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“Y-Yes. Oh, Finn.Yes. I’m yours.”
“Come for me, angel,” I guided her, letting her have this, knowing she needed it and that she’d sleep after, and I needed her to fucking sleep, so she’d heal.
Her high-pitched cry had me closing my eyes, clenching them tight as I grabbed my cock and fucked my fist to the sounds of her climaxing.
It seemed to go on for ages, like the dirtiest soundtrack I’d ever heard. The best porn background ever, because this was personalized and between the whimpers and the moans and the tiny mewls, came my name.
“Finn,” she cried out, and she wailed, and she groaned.
My name was a litany on her tongue, and my cock spurted to the final breathy sound she uttered, one of relaxation and repletion. One of satisfaction, even though I knew her fingers couldn’t do the job I could for her.
When I came, I grunted long and low, catching as much cum as I could in my fist. It wasn’t ideal, and I made a fucking mess, but I felt better. My heart pumped like the piston it was, but it felt lighter somehow.
I should have called her earlier. She always did this to me. Made me feel brighter because she was my reminder of why I was here in this goddamn office instead of with her.
Brokering this deal was a priority. I had to ally the Mexicans with the Russians so the Russians would have our back. Once that happened, we’d have their fire power and their men, so the Colombians would run sniveling away like the cowards they were.
I had three million to come up with. Not bad, considering for the last three weeks I’d been liquidating assets that wouldn’t hit our finances long-term.
I was close, so close, and when the deal went down, we’d be home free.
A contented sigh escaped her. “I feel better.”
I snickered, not having expected her to say that. Any other woman might have told me she missed me or loved me. She might have asked me to come home, been coy or manipulative. Not Aoife. Never her.
Because of that, it made me want her all the more. Because she didn’t drag me down with feelings, I wanted them from her. I wanted the words again. I wanted her to tell me she loved me without her almost having to die. I wanted her to say them and mean them with no fear or pain clouding those beautiful eyes of hers.
But I’d bide my time. I’d put us into this situation. I needed to get us out of it.
I released a quiet breath. “I feel better too.” And I did. My need was like a toothache, and I’d just taken a shit ton of Ibuprofen to get rid of it.
She hummed. “I’m glad.”
“The PT came today, right?” It seemed incredible that we were approaching the tenth week since the shooting. Soon, we’d be in the clear.
And I meant that.
We.
I’d felt every single one of her restrictions. I hadn’t suffered pain, but I’d felt it for her, had watched her struggle. Had hated myself for being the one to have put her through this.
Guilt drove me, shame made me persevere.
Nine weeks to broker peace wasn’t, in the scheme of things, a long time to wait, but we were going long-term here.
The Colombians, after the shit show of the drive-by, then that crap at the compound, had gone quiet like the punkass numbskulls they were. They’d realized what they’d done. Realized the shit they’d brought down on their heads, and they’d retreated. But they knew we were coming for them, and they’d be trying to prepare.
What they wouldn’t expect is for us to double our numbers with the Bratva. And those sons of bitches were ice cold. They were on par with Aidan on the insanity front. They’d slice you up like a motherfucker for looking at them the wrong goddamn way.
A few more weeks, Aoife would be better, and we should be able to go home.
I clung to that like a lifeline. How much I needed her astonished me.
“Yeah, she came today.” The PT clinic had sent a man at first—I’d sorted that out fucking quickly. No dick was going anywhere near my woman. Fuck that shit.
“What did she say?”
She huffed. “You and Lena, I swear, like mother hens.”
