What is it with these fucking men who think they can push and pull me around and do whatever they want with me?
“Get your fucking hands off me.”
All three heads snap to me. I’m not known to be mean. I’m sarcastic, sometimes bitchy, but I’m not mean and I never raise my voice to my family.
“Gemma.” My father stands from his seat at the table, slowly approaching us, hands raised like I’m a violent criminal ready to attack.
“No. Stop.” I yell. “Stop treating me like a child. I’m a grown fucking adult and I’m allowed to go out. You three act like I can’t take care of myself.”
Nobody responds, so I turn on my heel and head for the stairs again.
“Then grow up Gemma.” I hear Gian call after me.
I’m raging when I reach my bedroom. My blood is boiling and I want to scream at the top of my fucking lungs.
How dare they? How dare any of them think they can control me and treat me like a child.
My body is on fire from Liam’s touch back in the pub. I need a release from the burning. I start up the shower, turning the water to barely warm verging on cold and stand beneath the spray, letting the water wash over me. It’s not enough, I’m still fired up and buzzing with energy thinking about his touch, his rough kisses, and my name on his lips.
I can’t remember the last time I’ve been touched like that. The last time I let someone kiss me, touch me, and have me.
I slip a finger between my legs, parting myself. I’m wet just from the thought of what almost happened tonight. I bring the dampness up to my clit, swirling it around on the tight bud.
My arm reaches up, hand gripping on the tiled shower wall.
I imagine him on his knees in front of me, his scruff rubbing against my thighs, his tongue on my clit.
The pressure builds within me as I imagine him whispering dirty words to me. I wonder how rough he would be? Thinking about the way he grabbed my wrists in the truck, lifted my skirt.
He could take anything he wanted from me.
And I would let him.
I shudder as my orgasm crashes over me, sending a spark through my entire body.
I press my head against the cold tile, panting as I pull myself back together.
I’m not nearly satisfied.
I still want something I can’t have.
Liam fucking O’Connor.
SHE’S STUCK IN MY HEAD. Her face plays on a loop. Every look she ever gave me is burned into my memory, scorching me from the inside out. She’s an enigma, she should be terrified of me, but she stands tall, unafraid. I saw the cuts on her thighs, but she doesn’t look broken, she looks like a fucking queen.
The fucking enemies daughter.
I’m a dead man. That’s the only way this train of thought ends. The only way I’ll ever have her is if I’m dead afterward. Because either I die or she does, and honestly I don’t think I’ll let another soul touch her.
“Liam.” My father's tone is scolding. When I look at him, his eyes are dark and he’s baring his teeth at me.
I can’t say this isn’t a normal stance for
my father, he’s always angry, especially with me. I’m not the son he wanted, luckily for him I’m the third son so he had two to choose before me. I think I could have gotten away with not being involved in the family business had my oldest brother not been killed. With only two left my father wanted to make sure we were both prepared to take over the business. After us, it’s just the girls and God knows he’ll never let them have it.
This business will be the death of us.
Niall was the first of us to die, but he won’t be the last.