“I’m yours!” I yelled.
“This cunt belongs to me, doesn’t it?”
“It does, it does.”
“Your tits are mine, aren’t they?”
“Only yours!” I wailed.
“I possess every inch of you, don’t I?”
I heard the shake in his voice, recognized it even in my panicked state of hunger.
“Y-Yes,” I told him, aware he needed the words, hoping that the sweetness of mine would induce him to let me come. That didn’t mean the words were empty, though.
As crazy as it was, I knew I did belong to this infuriating man.
At least, my body did.
“Marry me, Aoife.”
Those three words had my heart stuttering in my chest. His hips ceased their swift pace, and he began to rock into me gently, coaxingly.
For a second, I stared blindly at him. “M-Marry you?”
We’d known each other just over four weeks now, and when I said ‘known,’ I meant in the Biblical sense.
This man was so beyond closed off anywhere outside the bedroom that I knew nothing about him. Nothing at all.
Yet. . . .
I knew he loved watching me cook.
And when we weren’t in the bedroom, we were in the kitchen. He’d worked from there, getting a kick out of watching me as I prepared our meals.
He could kiss me as though I were the most precious person in his life, and then he could fuck me as though he hated me, as though the need I inspired in him was something he couldn’t handle.
I knew he spoke in his sleep, harsh words that had me waking up, wondering what tormented his dreams. Because, I knew, deep down, it wasn’t in relation to his work. Finn was too pragmatic to let that worry him.
He’d told me that the guy I’d seen being tortured that first night shouldn’t have messed around with Aidan.
That was how he saw it.
If you did what you said, if you kept your word, you were sound.
That was the Five Points’ code, and though it was beyond messed up, it was so simple that I understood his nightmares had a different source.
I knew he liked his coffee black but his tea milky and sweet. Coffee was for mornings, but on a night, when he was tired and didn’t want whiskey, I’d make tea and we’d sit in the kitchen at the counter, him eating some of the dessert I’d made earlier as he told me things about his day and I talked about my bakery, my goals.
I knew he touched me like I was a queen, and that he enjoyed feeding me, loved bathing me, and after he’d fucked me raw after a long night, he’d tend to me as though I were his princess and he my prince.
No, I didn’t know this man. But I knew enough. I knew that I needed him as much as he needed me. This fire we created together, I knew it was rare. That was evident, because every time, Finn seemed stunned by the inferno we created together.
Maybe a relationship couldn’t be forged on sex, but this wasn’t just sex. This was everything.
He was a man who lived in a world of violence, a world of extremes, one I’d never understand but one that I’d been raised to accept, and I knew, point blank, he’d never hurt me. Ever. Not physically, anyway, and as long as I never lied to him, I knew that he’d hold me up like I was a delicate doll.
His to bend, not to break.