AllFreeNovel
Share Us
But feel it where? I want to feel him everywhere.
It must be a special kind of adrenaline all mafia men like him have in this city. His brand is possession, and I’m his possession-du-jour, so I don’t ask any more questions.
Like it all hits me at once, the Jameson crawls its way out of my stomach.
“On no,” I say, and push Eoghan out of my way.
Only, he’s as solid as a cement wall. “What?”
Heaving, I cover my mouth, waving my hands.
“Where’s your jacks?”
When I point to my small bathroom, Eoghan makes quick work of helping me inside.
I drop to my knees and the sour, once-sweet Irish whiskey, empties into the toilet.
Eoghan crouches behind me, holding my hair while rubbing my back. “Let it all out, love. You’re okay. I’m right here.”
With no food in my stomach, it’s all liquid. I end with a few spits, and reach to flush, but Eoghan’s warm hand covers mine.
“I got it, love.” He lifts me to the front of the sink and turns the cold-water knob. “Drink some water.”
I scoop up a few handfuls, the cool liquid feeling glorious in my burning throat. I grab the mouthwash from a basket on top of the toilet and take a swig.
Tears leaking from my eyes, I face Eoghan confident I don’t smell like vomit.
His well-manicured thumbs wipe the tears from my cheeks. His hands are so big, which track with what I felt between his legs and lends credence to the myth about male anatomy. But they’re also beautiful. While I get off on sexy hand tats, Eoghan’s smooth, strong, and veiny, untatted-hands get my seal of approval.
Gorgeous as they may be, he’s probably killed with these hands that slowly slide up and around my neck. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”
“You’re…not so bad yourself.”
Eoghan quirks a wolfish grin. “Shite, your face.”
I glance in the mirror and wrinkle my nose at the little scratch on my cheek compared to the ragged mess I feel like. “It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not. Do you have any antibacterial cream?” He reaches into the medicine cabinet.
“You don’t have to.”
“Wrong. Let me take care of you.” He smears some on his finger and brushes the tiny cut on my face.
The gentleness blows me away, and I sober up more and more every second.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
His jaw twitches, and looking stressed, he steps out of the bathroom.
I follow, watching him from behind. The man has the finest ass I’ve ever seen. As he struts through my apartment, his large frame set against the moderate-sized furniture I’d bought to fit my narrow living room unsettles me.
Opening cabinets in my galley kitchen, he says, “Where’s your coffee?”
“I don’t need coffee.” Shaking my head, I open my refrigerator. “I just need more water.”
Taking out the filtered pitcher, I use a cup and pour a hefty glass. “I’m home. Safe. I’m drinking water. You can go.”
“You forgot we had a deal.”
