a masculine threat, most would quiver from if ever faced with it. I couldn’t think.

  Couldn’t breathe.

  Andrew bit my neck. A wave of shivers jolted my spine and centered in the fire pulsing from my core, already stoked by his thickness. I twisted my fingers into his shirt. His movements were slow.

  Deliberate.

  Striking so deep and hard that I shattered against the wall. Getting the fuck of my goddamn life, by the man who turned my world upside and right side up with every kiss. Every touch. Every embrace.

  Every stroke.

  Andrew delighted in pulling out until the thickest part of his cock tormented my entrance, then with a grunt, he slammed back inside of me. His thrusts hardened and everything clenched inside of me.

  “Don’t you ever forget that every fucking inch of you belongs to me and only me.” He seized my hips, forcing himself in even farther, until my breath ached, and muscles tensed in delight. “I’m going to get you pregnant again.”

  I bounced my own hips against him, so turned on by his dirty—and frankly, medically impossible for me—words. My mind jumbled as he pounded into me. I slammed against the wall, again and again and again. How many times could he bottom out inside my aching pussy? Biting my lip did nothing to stop the fire raging inside of me. Closing my eyes only brought me closer to that infinite oblivion.

  I clutched at his arms as every strike centered hard and fast inside my tormented, delighted core. My breathing gave me away, every exhale shadowed with a quaking whimper. Andrew snickered, pushing inside me and leaning down, his lips teasing my ear.

  “You want to come, Boss of Baltimore? Go on. I’m waiting for you.”

  He buried himself inside of me, as I shook in his arms, gripping my hips with a new fury and thrust deeper inside, his pacing never slowing, his gaze never breaking. He manhandled me.

  Andrew groaned with me. “This pussy is mine,” he declared as he leaned over and bit at the curve of my neck. I came so hard on his cock I was nearly ripped apart. My body tensed in the most spine-shattering, muscle-rending orgasm of my life. The shock drove through me, curling my toes and tensing my legs over his waist. The sensations tortured me.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  Wave upon wave of delight tore my mind and burst my thoughts in a rage of astonishment and vulgar excitement. I came. Hard. Unforgiving. And my pleasure triggered his.

  With a rasping growl and another bite to my throat, Andrew embedded himself in me to the hilt. Then he spilled every last drop of his seed inside me. I arched and bucked my hips, milking his orgasm while demanding a second one of my own. I was so full of him, so surrounded by him, that every inhaled brought his scent, and every exhale his taste.

  I was safe. And so was he.

  He was alive and he was mine.

  With that reassurance, I collapsed between him and the wall and promptly fell asleep.

  Chapter Ten

  Andrew- The Irishman

  I was in my office looking over a roster of everyone who lived on the estate and everyone in the employ of Clan McCarthy. A list of every mother fucker who could be behind the attempts on my life and that of my family. There were some people who I didn’t think had the mental fortitude to try and pull something of this magnitude off and some who I thought were so loyal they wouldn’t even consider it.

  Those mother fuckers went to the top of the list.

  Others I put on the “Possible” and still others on the “Probably” list.

  Everyone was a suspect. Even my own brothers and sister. While it pained me to think one of them would turn on me, I knew that the need for power could turn brother against brother, and sister against brother in a heartbeat.

  When there was a knock on the door, I instantly picked up my gun and pointed it straight at whoever was on the other side.

  “Come in.”

  Ronan stepped inside, holding an envelope in his hand. He glanced at the gun in my hand, the one I still hadn’t lowered, and simply continued forward.

  “This whole thing has you on edge doesn’t it, Boss?” He asked as he held out the long, white envelope to me.

  “I’m not on edge, just not sure who I can trust.”

  Ronan’s eyebrows lifted as he stared at me. “You can trust me. You know this. I have saved your life many times over.” He spread his hands. “I just saved your life yesterday.”

  I grunted and placed my weapon on top of my desk, before picking up the letter opener, not saying a word in response. Ronan’s statement of innocence didn’t make me trust him any more than it would have any other person. If anything, every person who tried to attest to being guilt-free just looked that much more like a goddamn traitor.

  No one was without suspicion.

  I looked down at the letter in my hand and narrowed my eyes. I read the words again and let out a curse. I stood up angrily, shoving my chair away until it rolled into the wall behind me. I grabbed my jacket, guns, and snapped my fingers at Ronan.

  “Let’s go.”

  “Really? You want me to go with you? What if I try to kill you?” He smirked but I didn’t find that shit funny. I snatched up my letter opener and tossed it until it landed into the wood paneling of my office wall that Ronan was standing in front of, the handle shaking from the force of my throw. Anyone else would have thought I missed hitting Ronan but from the way his eyes widened, and he swallowed nervously I knew he understood that I hadn’t hit him, hadn’t killed him because I hadn’t wanted to. The same way my woman was a fucking sniper with scary accuracy when it came to using a gun, I was a marksman when it came to throwing knives.

  “This ain’t the fucking time to be trying my patience, Ronan. Now pick your goddamn jaw off the floor, pull up your piss-filled fucking panties, and let’s go. I need to go and set someone straight about making demands of me,” I told him.

  Ronan nodded and headed out of the office ahead of me.

  Dear Mr. McCarthy,

  We have never met, but we are family. You see, you married our niece, Kyra Bahmer, now Bahmer-McCarthy. We have been very patient with you and Kyra, expecting her to bring you by so that the rest of the family could meet you, but that has not happened. We can only suspect it has something to do with you manipulating our niece into giving you the remains of her inheritance, as well as your control over
her. We would like to speak with you before we go to the authorities to demand an investigation as to Kyra’s mental state and her ability to make decisions in regard to her life and that of her children. When, not if, the courts find that she is mentally incompetent to be in charge of her finances or to care for her children, we will be taking possession of everything left to her, as well as bringing her back into the care of her family and those who know her best.

  You can stop all of this from happening, however. All you need to do is have Kyra divide the sum of her inheritance with her family, as she should have done from the start. We would be happy to discuss these matters with you at your earliest convenience.

  Sincerely,

  The Bahmer Family

  I wasn’t entirely sure who those assholes were, I only knew what my wife had told me about them not taking her in when her parents died because there was no money to be had at first. But I would be damned if anyone, and I did mean anyone, thought they could tell me what to do. No one threatened me or my wife and lived to tell the tale. And the very concept of someone taking my children from me had me more than ready to set all of the bastards on fire, but that wasn’t my field of expertise, fire was more Carrick’s territory.

  But as I palmed my guns, sitting in the back of the town car headed towards the other side of town, I seriously considered setting off a bomb and blowing all of Kyra’s family members away.

  I would temper myself, however. I would let them talk and dig their own graves as they talked, cajoled, and threatened and then I would show them just why Kyra had chosen to be with me rather than running into the “loving and concerned” embrace of the people who claimed to be her family. It wasn’t just because of my pretty face, my big, muscled body, or my big cock—though I was sure those things were added points in my favor.