Thank God for champagne. I would have been a nervous wreck if I hadn’t had the calming effects of alcohol dulling my senses. As it was, I still swam in a pool of my own chaotic emotions, but at least I hadn’t needed to throw up from the uncertainty of it all.
It took a half hour to get to Conner’s apartment building, and we spent the entire ride in silence. Next to one another but alone. Husband and wife. Total strangers. But that didn’t matter to Conner. He’d made his plans for me clear.
He’d claimed my life, and now my body would be his as well.
Breathe, Noemi.
Conner lived in one of the newest high-rise apartment buildings in the middle of the city. I’d grown up in a periphery neighborhood that boasted single-family homes and a surprising allotment of trees. While I was used to seeing the close quarters of Midtown Manhattan, I’d never lived there. Even that would be an adjustment. Heaven forbid anything about this marriage feel easy and familiar.
I took in every facet of his expansive apartment as I walked inside the dimly lit space. It was modern but not overly cold. Open area living with a wall of solid windows overlooking the river. Sandy-colored cabinets with a light-gray stone countertop and rich camel wood floors. He even had several large house plants that softened the look. I wondered if he kept them alive or had a housekeeper who tended to them. My money was on a housekeeper.
I walked past the large cream leather sectional to the window displaying the city at dusk. The thirty-story view gave my alcohol-soaked stomach a lurch. Turning back around, I found Conner watching me as he rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt. He’d removed his jacket and vest while I’d looked around and now had every ounce of his attention directed at me.
“Your place is lovely,” I offered, moving to the center of the living area but leaving the sofa strategically between us.
“Your things were delivered earlier today. Some of it was put away, but you’ll have to sort through the rest.” He began to prowl around the sofa toward me, eyes never leaving mine.
Holding his smoldering blue gaze was terrifying yet felt essential at the same time. His unremitting stare commanded and unnerved me. Aroused and bemused me. It was more intimate than anything I’d ever experienced. It felt like giving confession, only darker, more seductive. What I imagined it might be like to confess my sins to the devil himself.
Conner closed in behind me, his confident fingers sliding the straps of my gown over my shoulders. “There’ll be plenty of time to show you around now that the place is yours.”
“Is it, though?” I breathed, trying desperately to keep my wits about me. I could feel myself getting swept up in the desire he elicited.
I tried to turn, but Conner’s hands kept my shoulders in place, then slowly caressed down my exposed spine. “What’s mine is yours now,” he replied distractedly.
My heart jackhammered against the confines of my chest. I would lose this battle if I didn’t get away from him. He’d hardly touched me, and I could feel the resulting slickness of arousal coating my thong. If I gave him any more time, he’d reduce me to a puddle of wanton desire.
“I’m on my period,” I blurted, my eyes widening in shock at my own words.
Adept fingers slid down the zipper of my dress, causing the heavy beaded gown to melt to the floor. I stood motionless in nothing but a thong and white satin heels. A rumble of masculine appreciation teased out an army of goose bumps down my arms and legs. When his hands came to rest at my hips, I closed my eyes, sensing I was fighting a losing battle.
Conner lowered himself to his knees, then used his hands to spin me around so that his face was inches from my belly. Before I could protest, he leaned in and ran the bridge of his nose up my slit, breathing in a long, languid breath as he did. When his eyes lifted again to mine, they shone with wicked triumph.
“I don’t think so, little Emy. Not that it would have stopped me if you were.”
One hand centered on my belly and pressed me backward. When I moved to catch myself, the back of my legs hit the sofa, sending me falling backward onto the cushions. Conner was between my legs instantly, his body keeping my thighs spread.
“I told you I was hungry.” Then his mouth was on me, licking my core through the thin silk of my thong.
My head flung backward, every nerve in my body lighting up at his touch. “Conner,” I gasped, losing all ability to think.
“That’s it, baby. Say my name while I devour this sweet pussy of yours.”
His hands tugged the fabric at my hips, ripping away the thong before his mouth was on me again, this time with nothing between us. If I’d thought his fingers felt good, his tongue on my clit was pure ecstasy. When he pressed my thighs back to give himself better access, I clasped my hands behind my knees to help. I’d completely surrendered myself, a slave to the sensations he produced.
Conner knew how to coax my body into a heightened frenzy before pausing to graze his teeth over my inner thigh, giving my core just long enough to settle, just to work me up all over again. His hands roamed my body, plucking at my sensitive nipples and confusing my senses until my veins were flooded with pleasure.
“Please, Conner. I need more.” The need was so overwhelming that I thought I’d go mad if I didn’t find my way to that elusive pinnacle taunting just out of my reach.
He chuckled against my pussy. “That a girl,” he murmured against my swollen flesh, then slid two thick fingers inside me. “So fucking tight.” His words were growing more ragged with waning restraint, but I was only vaguely aware because those fingers caressing my insides with his tongue on my clit sent me rocketing toward the release I’d been so desperately craving.
I didn’t just cry out. I screamed.
My entire body spasmed, muscles quaking and nerves pulsing with pure electric bliss. Wave after wave, I was blanketed in a sensation so warm and overwhelming that I couldn’t move or think.
Conner allowed me time to languish in the afterglow, his hands running gently up and down the outside of my thighs. As my senses returned, I wondered if he’d have sex with me. He’d want to come, too, right? I couldn’t imagine he’d be satisfied walking away without his own release.
Righting myself, I bit down on my lip and peered uncertainly into his fathomless eyes. “Are we not …? Are you not going to…?” I couldn’t seem to say the words, embarrassment at my naïvete crippling my self-confidence.
Conner rose to his feet and studied me from above, still fully dressed. “You’re not ready yet, and I’m not fucking you before you’re ready.” He started to turn, but my hand clasped his, halting him.
It happened before I’d fully thought it through. Maybe it was the champagne, but I wanted to be the center of this man’s attention. I wanted to be able to give him what he’d given me.
Easing off the sofa, I got on my knees and began to unclasp his belt. He speared me through with his predator’s gaze. When he stepped toward the couch, I thought maybe he was rejecting my offer, but instead, he grabbed a pillow and dropped it at his feet. I moved to kneel on the pillow with a gentle smile at his unexpected kindness.
“There you go again, viewing the world through the eyes of a closet romantic,” he said, his hand cupping my jaw. “Don’t pretend I’m something I’m not. I just want you to be comfortable so you can suck my cock as long as I want.”
Why did men always feel the need to disguise their softer side? Whatever. What he’d done was sweet, and I chose to ignore his brutish take on the matter.
Between the orgasm and alcohol, my hands barely trembled as I undid his pants. I’d never been this close to a man’s penis. And judging by the impressive bulge pressing against Conner’s zipper, he was enormous.
A flood of self-doubt tried to convince me I had no idea what I was doing and was about to embarrass myself beyond redemption. Still, an equally relentless surge of curiosity demanded I stay the course. I needed to feel him in my hands and see what it was like to wrap my lips around him. I wanted him to come undone and know that I was the reason.
Pants at his ankles, Conner used his thumb to stretch down his underwear, allowing his thick cock to bob forward, straining in my direction. I was instantly in awe. He was so thick that I couldn’t clasp my hand all the way around him, and the smooth skin of the tip looked like it was made to be licked. Gently gripping the base, I ran my tongue over the head of his cock like a lollipop.
Conner hissed. “That feels good, baby, but I need you to give me more. Don’t be afraid you’ll hurt me.” He placed his hand around mine and tightened my grip, moving our hands up and down the base of his shaft, then used his other hand to guide my mouth closer. Opening, I took him in and immediately gagged.
“Shh, it’s okay. Relax your throat. You can do it. I know you can.”
Tears burned my eyes, but not in a bad way—more like a reflex. It actually made me a little angry. I wanted to be able to do this and wasn’t going to let my body throw a fit.
Rallying my determination, I opened wide and coaxed my throat to accept the intrusion. It felt awkward, but the unbidden shiver that wracked his body at my touch made it all worth it. Encouraged, I squeezed my hand and began lifting and lowering my head, sucking and licking with enthusiasm now that I felt more comfortable with my actions.
“Jesus, fuck, Em. I’m gonna come.” His hand pressed against the back of my head, keeping me from retreating. “Your mouth feels too fucking good.”
Hearing the strain in his voice, I peered up at him through my lashes. That was all it took. The second our eyes met, he threw back his head and roared his release. His salty essence filled my mouth. It wasn’t something I would have liked, except it was him. Masculine and untamed—a product of his desire for me—that part could be addicting.
I used the back of my hand to wipe the saliva from my chin as Conner righted his pants, then helped me to my feet. That was when the awkwardness returned.
It was no wonder people joked about bailing after a one-night stand. If this was what it was like, I’d want to escape, too. Except this was my house now, and I was married to the man who lived there.
Holy hell.
Conner took off his dress shirt and offered it to me. “Bedroom’s this way.”
I slipped on the shirt and followed him to a dark hallway. “I don’t have to share a room with you if you’d rather not.”
He glanced over his shoulder at me. “You saying you want your own room?”
“Um … I don’t think so. I hadn’t really thought it through, to be honest. I guess I’d avoided thinking about any of this.”
He continued to the master suite, a surprisingly cozy affair with a fireplace and a large private balcony. The color scheme was similar but toned a bit darker. Soothing. Whoever had decorated used a grayish blue to add a pop of color. I wondered if Conner’s eyes had been the inspiration.
“Your clothes are in the closet, but we can move them if that’s what you want.”
I turned my attention back to him when he spoke, noting tension now coiling in his shoulders. He didn’t look at me when he spoke, either, just stalked to the en suite bathroom and began to undress. I followed distractedly. When he tossed his undershirt in a hamper, I took it back out and swapped it for the dress shirt I’d been wearing.
He stilled, watching my every movement.
“Is this okay? I’m not sure where any of my stuff is, and I’m too tired to go digging around tonight.”
“No, I don’t mind.” A spark of hunger from before returned to his eyes. “I believe your intimates are in here.” He pointed out a column of drawers in the closet.
Locating a pair of pink panties, I slid them on, then went to the vanity to pull the pins from my hair. It took longer than necessary because my eyes were constantly drawn to the sight of his naked chest and powerful legs. It was the first time I’d seen him in his underwear. Boxer briefs that pulled snug around his strong thighs.
Once he’d put on joggers and a T-shirt, he stood in the doorway waiting for me to finish. “You hungry?”
“Yeah. Guess I am.” The ceremony had started at two, the reception at three thirty. We’d had cake and champagne but never got around to dinner.
Conner led us back through the house to the kitchen. Walking behind him, I realized that I liked the way he moved. Confident and powerful without unnecessary pretense. He reminded me of a racehorse—the underdog sort who ran swift and true despite a lack of breeding. His fortitude wasn’t taught or manufactured; he was born with it, as natural as the slight cleft in his chin.
“Your place is nice,” I said, feeling a need to fill the silence.
“Our place.”
“Right … our place,” I murmured. “That’s going to take some time to get used to.”
“Have a seat at the bar. You like risotto?”
My eyebrows hit my hairline. I wasn’t sure if I was more surprised he was offering to cook or that he was making Italian.
He smirked over his shoulder. “Don’t tell anyone, but Ma loves Italian. She loves to cook in general, and since I was an only child, I spent a lot of time in the kitchen with her.” He moved with natural ease in the modern space, pulling out high-end cooking pans and ingredients from scratch. I considered asking about his connection to the Genoveses but decided against it. We were tiptoeing into some semblance of normalcy, and I didn’t want to rock the boat.
“Well, I wish I could tell you I know loads of Irish recipes, but that would be a lie. I do know how to cook, but mostly Italian.” Rather than sit like he suggested, I took out the butter and parmesan from the fridge.
“You have a favorite?” he asked, starting to chop an onion on a cutting board.
I leaned against the counter near him, realizing I’d begun to feel almost comfortable. Probably best not to think about it too much, or I’d draw out some worry to throw me off kilter. “I guess my favorite would be this enchilada casserole Mom taught me.”
“I hate to break it to you, but that’s not Italian.”
“I said I cook mostly Italian with a few other dishes thrown in to keep things fresh.” I watched him cutting, feeling a tinge of sting in my eyes from the onion. “I don’t even know what Irish food is.”
“Potatoes,” he teased dryly. “Lots of potatoes with the occasional sausage. Sheperd’s pie or a stew. Hearty food—gotta eat something to soak up the whiskey.” He tossed the onion into a warming skillet with a tablespoon of olive oil, then checked his phone.
“Shit,” he grumbled, frowning as he peered at the sizzling pan. “I have to go. You think you can finish this?”
“You’re leaving?” The words came out sounding more accusatory than I’d meant.
“That a problem?”
I shook my head quickly. “No,” I assured him. “Will there be someone here with me?”
His thick black brows drew together. “Does there need to be?”
“Not at all. I just haven’t been allowed home alone in a long time. It feels strange.”
A menacing shadow darkened his features. “This isn’t a prison, Noemi. I’d prefer if you had me or one of my men with you when you go out, but I’d like to think you don’t need someone lording over you.” He studied me for a second longer. “I need to get changed.”
Ten minutes later, he was gone.
Married and alone, like my mother had been. Was this how things had begun for her? Would I ever have any claim on him if Conner could be called away even on his wedding night?
As my brother’s magic Eightball would probably say: outlook not so good.
I pushed aside the sinking feeling that tugged at my chest and put the finishing touches on the risotto. While it cooled, I figured out how to turn on the TV and found a music app. I considered selecting a haunting playlist that would suit my growing melancholy but refused to allow myself to wallow. My situation might not have been ideal, but it was better than before. I was alone, for the moment, which was more freedom than I’d been allowed in over six months.
I selected a summer party playlist. What better way to focus on the silver lining than pool party tunes?
Once I was done eating, I turned up the music to hear it throughout the apartment and familiarized myself with my new home. I found a stack of my boxes in a guest room that I’d need to sort through at some point and took inventory of one more spare bedroom, Conner’s office, and a room dedicated to exercise equipment. Most of the house was located on one side while the master suite was on the other, allowing for privacy.
Returning to that side, I peeked through Conner’s things, scoping out the closet and bathroom. Like most men I knew, he kept a loaded handgun in a nightstand drawer. I knew how to shoot, but guns weren’t my favorite thing, so I left that alone. Otherwise, nothing of interest jumped out at me, mostly because he hardly had any things. No tchotchkes from trips or personal items. He had a couple of framed family photos and an old set of rosary beads on his dresser. That was it.
Seemed a bit lonely to me.
Not for long!
I grinned to myself, feeling devious, and headed for the guest room housing my boxes. If this was supposed to be my home, then so be it. I’d make the place feel a bit more like mine. If he didn’t like that, too bad. It served him right for leaving me alone on our wedding night.
“Not such a demure bride, after all, am I, Mr. Reid?” I giggled to myself and dove into unpacking.
