Page 95 of Mine
How is it that he already seems to know me better than I know myself?
His huge espresso coloured eyes soften. ‘I think you’ve been surviving for so long, you don’t know how to just… live.’
The word lands somewhere deep.
Live.
Not run.
Not endure.
Just live.
‘It’s more than just the job. My mother was my happy place. Then she was taken from me. My brother tried to do his best after that, tried to step in, tried to be the parent that we lost. It was too much for him in the end. The heroin was his way of escape. Then he was taken from me. It’s not that I don’t think I deserve it; it’s just that in my experience it doesn’t last. The things I love are always taken from me. I had to get used to being on my own.’
‘You aren’t on your own anymore, Aoife. You don’t have to fight every battle alone. And you never will again.’
Something inside me shifts.
Because for the first time in my life, someone isn’t asking what I can give.
He’s telling me whathecan give me.
‘You’re allowed to be happy. It can last,’ he says, simply. ‘And you don’t owe anyone an apology for it. You have an entire family now. And you’re allowed to let them fight for you. For us.’
His pupils bore into mine, hotter than the midday sun. ‘You and I are the real deal, sweetheart. I spent my life looking for you. I just didn’t know it until you tripped into my bar.’
He leans across the thick, plush mattress, cradles my chin, tilting my mouth up to meet his. ‘I love you, Aoife Kincaid,’ he says.
I will never tire of hearing him say those three little words because they scream to my soul.
44
AOIFE
Istare into those deep dark eyes, put my drink down and then climb onto his lap to straddle him.
Silence stretches between us as we stare into each other’s souls.
His huge hands settle on my hips as his pupils dart to my lips, then back to meet my eyes. I rest my hands on his powerful shoulders and exhale slowly.
‘I love you too.’ Our lips meet, slowly, tenderly. There’s no urgency, no claiming, no conquering, no powerplay—just slow, sensual strokes of his tongue against mine. I wrap a hand around the nape of his neck and thread my fingers through his hair.
His hot hands slide slowly from my hips over my stomach to palm my breasts. I moan softly into his mouth and grind against his crotch. His hard length digs between my legs, and I need to feel him inside of me. We’ve consummated this marriage a hundred times over, but this feels different—he sees me. Really sees me. And he loves me.
His fingers skim around my back, and he tugs the string of my bikini, then gently tosses it to the ground beside us. ‘That’s better,’ he murmurs, breaking our kiss. His fingers skim over my tight, needy nipples. ‘You’re so beautiful, baby.’ He nuzzles my neck, inhaling my skin.
‘So are you.’ I run my fingers over his tattoo, tracing the outline of the raven first, then the skull. ‘What does it represent?’
He tips his head to the side, still palming my breasts slowly, watching as my skin prickles with his every touch. ‘I’m the raven, rising over the bodies of those who killed my sister.’
‘And did you kill them?’ I whisper. It’s the first time I’ve directly asked if he’s killed.
If he admits it, will it change the way I feel about him?
No. Deep down, I already know the answer. If our marriage is going to last, I have no choice but to accept his darkness. Accept what he is. What he’s done. Make my peace with it.
‘Some of them.’ He wets his lips, staring me straight in the eye. ‘Does that terrify you?’
