Cormac: A Dark Irish Mafia Romance (Dangerous Doms)

by Jane Henry

  I kiss and lick and bite and tease until arousal glistens on her thighs, her nipples point in hardened peaks, and her breasts swell with desire.

  “Open your legs, lass,” I whisper, before I bend to capture her mouth with mine. I glide my cock between her legs as I kiss her, gentle at first, then harder. Claiming. Owning.

  I fucked up our first time together, and by some crazy twist of fate, she doesn’t remember. I have another chance. An opportunity to do this right.

  “Easy, sweetheart,” I whisper. “Tell me if it hurts.”

  Gently, I press the tip of my cock at her entrance. She spreads her legs wider, begging for more. My cock throbs, but I hold myself back. I’m not going to fuck this up, not again. I glide in and out, gently at first, shallow strokes of my cock against her slick, swollen folds.

  “Please,” she says. “It doesn’t hurt. I want you in me.”

  It’s all I can do to hold myself back when she begs like that. I groan with the effort.

  “God, woman,” I groan. “Don’t tempt me.” I want to shove my cock in her, impale her until she screams, thrust in so hard and deep she knows to her very core that she’s mine. But I can’t. I won’t. I have to ease her into this.

  The first full thrust of my cock makes her moan and whimper a little.

  “Does it hurt?” I ask her.

  “Only a little.”

  “Let me make it better.”

  I kiss her cheek, then her lips, then suck the tender skin at her neck between my lips as I build a slow, steady, certain rhythm, thrusting in and out while the tight, hot walls of her sex clench. Christ, it’s fucking brilliant.

  “Yes,” she breathes. “Oh God, yes.”

  I hold my body above hers, so I don’t smother the girl. Her breath catches when I thrust, her hips rising to meet mine.

  “Perfect,” she moans. “Yes. Oh, God, yes, Cormac, just like that.”

  I rock my hips against hers, the slick arousal between us helping me build a rhythm that’s harder and faster, until she’s moaning on the edge of climax.

  “Come with me,” I command.

  I chase my release and she’s right there with me, her moans mingling with mine as we hit our stride, bliss rolling through me as her own pleasure consumes her.

  “God, yes,” she moans. “Cormac. Fuck, yes.”

  “Mine,” I whisper in her ear, as I’m blinded by pleasure, her tight pussy milking my cock. We stay locked like that until our panting slows. I drop my head to her shoulder and close my eyes, granting myself this moment of perfection.

  I had another chance, and this was exactly what I’d have wanted her first time to be like.

  She drags her hand lazily through my hair.

  “Beautiful,” she says. “Was our first time together like that? I have this vague recollection of being nervous, then nothing…”

  I won’t lie, but I won’t tell her the truth either. “This might as well have been our first time if you don’t remember the actual first. First times are sometimes awkward and clumsy anyway.”

  She chuckles softly. “Cormac, you’re many things, but awkward and clumsy at lovemaking isn’t it.”

  “Why thank you,” I say. With reluctance, I pull out of her and roll to the side. We lie in tangled sheets.

  She reaches for my hand and entwines my fingers with hers. “Who was outside?”

  “Fucking reporter.”

  “He trespassed on property?” she asks, shocked.

  “She.”

  “Ohhh. She. What did he… do with her?”

  “Dunno. But I trust him.”

  She’s quiet for a minute. “I’m assuming people aren’t allowed to trespass on your property.”

  “Ah, no.”

  “And I’m… further assuming that… people who do regret it.”

  “Something like.”

  “Well I hope he doesn’t hurt her.” I don’t respond. “Cormac,” she says, more insistent this time. “I hope he won’t hurt her?”

  “Depends on what you mean by hurt, sweetheart.”

  She smacks my shoulder and sits up in bed, her pretty eyes flashing. “Oh, come off it! You know exactly what I mean.”

  I hold her wrist. “Enough. Keep your hands to yourself, Aileen. Don’t strike me again. Ever.”

  She silently fumes, but after a brief moment of silent struggle, she concedes. “Fine. Let me go.”

  “Say please.”

  She growls and huffs, but finally says, “Please.”

  Once she’s settled, I answer. “There are many ways we could hurt someone, Aileen. Now is it the same when one of my brothers gives a spy a beating to teach him a lesson, or when I take you across my knee for your smart mouth?”

  She doesn’t answer. My voice drops to a warning tone. “Aileen.”

  “Fine,” she says. “No, it isn’t the same. But do you really think Nolan will… strike her?”

  “Lass, I’ve no idea what Nolan would do. But if it were me? I’d at least tie her up and interrogate her. I’d want to instill the fear of God in her, no matter what that took. Trespassing as a spy on Clan property is punishable by far harsher methods than he’s likely to inflict on her. But the woman’s trouble.”

  “How so?”

  “She’s been putting her nose where it doesn’t belong now for a good year, and it’s about time she realizes that if she gets too close to fire, she’ll get burned.”

  Aileen frowns. “Well, what’s her problem, then? Why doesn’t she just leave well enough alone? You deserve your privacy.”

  Seems she’s changed her mind on which side to take.

  “Aye. We do. We may skirt the law, but we keep peace in Ballyhock, and we keep the inhabitants of our little village well protected. The Clan is the very backbone of our economy, and it’s because of us that half the village is employed.”

  “They work for you?”

  “Some. But our entire strategy involves supporting local business. Heavily. And if she comes in and digs for dirt, she could upset the whole economical structure of Ballyhock.”

  Her pretty brows draw together in consternation. “Well that’s not fair.”

  “Certainly not,” I say with a nod. Now she’s catching on. “But Nolan is a fair, just man. He isn’t power-hungry like some other men I know. He’ll get his point across with as little force as possible.”

  I tell her this to placate her, so she doesn’t worry, but truth be told, I’m not at all confident he’ll hold himself back.

  “Alright, then,” she says with a sigh. “Let me up to get ready for bed?”

  “Aye.” I release her with reluctance. I like having her beside me. I lean back on my pillows, one arm beneath my head, and watch her. She leaves the door open as she wets a washcloth and washes her body, then brushes her hair, removes her makeup, and does all the little steps she takes before she gets ready for bed. I like watching her. It’s private and sweet, how she prepares for bed, with all her feminine routines. When she comes back to me, she wobbles on her feet a little and clutches her belly.

  “Oooh,” she says with a frown. “Bit nauseous again.”

  “Again? When were you before?” I get out of bed and reach my hand to her elbow to steady her.

  “Before we went into town.”

  I lead her to bed and help her in. “You didn’t mention anything to me.”

  “Didn’t want to miss out going into town.”

  “Aileen.” I don’t bother to temper my stern tone. If she isn’t feeling well, I want to know.

  “I’m fine,” she says, climbing under the covers. “Well, after a good night’s sleep, I’ll be fine.”

  “Don’t do that again, lass. If you’re not feeling well, you’re to tell me. Sebastian says you could have residual symptoms from your head injury. Nausea’s one of them.”

  “Mmm,” she says sleepily, drawing the covers up over her shoulder. “Promise.”

  She sniffs. Is she crying?

  “Are you alright, Aileen?”
<
br />   “I just… I’m fine,” she says through tears. “I’m just so thankful you take care of me. I don’t know why I’m crying. Again.”

  “Ahh. It’s alright. A few tears never hurt anyone.” I wonder if sex makes her emotional, or it’s a side effect of the head injury. I’ve heard of such strange things before.

  I get ready for bed myself, and climb in beside her. In silence, I hold her for a few minutes, until I realize in surprise that she’s already fast asleep.

  I check my phone. A text from Nolan to me and Keenan.

  Nolan: Found the reporter on our property tonight. Sorted her out.

  I’m glad Aileen didn’t see that.

  Keenan: Did she have any recording equipment with her?

  Nolan: She did, she doesn’t have it anymore.

  Keenan: Good. Will she be trouble?

  Nolan: Oh, I’m sure of it. I’ll see to her.

  Keenan: Did she tell you anything we need to know?

  Nolan: Mentioned unrest with the O’Gregors but said she didn’t know anything more.

  I frown, and shoot off another text of my own. She still on our property?

  Nolan: Aye. I’ll escort her home in the morning, after I know she’s understood my warning.

  I delete the text thread so Aileen doesn’t get her knickers all up in a wad again. We haven’t seen the end of this.

  I roll over and hold my wife to me. She’s yet to learn the ways of our Clan. She’s yet to remember who she is, and what her place is here. Will she take to it? Or will she fight it every step of the way? I hold her to me. I have her for now, just like this, soft and supple in my arms. And like that. I fall into a deep and dreamless sleep.

  Chapter 14

  Aileen

  I’m tangled in sheets covered in blood. Cormac’s naked and he’s fucking me, but it isn’t the sweet lovemaking of today. He’s pinning me down and he’s angry. I’m screaming, but no sound comes out. I try to push him off me, but it’s no use, he’s so much stronger than I am. Every thrust of his hips brings raw pain and rivulets of blood until I’m swimming in it.

  “No!” I finally manage to say through the haze of silence that chokes me. “No!”

  I wake suddenly, still tangled in the sheets. Cormac reaches for me.

  “Easy, lass,” he whispers.

  I shove him away, still caught somewhere between sleep and terror.

  “Leave me alone,” I protest, slapping him away from me and trying to get away. There’s so much blood I feel as if I’m going to vomit. “Leave me alone!”

  Still wrapped in the sheets that bind me, I try to get out of the bed, but he grabs me and yanks me over to him. Nausea rolls over me, and I struggle.

  His voice is harder now. Louder. “Aileen. You were sleeping, lass. It was a dream.”

  “Let me go!”

  But he doesn’t. He holds me to him in an immovable grip. I struggle, but I’m no match to his strength. His deep, commanding voice makes me still.

  “Relax, lass. You were sleeping. Easy, now.”

  The darkened room is bathed in moonlight from the open window. I blink, finally fully waking.

  There’s no blood on the sheets. They’re as pristine white as they were before I fell asleep. I exhale and finally do what he says. I relax.

  “Oh, God,” I whisper. My heart still hammers in my chest, my nerves still fraught. The nausea I felt at the sight of the blood still lingers.

  “Shhh,” he says, holding me. “Sebastian said memories might come back like that. What were you dreaming?”

  I don’t want to tell him. Was that a memory? Or a nightmare?

  “I can’t remember,” I lie.

  He doesn’t question me at first, just holding me.

  “You were fighting me,” he finally says. “Did you dream that I was hurting you?”

  I sigh. “Aye. You were… God, you assaulted me. Like… like sexual assault.”

  “I raped you?” The tone of his voice should warn me, but I don’t pay heed. Now that I’ve begun to tell him, I can’t stop.

  I nod. “And there was so much blood. Every time you—I would—” My voice trails off when my throat suddenly tightens. He growls, his eyes narrowed as if the very thought makes him furious. I don’t like to talk about this at all. It’s making me nauseous again. Bile rises in my throat and my mouth waters. “Let me go. I’m going to be sick.”

  He releases me and I race to the bathroom just in time. I heave the contents of my stomach into the toilet, too weak and sick to be embarrassed. He’s by my side, a cool washcloth pressed to my neck, then cheek.

  “Poor girl,” he whispers. He’s kneeling beside me, holding my hair. “No more wine for you, young lady.”

  “Isn’t the wine,” I protest, panting. I’m at least momentarily relieved that the nausea’s passed. “I can drink wine. It’s something else. Must’ve been something I ate. Damn calamari.”

  “You said you were sick before we went out, though.”

  He helps me to my feet and hands me a glass of water. I rinse out my mouth.

  “Aye.”

  “Well, no need to diagnose this,” he says. “Not now. You get yourself to bed.”

  He half-leads, half-carries me back to bed and tucks me back in. “Now rest, sweet girl. You need your sleep.”

  But sleep doesn’t come, not at first. He lies beside me, brushing his fingers through my tangled hair.

  “How do I know?” I ask him. “How do I know that what I dreamt was only in my mind, and not a memory?”

  “I suppose you’d have to ask,” he says. “I can assure you if you dreamt I raped you, that didn’t happen.”

  “Of course not,” I whisper.

  But they’re only words. How do I know? He’s a man capable of vicious, brutal things. I know he is. The wisps of memory that come to me of my family are the same. Just tonight he admitted to his brother’s casually delivering a beating, as well as retribution enacted on a woman. My own memory tells me my family were violent and vicious.

  His is, as well.

  I’ve married into a family of criminals.

  What else have they done?

  Can I love a man like him? A man I hardly know?

  I finally fall asleep when the sun’s rising, but only for a short time. I wake consumed with nausea again. Whatever it is hasn’t abated.

  I make it to the bathroom again, and he follows me. But this time, after I get back to bed, the nausea doesn’t leave me. I roll and twist in the sheets, my stomach clenching with queasiness. Cormac dresses in a pair of pajama bottoms and calls Sebastian.

  “She’s sick. Says she didn’t feel well yesterday, and it got worse throughout the night. We ate the same food, yes. I’m fine. And no, no one would’ve had a chance to slip anything.”

  It’s an odd place for the questions to go, but I suppose it isn’t out of the ordinary if you specialize in organized crime. My mind didn’t even go there, that I was somehow poisoned. But given who I am and who he is, it isn’t outside the realm of possibility.

  Cormac’s brows raise and he suddenly looks stricken. “Certainly. Aye. Most certainly possible. Yes, why don’t you come up.”

  It dawns on me before he hangs up the phone.

  Certainly possible.

  My fatigue. The nausea. My unexpected tears and emotions I can’t seem to check.

  “Cormac.”

  He looks at me, his phone still in his hand. “Aye?”

  “Am I pregnant?”

  He blinks. “Sebastian’s bringing up a test right now.”

  I sit up in bed.

  “Why the long face?” he asks.

  I blink and look up at him. “This is my serious, contemplating-life-choices face,” I reply. A corner of his lips quirks up, and he turns and walks to my dresser. He tosses me a pair of pajamas.

  “Put those on before he gets here.” I blink. I’m still naked. Yikes.

  I dress quickly, ignoring the way my stomach growls and churns, when a knock comes at the doo
r outside. Cormac answers it and comes back with the doctor I recognize from the day I woke up from a coma.

  “Good morning, Aileen,” he says pleasantly.

  “Morning.”

  I wonder what he’s seen. What he’s done. If he’s doctor to this crew of men, he’s likely seen loads. What does he know? What secrets does he hold? Did Nolan hurt the reporter, and if so, was the doctor called in to see her?

  “Tell me how you’re feeling.” I go over my symptoms with him, and he nods.

  “Alright, then,” he says. “Day of your last period?”

  “Doctor, I hardly remember my last name or where I grew up, and you’re expecting to remember the date of my last period? Not a clue.”

  Cormac snorts. “She was a virgin on our wedding night. If she conceived then, she’d likely have early signs now, no?’

  Sebastian nods. “Likely.” He turns to me. “I’ll give you an early urine test, but if that doesn’t show we’ll do a blood draw. What other symptoms do you have?”

  “I’m tired,” I say, emphasizing my words with a yawn. “Very tired. And a bit weepy.”

  He nods. “Let’s see what the test shows.”

  Cormac follows me to the bathroom. “Cormac McCarthy, I will not use the toilet in front of you.”

  “Fine,” he says, rolling his eyes at me. “But you won’t wait for the results of the test alone either, lass.”

  “Fine,” I mimic. He narrows his eyes in warning and I slam the door.

  I can hear the low murmur of their voices on the other side of the door while I do my business and pee into the little cup that came with the test. Out of sheer petulance and my husband’s high-handed ways, I make him wait a full minute before I open the door to him.

  “Alright. Come in.”

  He comes in, shuts the door behind him, and walks to the sink. He looks at the test. Nothing visible yet. He turns to me and reaches for my chin.

  “Not a big fan of the smart mouth returning, Aileen,” he says. “Pregnant or no, I’ll expect you behave yourself.”

  I shrug him away. “Ack. I’m fine,” I tell him. “No need for you to get all bossy and autocratic on me again.”

  He grunts. “We’ll see about that.”