The Final Hour (Dublin Nights Book 5)

by Brittney Sahin

  As he slowly fucked his finger in and out of me, he changed the angle and added a second, rubbing against all the sensitive parts of my sex. I couldn’t speak. I could barely breathe. And all the while, he played with my nipple with his other hand.

  His gaze wandered from where he fingered me, then moved up my tight abdomen and to my full breasts, avoiding my eyes as if he were afraid he’d break down and demand more from me.

  A jolt of pleasure shot through my body as he moved his thumb over my clit. I rotated my hips, desperate for more friction, and gasped at the feel of his hard length behind me, wishing he’d take me and ease the pain in my sex.

  I bit down on my lower lip, growing dizzy as I stared at his strong hands gripping me, fucking me, demanding my pleasure. I turned my cheek, drawing his attention, and his mouth met mine in a bruising kiss. Like he was punishing me for refusing to give him more than my body.

  “Come for me,” he said against my mouth before pulling away. I looked back into the mirror, my gaze going to his hand on my pussy, and I obeyed, unable to stop myself even if I wanted to.

  I cried out his name as I fell forward, setting a hand to the dresser, little tremors shooting through my body. I clamped my legs together when he kept at it, rubbing harder and faster.

  At the loss of his heated touch, I splayed both hands on the dresser and leaned over farther, revealing more of his naked perfection in the reflection. Taut skin and hard muscles and eyes burning for more.

  He palmed my ass cheeks with both hands, then gripped my hips and thrust his cock against my flesh, just below my sex, and I responded by pushing my ass into him.

  “Sean. I need you inside me,” I pleaded, not even ashamed that I was begging.

  He flipped me around and set me on top of the dresser in one quick movement, the mirror at my back rattling with the force of it. He guided my legs around his waist, hooking my ankles behind him. “Right here?” he rasped, a dark look in his eyes.

  He’d been holding back for months, and so had I. Ravenous for each other but refusing to act on it. Tonight he let the beast out, which was required if we were to keep it to sex without those frustrating strings. To remain as emotionless as possible.

  “You wanna fuck like this?” His hands landed on the dresser on either side of me as he leaned in, his eyes harsh and piercing, testing me. That strong jaw locked tight. I was desperate to have his beard scratch up the length of my inner thigh before setting that handsome mouth on my pussy to lap at the wet mess he’d made between my legs. “Is this what you want, Emilia?” He was trying to hang on, to remain detached, but the Sean I knew, the one I couldn’t help but care about, was breaking through.

  And that scared me.

  So, I cried out, “Yes. Like this.”

  He wrapped a hand around my lower back and pulled me to the edge of the dresser, then wordlessly buried himself inside me. My spine arched, and the back of my head hit the mirror. He never lost hold of my eyes, though.

  With one hand still on my back, his other moved to my hip to hold me in place as he took me hard. And deep. All the way to my core.

  I bit down on my back teeth as the dresser shook with each thrust.

  He kept our bodies tight and dragged me into his arms before either of us came. “No, not like this,” he said in a strained voice. “You deserve better.” Picking me up, he walked us to the bed, and I was powerless to protest. I didn’t just want the beast I’d tried to let free. I wanted his heart, too.

  Our bodies disconnected as he laid me down on the bed and crawled up my body. He shifted to his forearms and softly brushed the wild strands of hair away from my face, finally capturing my eyes and stealing my breath once again.

  “This is how,” was all he said before sinking inside me, and I was overwhelmed with an explosion of emotions. So much so I was on the verge of tears as we moved together, our bodies effortlessly in sync as I held his arms and stared deep into his eyes.

  No condom. And that was a jump if I’d ever taken one, wasn’t it?

  But it was . . . incredible.

  That feeling in my chest earlier had nothing on whatever was happening to me now.

  “You’re mine, Emilia Calibrisi,” he said huskily. “For a lot longer than tonight.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Sean

  Waking up to the sight of Emilia standing naked, coffee in hand, and staring at the slit between the curtains was a sight I wanted to wake to for the rest of my life.

  “Buongiorno,” I said, murmuring the Italian word for good morning and hoping it was the right one. I had no idea what today would be like. How she would act or respond to me.

  We’d had sex last night. Unprotected sex. That was a first for me, but I wouldn’t change anything about it.

  Afterward, part of me assumed she’d slip out of bed or turn into a pumpkin or something.

  Instead, she woke me in the middle of the night, her mouth wrapped around my cock, and worked me over until I couldn’t see straight. Before I was able to gather my wits, she’d climbed on top and rode the living hell out of me. Poised and confident, her hands on my chest, back straight, glossy black hair swinging over her breasts.

  And a few hours ago, it was me waking her. The sheet had slipped from her torso as she slept, so I took a few moments and watched her in that relaxed state of slumber. Her tits rising and falling with each soft breath was erotic, and I couldn’t resist taking turns sucking each nipple while strumming her clit. Eventually, my mouth eased down on her pussy where I devoured her like she was my favorite dessert. She’d fisted the bedspread and cursed in several languages.

  But now that the sun was awake, I had no clue if I’d get Emilia the Lover or Emilia the League Leader. Would there ever be a world in which this beautiful, strong woman allowed herself to just live her life without feeling the need to choose one or the other?

  Maybe I was blind to our ending, and we were living some tragic love story, but for now, at least there was a story. Emilia was still here. She hadn’t run. Yet. I wanted to knock that word from my head.

  When she released the curtains and faced me, I braced myself to hear what she’d most likely been overthinking.

  Not a hint of shyness in her nakedness as she strode my way, sipping her coffee.

  I propped my head up with my elbow, doing my best not to allow my eyes to linger on any of her scars, knowing she wouldn’t like that.

  She yanked at the white sheet, allowing it to slide off the bed and expose my naked body. That was actually my first time sleeping in the nude. I hoped there’d be a next time. Hugging her sensational body as I fell asleep was something I could get used to.

  “I like you like this.” She continued to sip her coffee, her brown eyes, a shade similar to espresso beans, eyeing my cock.

  I wrapped a hand around the base, fully aroused and ready to go. Although, if I were an artist, I’d be tempted to paint her in the nude instead, blue balls be damned.

  From the looks of it, Emilia was still in lover-mode, ready for sex. And I’d be happy to oblige.

  “About last night.”

  Scratch that, then. I sat taller, releasing my shaft, and set my back to the headboard.

  She smiled. “I was hoping for more before we head back to Dublin. More of what we did.”

  What we did? Sex? Fuck? Make love? I’d expected a number of descriptors from her, and “what we did” wasn’t one of them.

  “And as for the no-condom thing,” she began, “I’m safe. And on the pill. I know we should have discussed that before, but I also know you, and you’d never be with me if you weren’t safe,” she said, her tone borderline businesslike.

  “I’m safe. I always wrap up.” I cleared my throat. “With you, my one head took a back seat to the other, and I forgot. I’m sorry.”

  “It was our decision,” she responded with a small nod. “Don’t apologize.”

  I reached out for her, and to my surprise, she came closer. I encircled her wrist and urged her to s
it on the edge of the bed next to me.

  She discarded the mug on the bedside table and twisted to view me.

  I did my best to resist scooping her up and setting her right on my dick. She was naked and tempting, and if the look in her eyes was any indication, I was betting she was wet. I’d slide right into her.

  Emilia took my hands and placed them at her waist before leaning into me, bringing her back to my chest and settling between my legs.

  My cock was now trapped against my stomach, but when she set her hands on my thighs and shimmied her arse, I was two seconds from flipping her onto her knees and ramming into her from behind.

  “You keep moving like that, and my cock might just find a way inside you even from this position,” I promised, my voice deep, desire pounding through my veins.

  I wanted more of her.

  More here.

  More everywhere.

  Just more.

  It was cold outside. Cooler in Scotland than back home, and I’d love nothing more than to stay in the hotel in bed all day. I didn’t even want to spoil this moment by providing an update to the others about how last night went down, which we really should’ve already done had we not been distracted.

  Instead, I found myself blurting, “Come to dinner tonight.”

  She stilled her hips.

  Mood killer?

  “I promised my parents I’d come home tonight. Everyone will be there. I mean, you said Holly invited you to Dublin for the holidays and starting tonight our holiday festivities begin.” The office was closed now through January seventh, even. Sure, we had The Alliance to defeat, but it was also Christmas on Saturday. We’d been waiting forever to go after the sons of bitches. Did we really need to get a jump start this week? The bad guys would be around after the holidays.

  “We have the listening device and tracker now for Bridgette and Atlas. What we hear might alter our plans.” Emilia shifted out of my arms and sat on the bed next to me. “Although, the device in Atlas’s bag may be useless. But if a lead turns up . . .”

  Yup, I killed the mood. Just grand.

  She turned to face me and combed her fingers through her sexy, tangled hair. But it was her plump lips, slightly swollen from hours of kissing and bare of all traces of her red lipstick, that drew my eyes.

  “If a lead turns up, we’ll follow it. But for now, we can listen in and see what they say. Wait until New Year’s Eve. Use that night to turn Peter and Atlas on each other since we already have the proof of the affair.”

  “And the thug who was sent after Sara? What of him? We need to get him talking to see what he knows,” Emilia reminded me.

  “Sure, we’ll add ‘torture the thug’ to Ma’s schedule of holiday festivities.” I grinned. “But in all seriousness, what happened with Bridgette should clear up our concerns about Sara working for The Alliance, right? Bridgette didn’t seem to recognize me. And if Peter did pay Sara to worm her way into my family and spy on us, Sara would have given him the heads-up I took her tickets for the event last night. Bridgette didn’t look the least bit suspect of me, I promise.” I paused to consider everything. “And would Peter really use his wife to sleep with me to gain more intel? Gotta be some lines even bad guys draw, right?”

  Emilia’s raised eyebrows and dubious expression had me realizing there must have been a hole or two in my theory. “There’s no telling what a man like Peter would do for power. Hell, I wouldn’t put it past him to ask her to sleep with Atlas to try and take him down, too.”

  Now there was an idea. A terrible fecking idea. I wasn’t an arsehole criminal that could ever do such a thing, but Emilia was right. Anything was possible where Peter Krause was concerned. “Feck. You’re so good at this it’s almost scary.”

  “A lifetime of experience.” She shrugged.

  “And if Bridgette is screwing Atlas because her husband asked her to, won’t that mess up our plans?”

  “Hopefully, the listening devices we planted can change some of our theories to facts before then so we know what we’re up against.”

  “See, you proved my point. We can’t rush into things.” It’d be nice to have some semblance of normalcy amid our chaotic, hunting-down-bad-guys life. “Spend the holidays with me,” I pleaded again and reached for her hands. “An Irish Christmas.” I hated what I was about to say next, but— “Even if ‘what we did’ doesn’t happen again, I’d love to spend the week with you.”

  At that, Emilia closed her eyes, effectively hiding any reaction I might see there. But she didn’t pull her hands back. I’d take the small wins with this woman when I could.

  Hopefully, she was measuring the possibilities and would choose . . . well, me.

  “We’re in Scotland now. Dublin could be dangerous if anyone saw us together as more than colleagues or friends.”

  “We don’t have to walk around holding hands or kissing on the streets,” I reminded her. “People are used to seeing us together because of our jobs.”

  She opened her eyes. “I always loved the holidays as a kid. I think my father overcompensated because we didn’t have family. Usually just us. But still, he made it special.”

  Was this a roundabout way of saying yes? Or was she saying no?

  “Your mother. What happened to her?” Why was I going out on that limb? Why, fecking, why?

  We still hadn’t gotten around to discussing that tipsy admission she’d made about her father and Penelope at the lingerie party last night, either.

  Emilia swung her legs over the side of the bed and dropped her feet to the plush carpet. Standing, she quickly plucked up her coffee and took a sip, then turned to face me. I rose as well, not sure if I’d royally screwed this all up.

  Mastering how to talk to Emilia about her past, or her emotions attached to those events, was like toeing a very fine line. One step in the wrong direction could cause her to shut down or shut me out. I was a tightrope walker without much experience and no net.

  But I had to push every once in a while if I wanted to get to know her more. And I did want to know her. All of her.

  “Arranged marriage.” She leaned her back to the window by the bed. “Another Sicilian family. Sophia didn’t love my father. And vice versa. After she had me, a few months later, she ran away with one of our bodyguards. Like a thing from the movies.”

  Her words stole my breath and had me tensing. Not because of what she said, but the fact she told me the truth. I didn’t know what to say or do. I honestly hadn’t expected an answer.

  “I decided to try and find her when I was fifteen. Close to my sixteenth birthday. I wanted to yell at her. Tell her off. I left without my father’s permission. Ditched my guards.” Her eyes fell closed again, and she allowed the empty mug to dangle from her hand, the coffee now gone. “I made it to her home in Tuscany. But Sophia refused to see me. Her guard slash lover for fifteen years slammed the door in my face. I went so far as to climb the fence but found myself facing off with Dobermans. And I never looked her up again after that.” She peered at me, unable to hide the glossy look of her eyes. The threat of tears she’d most likely resisted for God knew how long. “The irony in it being Dobermans that sent me on my way, the same watchdog on the Calibrisi family crest, wasn’t lost on me,” she added in a tentative voice.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

  “Surprised your dad didn’t kill the bodyguard,” I mused.

  This produced a surprising smile. “Me, too. But Papà didn’t love her. If he wanted her back, he could have easily taken her back.” She shrugged, the emotion in her eyes vanishing as fast as it’d come. “I guess it’s interesting Papà wants the same for me, though. To marry someone who I may not love just because of my family name.”

  I reached for her hand and laced our fingers together, unable to stop myself. I wanted her to know I supported her decisions. If I could travel back in time, I would beg her father not to force her to make that promise.

  I could f
ind a way around League rules, but changing the past?

  I’d take as much of her as she’d give me for as long as possible.

  “I don’t know when Papà began to sleep with Chanel’s mother, but she was the only woman he ever truly loved. And I think after Chanel died, Penelope must have blamed my father, because I’m fairly certain they didn’t see each other again.”

  I tightened my grip on her hand and raised our clasped palms between us, gently kissing her knuckles, and I’d swear I felt a shift between us. Her walls were slightly lowering.

  The only problem? When it came to this woman, I didn’t have a bloody clue how to get them to crumble.

  Chapter Twelve

  Emilia

  Dublin, Ireland

  “I wasn’t expecting country music in an Irish household,” I said to Anna, who was sitting on the couch inside Sean’s parents’ house. She was trying to rock her growing boy to sleep on her lap, the travel playpen ready nearby for when he fell asleep.

  We were eating a late dinner, so she’d fed him before arriving. Same with Sebastian and Holly, though Sebastian was some sort of baby whisperer and managed to get Siobhan to sleep in under two minutes. But Holly probably wouldn’t let him keep telling their daughter tales of taking down bad guys for much longer. It was most likely his deep voice that soothed her and not the stories, but for now, it worked.

  Anna’s bold green eyes tracked my movement as she switched her son into a new position. “Nothing like a little Garth Brooks to get Braden down.”