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I scream, tumbling headfirst off the cliff as my orgasm crashes over me. Sean groans, and I feel his hot cum filling me as he continues to thrust, pouring every bit of himself into my pussy.
He stills, and we stay like that, panting for several minutes. I feel him press a kiss to my back before sliding his still hard cock from me. He pulls me up and turns me around. I wobble on unsteady legs. Sean lifts me easily into his arms and carries me out of his office.
CHAPTER32
Sean takes us to his bedroom and into the massive shower. He sits us on the bench while the shower fills with steam. I realize I’m so cold my teeth are chattering. Sean is whispering soothing things in Gaelic against my hair. When the water is warm, Sean places me in the spray, standing behind me to support me on my shaky legs.
Sean nuzzles my hair. “Have you ever done this before, baby?”
I shake my head.
“It’s adrenaline, the crash. It’s why you feel so cold and off balance,” he explains without making me ask.
“Oh.”
We stay like that until I’m warm and steady on my feet. Sean hands me a fluffy towel to wrap up in.
He walks me to the bed, pulling back the covers for me to crawl under. He gets in behind me, sitting propped up with pillows and holding me in his lap.
We sit like that for a while. My brain is filled with nothing, all my normal chaotic thoughts and worries tucked away somewhere else. Just quiet, warmth, and an odd feeling of safety tucked in the arms of the mob boss.
Finally, he breaks the silence. “There is a charity ball tomorrow night at St. Mary’s Children’s Hospital. Will you go with me?”
“A ball?”
“Aye.”
“You’re asking your kidnap-ee to go to the ball?”
His voice is husky, his accent rich as he whispers in my ear, “Do you still feel like a captive, little one?”
I’m not sure what I feel like, but I don’t feel trapped. I tell him honestly, “No, I don’t.”
“Good.” His voice is soft, whispered directly into my ear.
“I have nothing to wear.”
He laughs. “That’s not a problem. We’ll go shopping tomorrow.”
“We? You’re coming?”
“Of course. You need protection, and over my dead body does another man see you in a dressing room.”
I giggle. “Possessive much?”
“Over you, yes. You’re mine.” His tone is sincere.
“Could we go to my apartment tomorrow? My real one? I’m going stir crazy with nothing to do. I could work on my laptop. And I’d like to tell my roommate I’m not dead. She worries.”
“What work? You’re a reporter. You know you can’t.”
“Oh, um, actually I have a day job. Freelancing doesn’t always pay the bills. I’m a book editor.”
“You are full of surprises, Roxanne Johnson.”
We fall into a comfortable silence, and I try to come to terms with the confusing mess of emotions I feel.
There is something seriously fucked in your head. I’m cuddling with the head of the Irish mob. He’s kidnapped me, cooked me dinner, killed for me, spanked me,punished me, and fucked me to within an inch of my life.
