Screw You: A Screwed Duet (Five Points, Hell's Kitchen Book 1)

by Serena Akeroyd

  An hour on the treadmill loosened shit up, and with BBC World News on the box, I caught up with daily events around the world and monitored some of my personal investments. Switching gears helped. I had a lot of responsibilities, a lot of men to manage—some to even micromanage—and I didn’t have time to be constantly thinking about Aoife like some pock-marked teenager who’d just figured out what his pecker was for.

  By the time I finished running, I’d stripped out of my shirt and tossed it on the ground after wiping my torso down with it. Stepping over to the dumbbells, I started my free weight workout, and then, I jerked in surprise because in the mirror, as I watched my form for accuracy, I saw her there.

  Watching me.

  I hadn’t felt her presence, and in my job, that was the first lesson—environmental awareness was the difference between you getting shot in the head and walking away free and clear.

  She was wrapped in a sheet, looking like a siren come to invade my thoughts after I’d only just cleared them.

  I wanted to be mad at her, but shit, it wasn’t her fault, was it?

  “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  Fuck, could that have sounded any grumpier?

  Her cheeks flushed as she realized I’d caught her, and I had to grin. Turning around to mute the TV, I cocked my head at her when I faced her once more. “You okay?”

  She licked her lips. “It’s always surprising how . . .” Hesitation hit her, and she cleared her throat before blurting out, “big you are.”

  I couldn’t stop myself from snorting. “Music to any man’s ear.”

  “Oh, hush,” she chided. “You know what I mean.”

  “I do. Exactly.” I grinned and saw her eyes start to twinkle at my teasing. “Feel free to work out in here if you want, Aoife. I should have offered before.”

  “I don’t really do gyms.” She ducked her head. “I guess that shows, huh?”

  I scowled at that. The last thing I’d intended was to make her conscious of herself. I’d just wanted her to know that mi casa es su casa. Striding over to her, I grabbed her chin and forced her to look at me. “Have I ever made you feel like I wanted to change how you look?”

  “You’ve only known me ten days, Finn,” she said wryly, but there was some color back in her cheeks.

  “Well? In ten days, have I done anything other than worship your body?”

  Her voice was small. “No.”

  “Well, then. This gym, use it, don’t use it. Look out of the window if you want or pilfer the fridge for Gatorade, I don’t give a fuck, Aoife. I was just trying to say, shittily, that you can use this place like your own.”

  A gasp escaped her. “I couldn’t do that, Finn!”

  “I’m giving you permission, Aoife.” I cocked a brow at her. “And we both know how I appreciate it when you obey me.”

  She slapped her hand against my chest. “Shut up, you,” she blurted out, and when her fingers connected with my chest, I was suddenly conscious of how sweaty I was.

  “I need to shower.” Before I could take a step back, she slid her hand over my chest, her fingers dipping and digging into my muscles. I watched her lick her lips, amused that she was turned on when I was drenched with perspiration.

  “No, you don’t,” she half-purred, and my cock, sensing Aoife was goddamn close and horny like it had radar, began to stand at attention.

  If she didn’t think I was gross, then who was I to fucking complain?

  I watched as she let the sheet drop, exposing every inch of her creamy skin to my ardent gaze. Against the navy walls, she looked like a bright light on a foggy day. Everything about her beckoned me, almost like she was a beacon, and I was lost.

  I pressed myself into her and shoved her against the wall so that I could further enjoy the contrast between her and the navy. When I grabbed her hands and dragged them over her head, her tits brushed against my pecs as they shifted with the movement. With one fist, I kept her wrists cuffed together, and I ducked my head to press a kiss to her mouth.

  As she moaned into my lips, I thrust my tongue against hers. She tasted of mouthwash, and it made me smirk to think she’d prepared for exactly this moment.

  Even when I tried to be gentle with her, I couldn’t. It just was outside my capabilities where she was concerned. I bit her bottom lip, tugging it back until it had to sting. Her moan of relief shuddered through me, and I pulled back to growl, “Spread your legs.”

  When she immediately obeyed, my dick began to throb, and I slipped my free hand between her thighs. Finding her dripping wet, I pressed my forehead to hers and ground out, “What the fuck are you doing to me, Aoife?”

  My lungs burned. Shit, they hadn’t burned like this on my seven-mile run.

  She whimpered in response, and I grated out, “Your pussy is molten, Aoife. Didn’t I satisfy this greedy little thing enough last night?”

  Her back arched, and I guess I had my answer. Grinning, so goddamn pleased with her I wanted to laugh, I pressed one last kiss to her lips before I dipped my head to catch one of her nipples between my teeth. I bit down. Hard. She loved it enough to squeak, and her hands struggled to escape my grasp, but there was no fucking way in hell she was going anywhere.

  I laved the tip with my tongue, swirling around the areola until she whimpered, and her pelvis arched as she tried to fuck my hand, which was only covering her pussy, not actively touching it.

  Nipping it again, I pressed my face between those gorgeous tits before I kissed my way to the other side. I loved these bad boys. I could get lost in the ripe generosity of her curves, and some days, I wanted nothing more than to do exactly that.

  Slurping her nipple, I sucked as much of it as I could into my mouth, content when I released her to see my teeth marks around her skin and the bright-pink hue of her delicious flesh. Deciding to stop teasing her when she’d been such a good little girl, I slid a finger through her wet folds and felt her shiver as though it were my own.

  “Oh, God, Finn. It feels so good.” She swallowed, and I peered up at her, loving that her eyes were closed, that she was scowling at nothing, so focused on her own pleasure.

  Using the heel of my wrist, I pressed it against her clit, so I could thrust two fingers into her. She was still so tight, so small, and I knew I made her sore, but she kept coming back for more. On the days where I tried to refrain, tried to hold back, she wouldn’t let me.

  Like this morning.

  I hadn’t intended on taking her until tonight, but here she was. Needing me. Exactly like I needed her.

  Though she was wet, I scissored my fingers carefully, loving the snug fit. The tight clasp, and like that, it was too much. I pulled free, released her hands, and before she could complain, I hauled her up into my arms.

  In seconds, we were in the bedroom. I carefully settled her on the bed, shucked out of my shorts, and grabbed a condom.

  “I-I’m on the pill,” she whispered, and my fingers froze around the foil wrapper.

  I’d never trusted any bitch when she’d told me that, but Aoife?

  I did, and that scared the shit out of me.

  When I stared at her, my eyes burning with my need, her tone turned nervous as she whispered, “Irregular periods.”

  I gritted my teeth, clenched my jaw, and tensed the rest of my body.

  I wanted in her so fucking bad that I couldn’t think past getting inside her. But I was sweaty. Dirty, and I really didn’t want to go for a shower now.

  For a second, I realized how on edge I was. How close to losing control I felt. Then, I released a shuddery breath, and in a tone that brooked no argument, I bit off, “Next time.”

  Her eyes widened, but she nodded eagerly and held out her arms to me. Quickly sheathing my cock and regretting every shitty second of it, I turned to her, loving how she clung to me as I sank onto her.

  “This pussy is mine, isn’t it, Aoife?” I breathed against her mouth as I settled my cock between her spread lips, feeling the molten heat and wanting to so
b that bare skin wasn’t touching bare skin.

  “It is,” she whimpered. “All yours.”

  “Always mine?” I demanded.

  “A-Always,” she mewled.

  That was music to my fucking ears, so I reared up, and slipped the tip of my cock into her. She clenched around me like she had the first time, and getting inside her was still a fucking back-breaking task, one I was willing to suffer through—the thought made me grin inwardly.

  When I was finally inside her, she was panting, and her tits were jiggling all over the place. I eyed them, eyed her, then I grabbed her hands, bridged our fingers, and placed them on either side of her head. Pinning her down, keeping her in place.

  As I looked her square in the eye, I began to pump into her. Slow, deep. Thrusting all the way inside before almost pulling all the way out.

  Her eyes watered as we watched one another, and it was such an intense moment that I could understand why. Mine burned, too, and I realized I’d never felt this close to anyone, anyone, in my entire fucking life.

  What was it with this woman?

  Why did she get to me like this?

  I’d noticed it from the start, and it had never been a problem. I knew that wouldn’t be the case with anyone else, though. Anyone else, I’d have begrudged this closeness that had appeared like a genie floating from a lamp. But with Aoife? It was right.

  It was good.

  How it was supposed to be.

  How long we stared at each other as I made love to her—yeah, I thought without a wince, this is making love—I couldn’t say. Time could have slipped through our fingers, or it could have raced past us. All I knew was that I was here, in this moment, with her.

  When she cried out her release, she broke eye contact. Her head whipped from side to side as though she couldn’t contain all these feelings. I loved seeing her break, loved seeing her fall, and when her cunt clamped around me, intent on milking me dry, I let it. Knowing the next time I was inside her, I’d be feeling the real deal.

  Each and every time was like a punch to the face. Not the best way to describe it, but it left me feeling punch drunk, and I slumped against her, loving how she curled her arms and legs around me, hugging me with her whole body.

  My head settled against her chest, and I could hear the fast beat of her heart. It reassured me, and crazily enough, it sent me straight back to sleep.

  ❖

  Aoife

  Something changed that morning.

  After I told Finn we didn’t have to use condoms, he changed. Not in a bad way. But in an ‘I can’t get inside you enough’ way, and hell, I wasn’t about to complain about that.

  He’d still fuck me until I sobbed, but those moments were interspersed with passionate kisses, and he’d started holding my hand. I’d never thought that could mean so much, but it did.

  He’d brought me here with a purpose. He’d wanted me, had wanted to use me, and yet, each time, each day that passed? It was like he changed. I felt it. You could call me crazy, but I wasn’t. The way he looked at me, the way he touched me, this wasn’t about business. This was real. I knew it, and no one would or could convince me otherwise.

  When he claimed I was his, he wasn’t messing around. He’d meant it, and God, how I wanted him to. I wanted to be his, and I wanted him to be mine.

  My eyes drifted over to him. It was late, and he was still working—he worked more than anyone I knew, and I’d owned a tea room and had baked everything on the premises, so I knew what long hours felt like. We were in his office, not the kitchen, and I was sketching ideas of how I wanted the layout of the bakery to look. I was no artist, but I didn’t need to be. I just wanted a rough working idea of where my equipment would go.

  As my pencil scratched over the paper, Finn typed away like a demon on his computer.

  I liked that he wanted me in here. After we’d eaten the meal I’d cooked for us, when he’d said he needed to work in his office, I’d offered to go to the salon—you know, the room where someone had been shot, gulp—but he’d dragged me in here with him.

  Not that I was about to complain.

  Finn was like a magnet, and I was a puny pile of iron filings that had no choice but to gravitate toward him.

  Cutting him a look, I saw he was scowling at something in the distance. His office was set up so that his desk was on the back wall. He overlooked the seating area and had a view of the city. In here, it was more modern. A silver desk with one of those expensive ergonomic chairs complemented a thick pile, emerald green rug. I was on one of two white leather L-shape sofas, with the Ls creating a kind of box.

  He had some framed lithographs on the wall, at least, I thought they were prints. With his wealth, maybe they were real.

  But as I watched him, he looked so stark over there. So alone that I hated it.

  From a drawer, he pulled out a letter opener and a pile of envelopes. The move was so old-fashioned that I almost smirked as he began to open his mail—at eleven PM at night—and I found that he fascinated me more than my prospective venture.

  When he released a hissed-out breath and cursed, “Shit,” I was on my feet and heading toward him.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” I asked, already next to him.

  He grunted. “Cut my finger. It’s nothing.”

  Before he could even push his chair back, I grabbed his hand, studied the small cut, and felt relief swirl through me. I didn’t even realize what I’d done until I’d done it. And by the time I had, we were both frozen, his finger in my mouth as I sucked at the blood welling from the cut.

  It was such an intimate move that I couldn’t quite believe I’d done it, but from the fire in his eyes? I knew he’d liked it.

  My heart began to thud heavily in my chest, and every part of me quickened, ready to burn with him.

  “Suck harder,” he rasped, and I complied. As I always did when he used that tone.

  I swirled my tongue around the tip, watching as he shuddered, and when he snarled, “Take off your pants,” I did as bid when he pulled his finger free from my lips.

  The second I was naked from the waist down, he bit out, “Bend over the desk.”

  And then, he showed me what magic he really could work in this office as he fucked me. With the view of Manhattan and stars in front of me, Finn took me to another place, another time, another universe where only he and I existed, and that, I realized, was becoming my most favorite place in the world.

  Chapter Ten

  Finn

  A week later

  “Don’t you think it’s about time you introduced me?”

  Aidan Sr.’s question had me jerking in surprise. We were at St. Patrick’s. Sunday mass had just finished, and I’d had to fight the urge to yawn through the service.

  Only thoughts of what I’d done to Aoife last night had stopped me from dozing off, and yeah, I knew it was all kinds of wrong to have a hard-on in church, but fuck, that was what confession was for, right?

  At least I wouldn’t be telling the Father where I’d had my lustful thoughts–just that I’d had them.

  It was beyond hypocritical in my mind to commit sins, uncaring that I did so, while knowing all would be forgiven when I told my confessor, and I uttered however many Hail Marys he deigned suitable for my punishment.

  Still, those were the rules under Aidan Sr.’s leadership.

  Fucked-up, but true.

  At least once a week we had to go to confession, once a week we had to attend mass, and once a week we had to take the Holy Communion.

  It was clever, actually. The Father never took confession on Sundays, so that meant we had to attend twice a week like good little Catholic boys.

  Aidan always was too shrewd for his own good.

  I was hovering outside the church’s entrance, waiting on the Donnelly brothers and their parents to finally move ass. I was cold, and I wanted to get this Sunday over with because then I could call Aoife and spend the rest of the day between her thighs.

&nbs
p; Yeah, I was getting to be like a broken record.

  The last time I’d been this hard, this often, I’d been fourteen and Aidan Jr. and I had taken turns in paying Mary Elizabeth Sanders one dollar bills to show us her bra.

  Desperate times and all that. What teenage boys could get off on was weird as fuck, but I swear, every time she’d shown us her bra, it had been like finding nirvana.

  I had to hide a grin at the memory, then I turned to Aidan Sr. and faced him down. “Introduce you to who?” My voice didn’t hold a quaver of fear because Aidan was like a viper who had a rodent in its line of sight, ready for its dinner.

  He could scent fear better than a bear in the woods, and I wasn’t about to fall for any of his traps.

  “Aidan tells me you didn’t go to O’Shea’s last night, and the others have dropped hints about you suddenly leading a very sheltered life.” I didn’t tense when he slung his arm around me. The leather coat he wore over his three thousand dollar suit creaked as he tucked me close. “I know my boys. Only pussy will have them staying in on a Saturday night.”

  My eyes flared at his use of the word ‘pussy’ so close to the church. Then, I realized he’d maneuvered me to the street beside St. Patrick’s, and suddenly everything made sense.

  The hypocrisy was enough to make me snort, but knowing Aidan didn’t appreciate jokes that were against him, I kept my dark humor at his ridiculousness hidden.

  “Who is she?” he asked, his eyes narrowed.

  “Aoife Keegan,” I told him, knowing he wouldn’t know her identity. Things like stubborn owners who refused to sell out when Acuig came calling, only came to his attention when I had to call in some of our thugs to show said stubborn owners the way ahead.

  “That’s a good, strong, Irish name.”

  “I know,” I told him. “She’s a good, strong, Irish girl.”

  “Which ways does she follow?”

  That translated in Aidan’s language to: does she go to church?