by Jane Henry
I feel odd without my phone, but Keenan’s had it cancelled and remotely wiped back in Ireland, so no more phantom texts or finding out personal information. I take a paperback book out of my bag and try to read it, but I finally realize I’m reading the same paragraph over and over again. I shove it into my bag.
“Hard to concentrate?” he asks in a smug whisper.
“Oh, shut it,” I snap before I can stop myself. “You can fuck all the way off.”
We’re soaring above the ocean now and my ears are popping, going higher and higher with every second that passes.
“Excuse me?” he asks in a deadly whisper. “Want to repeat that?”
“You heard me.” I shoot him an angry glare. “And don’t you think for a minute that gives you the right to punish me.”
“That right?” he says, with a snarl that makes me quake.
“Mhm.”
I don’t know how convincing I am, but I have to protect my heart. And if I let him have his way with me, he’ll knock down the fortress I’ve constructed. I can’t let him do that.
I look out the window, at the little clouds below, and a glimmer of hope shines in my heart. I’m going home, I think to myself.
But what does home mean?
Why am I disappointed he isn’t fighting back?
Why am I even like this? I hate that I am. I wish I could fully trust, that I didn’t let the doubts and insecurities I’ve battled for so long make me say and do things I don’t want.
But I’m afraid. So fucking afraid.
What does any of this even fucking mean? I feel Lachlan’s hands on my wrists, and I push him away, even as the heat of his touch brands me. I remember being skin to skin, irrevocably tied to him in intimate surrender. I try to push him away, but it’s no use. A moment later I’m fully unbuckled and he’s got me straddling his lap.
Even as I fight him, even as I know I’m going to regret pushing him away, my heart sings with the knowledge that he won’t let me.
“Let me go,” I say, shoving at his wrists, but he’s massive and powerful and he doesn’t even budge.
“No.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Are we going to keep this up all day?”
“Also no.”
I fume and I think I hear a glimmer of a chuckle in his voice.
“So what are you going to do, then? Punish me? That’s not always the answer, you know.”
“I know it isn’t,” he says evenly. “But sometimes it is, and to answer your question, I’m thinking on it.”
“Hardly room to climb over your lap,” I mutter.
“Oh, there’s plenty of room.”
“How do you know? You’ve done this before.” The thought of him taking another girl over his lap has me wanting to scream.
His eyes narrow. “I’ve studied every inch of you for fucking years,” he says. “I’ve imagined taking you over my knees so many times, I could orchestrate every move.” His fingers wrap around my wrist tighter. “How I’d tug you right over my knees.” His hand travels to my backside, and he gives me a firm squeeze. “How I’d punish you good and hard.”
He rests his large palm across my arse.
I shiver and try to pull away, but I find instead I’m pulling closer to him. Before I know what’s happening, I’m leaning in and kissing him, my lips brushing against his with unapologetic surrender. This man infuriates me, but this could be the last time we’re together.
“We have five hours and twenty-three minutes left to go,” I remind him. “I’m sure you can get a quickie in there.”
He kisses me so gently, I wonder at first if he heard me.
Don’t, my mind wars. Don’t stop.
I want to lose myself to him again, to surrender myself completely to everything and anything he does to me. But I have to be able to surface again. I have to be able to keep myself in check.
His warm hand on the back of my head, his body pressed to mine, I let myself go in our kiss. It’s our farewell, I tell myself.
Wordlessly, he unbuckles himself and rises with me in his arms. He walks to the bed, his face intent with a sense of purpose, but he doesn’t meet my eyes.
He lays me down on the bed, then leaves me to go secure the locks so no flight attendant interrupts us. I watch him click the locks in place with a wistful sigh. I don’t want this to end. I don’t. When he returns to me, there’s purpose in his gaze and a sternness about him I’ve rarely seen.
“You can’t run from me, Fiona.”
“I’m not running. I’m right here.”
He sits on the side of the bed and points a finger to my temple. “Here, sweet girl,” he says so gently, he almost cracks my resolve. “Here.”
I shiver and look at him. “Lachlan, I—”
But I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to voice that love scares me.
I don’t want to hurt again, and no one has the power to hurt me like he does.
And then he’s undressing me, and my mind goes blank, because I can’t focus beyond the feel of his fingers on my body, the pulse of heated arousal at his touch. He kisses me so fiercely I fear he’ll leave a mark, then pulls away only long enough to undress himself. He comes back to me, stripped to his boxers, and reaches for me. He doesn’t position himself above me, though, not like before, but lifts me up and flips me to my belly.
“On your hands and knees,” he says in my ear. “I want to own you.”
He slaps at my backside. Oh, God. Now?
Now?
But the pulsing heat at my core tells me not to lose my chance, not now when I so badly ache for this.
I scramble to the correct position. Maybe I am too young for him, too immature. But the next moment the voices in my head quiet when he reaches for a bedside drawer, and I marvel that he’s as prepared as he is. He trickles warm oil in his hand, massages them together, then spreads it on my arse.
I nearly jolt from the arousal that zings through me at the feel of the warmed oil. He pushes against my hole with his thumbs, and I suck in a breath.
“I ought to whip your arse for that mouth of yours.”
I stifle a whimper.
“Oh. Oh, God,” I say in a voice that sounds sort of like a squeak when he spreads me wider.
“Never been fucked there.”
“Of course not.”
“Good. Then when we land you’ll still feel me.”
I shiver.
Don’t fall for it, I tell myself. Just enjoy this. It’s his parting gift.
Only Lachlan’s parting gift is fucking my arse.
A few moments later, I feel more oil, more pushing as he pushes at the ring of muscle. It burns, but my whole body convulses and my breathing hitches. I contract and gasp when I feel his cock at my entrance, then scream out loud when he slaps my arse.
“That’s for being a good girl,” he says with a low chuckle, before he slams his palm across my arse again, much harder. I yelp at the searing pain. “And that’s for being a brat.”
I look over my shoulder and scowl at him, which only earns me a third smack of his palm.
“Touch yourself,” he says. “Or I’ll spank you.” He traces his index finger at the curve just below my bottom. “More sensitive there. It’ll hurt more.” Then he gives me a demonstration.
“Fucking hell—ow!” This smack was the hardest yet. My skin burns but my pussy throbs. I brace myself on one hand while I stroke my fingers through my swollen folds and gasp at the instant sensation, at the same time I feel the hard yet soft tip of his cock on my arse.
“Good girl,” he says, stroking his cock along my slit. “Just like that. No more touching. Now brace yourself.” My need ratchets higher and higher. I’m nervous about him taking this virginity even more than I was the first time.
I brace myself on the bed below, my hands flat out in front of me. I feel more exposed than ever, and I wonder at my choices. Will I regret this? But the next moment, I can’t think anymore when he spreads my cheeks wi
de with his large hands.
“Lachlan,” I say, my face heating.
“Relax,” he says, easing more oil and his thumb through my tight ring. “Relax.”
His words settle over me with warm comfort and assurance. I relax. And when he gently pushes his cock in me, I clench around him, my pussy spasms, and I gasp for breath. My eyes flutter closed as they roll back in my head.
“Christ, Fiona,” he grates, as he slowly builds a perfect rhythm. The sense of invasion fades as lightning licks through me, my nerves on fire. He’s cursing in harsh Gaelic, but I can’t make out the words, his voice seems so far away and I’m so enveloped in my own ratcheting need.
I never knew this could be so erotic, so hot, but him taking me from behind like this makes me feel used in the best possible way. Every groan he emits, every thrust of his hips, the tension that coils in my belly and core brings me closer and closer to release.
He drops his hands beside mine, his body folding over me. Our skin touches and his fingers entwine mine. I close my eyes and swallow hard, my pulse racing.
“I need to come,” I whisper, my voice trembling and affected.
“Then come, love,” he whispers in my ear. “I want to hear you scream.”
Razor sharp bliss ripples through me and I don’t need to be told twice to scream. I couldn’t stop it if I tried. My head falls back, my mouth drops open, and I’m screaming my release in the private depths of this room as his hot seed lashes in me and our bodies convulse in bliss.
“Fucking perfect,” he grates, still thrusting. His fingertips are so tight on my hips he’ll leave marks, but he told me he’d mark me, and mark me he did. His bite marks, his come, his handprint across my arse but so much more. He’s left grooves in my heart. Indelible. Permanent.
As the spasms of pleasure slow, we hit turbulence. The jet dips downward, and he pulls himself out of me. We’re tangled in the sheets, still panting. He pulls me to his chest so fiercely I can hardly breathe, as if trying to keep me safe from the tumult.
“You okay?” he asks.
No, I’m not okay, I want to respond. Physically, I’m fine. We haven’t crashed, and I know this is only temporary. But my heart… God, my heart is rent in two. I thought I could detach myself from him and still enjoy the moment. I was wrong. So fucking wrong. I’m no more capable of remaining detached from Lachlan than I am from jumping out a window and flying back to Ballyhock by flapping my arms.
Is everything ruined between us? The words I’ve said, my inconsistency and fear. Only a fool would continue to stay with a girl like me and deal with me. I know it.
We hit turbulence again, this time rocketing to the side, and I scream involuntarily.
“You’re alright, love,” he says softly, holding me tightly against his chest. “I’ve got you.”
I know he does. I know it. It dawns on me that he isn’t talking about protecting me from the uncertainty in the sky but so much more.
Finally, the jet settles down. I clean up and so does he, and wordlessly we lie in bed. I’m asleep within minutes.
When I wake, we’re only minutes from landing.
“Have to get ready to land, Fiona,” Lachlan says. There’s a firmness to his jaw and a hardness in his eyes that sets me on edge.
“Oh?”
His gaze swings swiftly to mine. “Yeah. We’ll be near Ballyhock momentarily.”
My heart soars with hope and the promise of the joy that I lost. I want to see my friends and family. I want to be back home.
I don’t know what we’ll do when we get back. I don’t know who I even am anymore. But I long to be home.
The jet lands without much ado. He gets my bags, and I don’t bother to fight him. I exit the plane, and to my joy, I see Sheena and Nolan, waiting for me. Sheena looks pale and wan, but she manages a smile when I exit, and Sam grins at me. I run to them, and Lachlan trails behind me.
“You alright?” Nolan asks, kissing my cheek.
“I’m fine,” I lie. “I’m fine.”
Chapter 18
Lachlan
I let her go. I let her run to Sheena and Nolan, and I carry her bags to her. Sheena wraps her up in her arms, and when Nolan finally gets a chance to hug her, he lifts her straight up in the air. She squeals like a little girl. Adorable.
“Got her bags,” I say quietly, not wanting to interrupt the family reunion.
“Thanks for that,” he says. “Everything alright, Lach?”
“Fine,” I say. “How’s Sheena?”
His face falls, and he shrugs a casual shoulder. But his voice is hoarse and affected when he responds. “She’s alright. Reckon it’ll take a bit of time to recover.”
“Absolutely.”
“Glad to have you two back home.”
“It was bigger than we could handle, Nolan.” I fill him in. “And why does it make sense for Tiernan to stay? We need him home, too.”
His brows draw together. Fiona’s somewhere between a sister and a daughter to him, and Tiernan’s somewhere between a brother and a son.
“I hate that for him,” Nolan says, helping me carry the bags to the waiting car. “But Keenan’s already sent back up.”
“He has?” I look at Nolan incredulously. “Keenan pulled me, though. Why the hell didn’t he leave me?”
Nolan rolls his eyes. “Seriously, you couldn’t figure it out?”
I only frown.
“He wanted you near Fiona, of course,” Nolan says. “And moreover, he wants you home.”
I look wistfully at Fiona with her sister ahead of us.
Not sure she wants me, though. Nolan looks from me to her and then back again.
“You two alright?”
“I don’t know,” I answer truthfully. I swallow hard. “I’ve claimed her, Nolan.”
Nolan drops the bags on the ground right where he is. “You fucking what?”
“Claimed her,” I say with conviction, meeting his flinty gaze.
Nolan’s eyes go heavenward. “No need for me to kick yer arse,” he says. “Sheena will do it for me.”
“Problem is, I’m not sure she still wants me,” I tell him, and even the words make me feel like a petulant teen again. “She’s been… distant or something.”
Nolan shoves all the bags in the car, and turns to me. “Nothing to worry about, Lach. She’ll come around.” His jaw clenches. “If you’ve claimed her, she’ll have to.”
There’s no turning around from a Clan claiming. Bloody hell. Does Fiona know that?
Nolan stares off at Fiona and Sheena. They’re got their arms around each other, and Fiona’s head’s on Sheena’s shoulder.
“You don’t need me to tell you those girls have had a hard go of it, do you?”
I shake my head. “Course not.”
“They’re… how do I say this.” He strokes his chin. “Hard to get past, sometimes. Sheena had a chip on her shoulder and pushed me away. You remember how we met, don’t you?”
I remember it well. Sheena was an investigative reporter bound and determined to bring down the Clan, when she thought them responsible for the death of her father.
“She was brazen and tough as nails,” Nolan says softly. “But I’ll tell you, Lach, once I broke through—well, it’s just her exterior, isn’t it? She put up a wall, and you know why if you think about it, don’t you?”
I nod. “I think so.”
“She’s just afraid, lad,” he says. “Afraid to get hurt. We all learn certain coping mechanisms at our mam’s apron strings, don’t we?”
I nod. I would guess so.
“Damned miracle those children came out of that fucking situation as good as they did.”
“I always thought Fiona so innocent,” I say with a laugh.
“And it’s why you treated her like a child,” Nolan supplies. “I get it. She is sweet, the sweetest girl there is. But she’s got her sister’s temper. I promise you, Lachlan, if you pursue her, if you truly don’t give up, and you hold your ground, she’ll re
ward you so richly you’d think yourself feckin’ Midas.”
I swallow hard and nod. “Aye.”
“And honest to God,” he says. “Never underestimate the power of a firm hand.”
I raise my brows to him in surprise, but he only chuckles. “Will bring down the walls of the most stubborn little wench.”
“If she doesn’t fucking kill you.”
He grins. “Do it right, lad, and she definitely won’t be trying to kill you.”
He jerks his chin at the car where the luggage is. “Tell you what.” He raises his brows. “Just remembered an errand I’ve got in town. I’ll take this car, you take that one.”
He gestures for Sheena to join him, and she reluctantly pulls away from her sister. Fiona watches me apprehensively, and I swear to God I can see her constructing the fortress around her heart again, brick by fucking brick.
“I’ll go with Sheena,” Fiona begins, but Nolan shakes his head.
“So sorry, lass. Can’t have you come with us. Back seat’s filled with things we picked up for Keenan, see? We’re off to town. Lachlan will take you back.”
Sheena kisses her cheek. “See you soon.”
I open the car door and jerk my chin. “Get in.”
Fiona flops in the seat and sighs.
“Was good to see them, wasn’t it?” I ask. She doesn’t respond. “Now Fiona, I’ll not have you freeze me out, lass. I don’t care what the hell’s going on in that head of yours, this isn’t how we’ll deal with things.”
“With what things?”
“Conflict.”
She looks out the window as I start the car and we begin to drive.
“Lachlan, I just don’t know if this is the right time for us… for you…” her voice trails off.
“Ah, no you don’t,” I interrupt. “No evasion, Fiona.”
“I’m too young to be claimed!” she says loudly.
“Are you?” My brows furrow together.
“I want to… see the world and stuff,” she says. “Do more than spread my legs for you and have your babies.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I mutter. “What the hell do you think claiming is?”
“I want to pay my own bills and not be beholden to anyone,” she continues, not answering my question. “I want to prove I’m not a child.”
