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“You looked fucking hot walking into that room with two grenades.” I shuttled into her, violently fucking her.
My fear over her safety and the adrenaline of the evening fuelled my crazed movements – the need to reassert my ownership of her beat at my temples.
“So fucking dangerous. So fucking mine.”
“Sean! Harder.”
“You want it harder.” I gripped her shoulder, doubling down my thrusts as she moaned.
Our skin slapped together with the water raining down across us. The madness took over, and pressure built at the base of my spine. She felt like heaven, and my climax raced up towards me far too fast. I wanted to fill her up repeatedly.
“You might want to hate me, but you can’t. You are mine. All fucking mine,” I raged, pounding in and out of her hot, wet heat. “Come on my cock.”
She tightened around me, gasping my name and sending me over the edge. I spilt into her as pleasure filled me right to my fingertips. A few more jerky thrusts, and I glanced down, watching my cum dripping out of her. Fuck. That sight made my cock jerk with one last spurt. I pulled out and used my fingers to scoop some back into her. She moaned about being over-sensitive. I relented and turned her around. She melted into me, and I tilted her lips up to mine, kissing her.
“I’ll organise the priest for the weekend. We’ll get married here.”
She blinked up at me, the post-orgasm haze clearing. “What?”
“You heard me. I don’t want any doubt in your mind that I belong to you, and you belong to me.”
She shook her head in disbelief, and I tugged her into my chest.
Loch got Rada’s name tattooed on him as a wedding gift to her. I thought he might be onto something and decided to cover up some of my faded tattoos because they reminded me of stupid teenage choices. Choosing Amy wasn’t a choice I’d ever regret.
33
Bran and Sceólang trotted next to me as I walked through the garden. The air was cold and the ground frosty, but being outside felt nice. Yesterday seemed like a terrible dream. I woke multiple times in the night, drenched in sweat from running away from burning buildings and tripping over dead men.
Sean was getting an antibiotic infusion, and I slipped outside. He was a force of nature, and I was in danger of being swept up by him for the rest of our lives. Now that the threat had passed, I needed to think. I’d never truly contemplated what freedom from the Stefanov gang might mean – never having to look over my shoulder again.
The barbed wire on the fence reminded me that Sean’s business was hardly safe, even if the latest enemy was defeated. Did I want that for my life? Was it in my blood from my father? Was that why I’d accepted it so easily? It’s because you’ve fallen in love with him.
Sean said he didn’t care who my father was, but I could barely accept it. Why did my mamá never tell me? We shared everything, and this lie seemed so large. I ran over my memories of seeing Boyan, which weren’t very many. Nothing made more sense through that lens, and comprehension didn’t dawn. I wished I could speak to her. She probably wanted to protect me.
I squeezed my eyes shut, my chest tight. Bran whined next to me, and I patted her head. The thoughts rolled around, and I wished I could switch them off.
I resumed walking and reached a patch of freshly turned earth as an elderly man walked around the corner with a wheelbarrow. A terrible smell hit my nostrils.
“You must be the reason for the roses,” the man said.
“Hello?” I said, unsure who he was.
“The name’s Albert. I’m the gardener.” He touched the end of his flat cap and walked past me with the smelly wheelbarrow.
“What is that smell?”
“Manure for the roses. Do you like ’em or something? Sean has never asked for specific flowers in the garden before. Bloomin’ roses are a pain in the backside to grow,” he grumbled.
Did I like roses?
“Is your name Rose?” He peered at me.
I went to say no, then realised it was. Rosa. Maybe these were for me. Albert didn’t seem bothered that I hadn’t answered him. I watched as he shovelled the manure onto the ground, muttering about it being the wrong time of the year to plant roses.
“They are going to look like twigs. I’m not sure why he wants them in so fast.”
“The wedding,” I remembered what Sean said in the shower last night.
