Page 52 of Conor
His eyes darken, and five minutes later, he’s fucking my mouth like the caveman he is. He fingers me beneath the curtain of my dress, and we both come violently. I’m still riding the high when I collapse back against his seat to catch my breath. I finger comb my hair in the mirror and wipe away the mascara that leaked from my eyes while Conor watches.
“I guess we should probably go inside, huh?”
Conor is quiet, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“Aye.” He nods. “There was just something else I was thinking about. It might seem silly to you, but it would mean a lot to me.”
“What is it?”
He reaches out and toys with the ring on my hand. “You took my last name, and I want that for Archer too. I want him to know that even if I’m not his real father, I’m always going to be his dad.”
My heart squeezes as a million different emotions detonate inside of it. Before I can even make sense of what’s happening, I’m wiping away my own mess of tears. “You want to adopt him?”
“Aye,” Conor answers. “We’re a family. We should all have the same name. I don’t want him growing up with a blank space on his birth certificate or thinking that he’s not my son, because he is in every way but that one.”
“That’s incredible…” I say. “I can’t think of anything he’d like better than to call you his dad.”
Conor recognizes the worry in my eyes, and he doesn’t gloss over it. “But?”
I stare down at our hands, unified, and everything about it feels so right. There’s no longer a question in my mind about my relationship with Conor or if he loves Archer. But I’m still a mother, and I’m always going to worry.
“I guess I’m just nervous,” I admit. “I’m honored to call you my husband and a father to Archer. You are who you are, and I love you for that. But I want Archer to have a normal life. I don’t want him growing up to—”
“Become a gangster,” Conor finishes for me.
“Yes.” I shrug.
“I want the best for him too, Ivy,” he says. “The kid’s smart. He can do anything he wants. Go to school, become an accountant or a doctor. Whatever. It’s up to him. I’m not going to force his hand on anything.”
I meet his eyes and only see truth there. It’s the reassurance I needed. I already know Conor will protect us. He will keep us safe, and he will give Archer a good life. Maybe it’s crazy for me to accept that I’m married to the mob, but I don’t care. This is what I want. It’s what Archer wants. And for the first time in my life, I’m doing what really feels best for us.
“You’ll need to ask him,” I say. “It’s up to him.”
Conor gives me a goofy smile. “Aye, I can do that.”
I lean over and kiss him again, and he nips his way down my neck, breathing in my ear. “I think the lads are ready to meet my wife. What do ye say?”
I close my eyes and breathe him in. “I’d say it’s about time.”
“What in the bleeding hell is wrong with your woman?” Dom asks.
I glance across the room at Ivy, who’s perched against the table nibbling on a saltine cracker. “I’ve got no clue. She’s been a little on the cranky side. Last night she started crying over a cartoon.”
Crow smirks like he knows something I don’t before he leans back and takes a drink from his glass. “Welcome to the club. Ye best get used to it.”
Dom laughs and my eyes drift back to my wife. Even though she hasn’t exactly been her usual self, I have nothing but warmth for her when I catch her mingling with the other wives like it’s second nature. She’s in my world now, and I never have to question that she wants to be anywhere else because even when we nitpick or nag about stupid shite, at the end of the day, we always come back to each other.
Every night, before her eyes fall shut and her breathing evens out and I ask myself again how I came to have everything I never knew I wanted, she tells me that she loves me. And I know she means it. When I have a rough day, I don’t have to say anything to her. She just knows. She’s there for me when I open the door, and she does everything in her power to make it all okay. For me, and Archer, and anyone else she cares about. The woman might weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet, but she’s got a heart of pure gold.
“She can be cranky,” I tell the lads. “I don’t care. She’s still mine.”
Dom shakes his head like he’s disgusted, but I know he gets it. They all get it. Because we might be Kings on the streets, but we would be nothing without our Queens at home.
“Dad!” Archer squeals as he bounds through the parlor with red cheeks. He’s out of breath, and half his mouth is still painted in chocolate from the cake, and I’ve never been so proud as I am when I hear those three letters from his lips.
“What’s up, little fella?” I grunt when he leaps onto my lap.
