My Irish Kings: A Mafia Reverse-Harem Romance (Quick & Dirty Book 2)

by Sienna Blake

  It’s such a small gesture of affection, but it’s so rare from X. I know how much it means to him to touch me this way.

  It means the fucking world to me.

  “It was a living nightmare,” he whispers. “They…they made me sleep on the floor even in winter. I guess I just got used to it. Beds are too soft for me.”

  My heart weeps for him. Breaks for him. But I would not let the pity show on my face. I just lie against him. I’m here.

  I feel his hand squeeze my shoulder, just a quick motion. I know.

  That’s how we fell asleep.

  Magnar

  I place my hand on the door of the safe house, my heart pounding a million miles an hour. I’ve faced down death, walked into a gun battle and I haven’t ever been so fucking nervous as this.

  I’ve been avoiding Waylyn for long enough. I’d asked X to let me be the one to tell her about what we’ve found out. I know he would respect my wishes.

  My words to X echo in my heart. “What can either of us offer her? Mere pieces of our broken souls? Shards of a life? Waylyn deserves more than you or me, my friend. Much more.”

  For the last few days, I’ve struggled with the right thing to do. The right thing to do by her.

  I wasn’t lying when I say there isn’t enough of me to offer a woman. It’s a price you pay for this life I chose.

  I’m not enough for her.

  I can’t give her everything she needs. I can’t promise her a lifetime.

  That’s why most of the men share. At least then, she can have enough pieces between them to make a whole relationship.

  Why can’t you and X share? a voice in me asks.

  From the way X reacted yesterday, I know he’s already fallen for Waylyn. X is insightful enough to know how I feel about her…

  We could. If she were willing.

  I shove that thought away as guilt throbs like an old wound. I made vows. I told Caitlin she would be the only one. I can’t break my promise to my wife, even if she is long gone.

  I let out a sigh and push open the safe house door.

  Waylyn

  I find myself alone in bed when I wake. The blanket and pillow that X used for the floor is folded and piled neatly onto a chair. I have a vague memory of voices in the night and being lifted from the floor by a pair of strong arms and delivered into another.

  I hear movement in the house and…is that coffee I smell?

  I pull on shorts and a shirt, blushing at the memory of what happened here last night. Of Jace, X and me, all tangled in a beautiful mess. Before running out to the living area.

  The familiar large figure standing in the kitchen makes my heart do a flip. “Magnar!” I run up to him before I remember that he might not want me touching him anymore.

  To my surprise, he turns towards me and scoops me up in a hug. I accept it, pressing my nose into his shoulder, sucking in his familiar smell of teakwood, spice cologne and leather, letting his windswept hair tickle my nose.

  He finally sets me down. “Are ye all right?”

  I nod.

  “The boys been looking after ye?”

  Have they.

  “Yeah.” I can’t meet his eye, my cheeks feeling flush. “Speaking of, where are Jace and X?”

  “They’re off early doing something for me. They’ll be back sometime tomorrow.” Magnar pushes a mug in front of me. “Americano, no milk, one sugar.”

  Just the way I like it.

  I take the mug and sip. The fact that he remembered how I like my coffee warms me.

  “When you’re finished, there’s somewhere I want to take you.”

  I straighten up. “Where?”

  Magnar smiles. “It’s a surprise.”

  ~* * * *~

  Magnar bundles me onto the back of his bike, setting a helmet on my head that fits me perfectly. He must have bought one for me on his way here.

  We ride along the skinny Irish country roads through the Wicklow mountains and towards the Eastern Irish coast. I feel safe with my arms around him even traveling at the speed that we’re going.

  I sit behind him on the bike, my arms wrapped around his thick waist, leaning my head on his leather jacket, the wind whipping around my head. But I am the calm in the centre of the storm.

  He calms me.

  His strong presence soothes me.

  He makes me feel safe.

  I let out a sigh and for a few minutes, I pretend that he is mine and that his heart hasn’t already been taken hostage by a ghost.

  We stop at a coastal village of Bray. I don’t know what we’re doing here. I’ve never been here before, I don’t think. He picks me up off the back of the bike like I weigh nothing, before removing the helmet from my head. His features soften as he brushes a strand of my hair off my cheek.

  “I probably have helmet hair,” I say, self-consciously brushing my hair with my fingers.

  He stills my hands. “You look perfect.”

  A lump develops in my throat. I want to say thank you. I want to say something nice back.

  Then he clears his throat and steps away. The moment is lost. “Come on.”

  I follow him along the path that takes us along the pier. I suck in lungfuls of briny sea air. “Did you know that the negative ions in the sea air help you absorb more oxygen? Doctors used to prescribe sea air for a variety of ailments. Not just an old wives’ tale, you know, there’s actual science to it.” I’m prattling on cause I’m nervous. Magnar makes me nervous.

  He smiles and reaches for my hand.

  I stop talking. And just enjoy the feeling of his fingers laced between mine.

  He takes me through the gates of Bray cemetery, along the white and grey headstones, the mood growing sombre with every step. Until we stop in front of a simple headstone.

  Oh, God. He’s taking me to his wife’s grave. Why would he take me here?

  My eyes land on the headstone.

  Maria Grace-McCallister

  Beloved sister and mother.

  Gone too soon.

  This isn’t Caitlin’s grave. It’s…

  I look up at him, the question on the tip of my tongue.

  He nods. “Waylyn, meet your mother.”

  Waylyn

  It might have been hours before I found the strength to speak. Perhaps it was mere minutes, but it felt like forever. “How did you find her?” I ask.

  Magnar told me a story about how my mother was living in the States, fell pregnant out of wedlock, then came back to Ireland to have me. She raised me as best as she could but her mind was too delicate. She was sent to a facility and her brother, Renkin, sent me to those nuns to be raised by them.

  I remember Renkin, but he made me call him Uncle Renny. He often came to visit me, bringing toys and sweets.

  Magnar told me about how my Uncle Renny was the same man as Renkin McCallister, then leader of the Revolutionist’s Army. Keegan was his second in command and he thought he was going to get everything when Renkin died. Instead, Renkin left me everything in his will. That’s why Keegan was so keen to have me married to him, so he could control the huge sum of money that was mine. Mine that I hadn’t known of until now.

  “I don’t care about the money,” I say, my voice breaking.

  “I know.”

  I just want a family.

  “Do you know who my father is?”

  “Not yet, beautiful girl, but I will.”

  I turn and fling myself into his arms before he can stop me. “Thank you,” I whisper.

  “Of course. It was the least I could do. Any time you want to come up here, I’ll bring you up. Okay, Waylyn?”

  I pull back to look at him. This face, so ruggedly handsome, that inspires so much fear in others, causes my heart to stutter. I want to give him something, something that only he has. But I own nothing. “Way,” I say to him, an idea coming to me. “Call me Way.”

  “Way?”

  “It’s your nickname for me. You’re the only one who gets to call me that.” />
  His eyes widen, then he nods.

  All my hesitation flings to the wind. I lean in and press my lips to his.

  For a second, he doesn’t move. For a moment, it’s just me kissing him. Then his stony façade breaks, his mouth claiming mine, tongue demanding entrance, his hands tangling in my hair, gripping the back of my head to anchor me to him.

  My body turns to liquid heat. Heat that grows molten when he crushes me against him. His kiss is sure, firm. Wavering from slow and sure to bursts of fiery need.

  Magnar pulls back, his breath heaving.

  I whimper and reach for him again.

  He keeps his lips out of reach, his gaze not meeting mine. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

  No. Not again. Not this again.

  “Because of her?” I say.

  “No. Because of me.”

  I blink at him. “I don’t understand.”

  Magnar lets out a sigh. “The life I lead… The position I’m in… I’m going to die.”

  “We all die.”

  “I’m going to die young. It’s part of this life. Of being a King. I’ve made peace with that.”

  I grow still as he talks.

  “I know the pain of being left behind. My wife…” He swallows hard. “…left me behind. I couldn’t do that to anyone else. I couldn’t do that to you.”

  “But if I could accept it?”

  “No.”

  “Magnar, you won’t even give me the option.”

  “I’m sorry, Waylyn.”

  From the tone in his voice, I know there’s no changing his mind.

  Magnar

  Waylyn and I don’t go back to the safe house straight away. It’s reckless but I take her up the Bray headland hill walk. We wander along the Bray to Greystones walk, taking in the damp sea air. We stop for ice cream and a waffle on the seafront; we sit like kids on the bench facing the sea and eat.

  Perhaps it’s my way of saying sorry to her. For not being able to give her what she wants.

  Perhaps it’s an excuse to get more time with her.

  Or perhaps I just want to see a smile on her face.

  That night I wake just before drifting off to find Waylyn standing at my doorway. “What’s wrong, Way?” I ask, pushing myself up to sitting.

  “I don’t like sleeping alone.”

  I blink.

  “Jace usually sleeps next to me,” she explains.

  Jace usually sleeps next to her?

  For some reason, I don’t prickle with jealousy. Instead, I’m comforted at the fact that she’s being looked after while I’ve not been around. By X…and apparently Jace, too. Two men I see as brothers. Two men whose lives I care for as dearly as my own.

  I lift up the side of my covers and Waylyn slips into bed, curling up against me like a dormouse.

  I drape the cover over her and tuck her in closer, rewarded by her tiny satisfied sigh.

  “Probably should have warned you,” she says, her lids closed, a sly smile lifting up the corner of her mouth, “I snore.”

  ~* * * *~

  “Magnar,” a familiar feminine voice calls through the mist.

  Caitlin.

  “Where are ye?” I call back. “I can’t…” I can’t find ye.

  She appears with a soft laugh that breaks apart the haze like light scattering shadows. She used to be the only one who could do that for me.

  I turn towards her but find my arm is stuck under something.

  A sleeping figure.

  Waylyn.

  Guilt threads through me.

  “Shhhh…” Caitlin is at my side, one hand on my shoulder, telling me not to move. “Don’t move, you’ll wake her.”

  The love on Caitlin’s face, shining through those eyes so much like Charli’s, is…it’s undeserved.

  “I’m—”

  “I know, my darling. There’s no need to feel guilt. I am happy you’ve found her and her you. Now I can truly rest.”

  “Caitie—”

  She cuts me off with a soft kiss. When she pulls away, she is smiling wide, chuckling in that way when I know she’s pleased with herself.

  She’s already fading. “See, I always told you you’d find your way.”

  I wake up with a jolt.

  “Call me Way.”

  The side lamp clicks on casting a glow over Way, who is on her elbows blinking at me, my movements obviously having woken her up.

  Way.

  My way.

  Caitlin was right. I had found my Way.

  “Magnar? What’s wrong?”

  Nothing is wrong. Nothing at all.

  But I have no words. Nothing that could possibly explain how I feel. It’s like a pressure has been released from me, like the cloak of guilt I’ve been carrying was all my own and now I can finally let go. I can free my hands of this weight to grab onto what is important to me. Who is really important to me…

  I lean down and claim her mouth, at the same time my heart feels like it halts, waiting on her response. I pray that I haven’t ruined any chance between us with my hot and cold behaviour.

  My heart kickstarts anew when she kisses me back with a fury that tells me of a fire that has never been dampened. Only tended to in secret. How in a million lifetimes did I ever deserve her?

  She draws her legs around my waist to pull me in closer and melts against me. Need slams through me, making me feel like my controls are about to snap.

  Dawn is still hours away. There is enough time to slow down and worship her. But right now, I need to be inside her.

  And by the needy groans she is feeding me, I think she wants it too.

  I divest her of her clothes before tugging off mine. I pause for an instant, staring down at this goddess lying underneath me, thighs open, pussy lips glistening with want, eyes half-lidded as if in a daze.

  Don’t be such a selfish cunt, Magnar. Make sure she’s good and ready.

  It’s been a long, long time since I’ve worried about another woman’s pleasure.

  I reach down to thumb her slit, so gratifyingly wet, before dragging the moisture up to paint her swollen clit with it.

  “God, Magnar, don’t torture me anymore. Fuck me already.”

  At her command, I place my cock at her entrance and push. I can feel that I’m stretching her as I slide in slowly, inch by inch. For a moment, I think I might be hurting her until she lets out a shudder and a raspy moan.

  “My God, you feel so good,” she says on a sigh.

  I lean down on my elbows caging her in, settling between her thighs and rock the last final inch in.

  Our twin groans fill the air as do our heavy breaths. Her eyes are fixed on mine when I open them, her angelic face taking up my vision. “Are you okay?” I ask.

  She smiles, nods, I feel her tiny hands slide around my back, holding us together. I feel like a giant against her. Like she might disappear into me, even though it is I who’s inside of her.

  Feeling this close to her, I wonder how I ever thought that this could be wrong.

  I begin to rock against her, my thrusts firm and deep. Her heels dig into the backs of my thighs, anchoring me in. Her hands clutch at my ass, trying to pull me in closer.

  I remember fucking other women after Caitlin, when I tried to fuck my pain away. All those women wore my dead wife’s face. And the only name on my lips was hers.

  Waylyn only wears one face…hers. And hers alone.

  Waylyn

  Every cord of muscle in Magnar’s body screams of unleashed power. Commanding respect. Every movement, every look, every word vibrates with authority.

  Every fibre of his attention is on me, his eyes boring into my soul, asking for complete trust in him…

  He has me. Has always had me.

  I’ve loved him since I first saw him at thirteen. Since he looked into my eyes and saw me. I won’t ever stop loving him.

  He has me trapped underneath him, his arms caging my face in so I can’t look away, his weight on my body, his hips pressing down
on mine…all these things demanding that I submit.

  And submit, I do. I let go of every fear, of every anxiety. There is no bitter past or all those possible bleak futures, there’s only right now, in this moment.

  Him and me.

  The way his thick cock feels inside me, filling me, pressing against all my sensitive spots, commanding pleasure from me. It’s all too much.

  He wants my pleasure.

  He shall have it.

  My orgasm rocks through me in a violent wave, tensing each muscle in me from head to toe. Magnar thrusts faster, roaring alongside me, pulling every last drop of bliss from my body until I am wrung out.

  He collapses over me, but not on me, his elbows keeping him from crushing me with his full weight, before rolling aside and pulling me into his arms.

  Magnar

  Last night almost seems like a dream when I wake to find my arms empty of Way.

  I hear laughter from outside the bedroom, smell fresh coffee, melted butter and my heart feels full. I tug on shorts—I can’t for the life of me find my shirt—so I amble out to the kitchen.

  Way is seated on the kitchen island countertop wearing my missing shirt, her lean legs on display, her hair tied up in a messy bun, tendrils curling around her face. She’s picking at pieces of blueberries and raspberries piled high on a plate and giggling every time Jace turns around to catch her. Jace is standing at the stove, two frying pans going with, from the smell of it, his famous banana pancakes frying in melted Kerrygold butter.

  X is smiling quietly to himself as he pours coffee from the cafetiere into four mugs. He notices me first. “Our great leader awakes.”

  “King, tell this cheeky elf to stop pilfering berries or there’ll be none left for the pancakes,” Jace says.

  “You tell her yourself. I’m done trying to make her do anything she doesn’t want to do.” I reach across the kitchen island and snatch a berry off the top of the plate, conscious that Jace is glaring right at me and not caring two tits, before sending Way a wink. “You stole my shirt,” I mouth.