Page 28 of Dirty Delivery

I try to push him away, but it’s a half-hearted attempt at best. “Rylan . . .”

“What?” he asks, his tone feigning innocence. “I ate all my dinner. Doesn’t that mean I get dessert?”

I snort, shaking my head as he nuzzles against me. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” he admits, his hands slipping around my waist to pull me closer. “But you like it.”

I open my mouth to protest, but the words catch in my throat when he kisses my shoulder. A shiver runs through me, and I grip the edge of the counter for balance. Damn him and his smug confidence.

“You’re insufferable,” I mutter, though it lacks any real heat.

“And yet,” he teases, “you’re not telling me to stop.”

Before I can respond, he scoops me up effortlessly, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. A surprised laugh escapes me as he strides over to the island and swipes pots and pans off its surface in one fluid motion. The metallic clatter barely registers when he sets me down on the cool countertop, his lips never leaving mine.

“Rylan,” I mumble against his mouth, trying to sound indignant, but he silences me with a kiss that makes my toes curl.

He gently guides me to lie back, his hands sliding up my thighs as he pushes my dress higher. His lips trail down my neck, leaving a line of fire in their wake, and I gasp when he pauses just below my collarbone.

When he finally reaches the hem of my dress, he smirks. “No underwear, mo stóirín?”

I meet his gaze with an arched eyebrow. “You didn’t pack any for me, and there’s none in the drawers in my room.”

His grin widens mischievously, a glint of playful intent in his eyes, as he leans in even closer, the warmth of his presence nearly tangible. “Guess I’ll have to make sure you’re thoroughly punished later for that.”

Before I can come up with a snarky reply, he moves lower. His lips and hands leave no inch of my skin untouched while he roves and explores my body. His warm breath fans against my thighs as he settles between them, his eyes dark with hunger.

“Time for dessert,” he murmurs, his voice thick, as he begins exploring me with a hunger that leaves no room for doubt.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Savannah

Falling asleep completely satiated after a mind-blowing fuck is a new experience for me, and waking up naked in Rylan’s bed feels even stranger. The sheets are warm, tangled around my legs and his scent lingers on my skin. For a moment, everything feels . . . perfect. My body aches in the best possible way, and I’m tempted to bury myself back into the soft cocoon of his bed.

But then reality crashes back in.

I push myself up from the bed, clutching the sheet to my chest as the memories of the last few weeks swirl in my mind. Needing a moment to collect myself, I slip out of bed and make my way to the bathroom. Standing at the sink, I turn on the faucet, lettingthe cool water run before splashing it onto my face. As I glance up at the mirror, my eyes catch a small mark on my neck—a faint hickey, a reminder of Rylan’s lingering touch. My fingers brush over it, and a mixture of emotions rushes through me.

Vinny. The Castillos. Rylan. The danger that still looms over me like a storm cloud, ready to open up and rain down on me at any moment. The brief reprieve of last night feels almost cruel now, a fleeting escape from a situation that doesn’t have a clear end.

My eyes drift to the doorway, where I half-expect Rylan to appear with his cocky grin and some smug comment about breakfast in bed. Part of me hopes he does. Another part—the part that remembers he’s in the mob—wishes he wouldn’t.

I’ve been here long enough to know two things about Rylan Doyle. The first is that he’s infuriatingly charming, with a knack for making me forget just how dire my circumstances are. The second is that he’s dangerous, and not just because of the tattoos or the power he seems to wield effortlessly. No, Rylan is dangerous because he’s starting to make me feel things—things I have no business feeling for a man like him.

I sigh and pull myself out of bed to head to the bathroom. The reflection that greets me in the mirror is almost unrecognizable. My hair is a mess, my cheeks are flushed, and there’s a lightness in my eyes I don’t know how to explain. It’s like some part of me has decided to pretend this is normal, that I’m not a captive in a gilded cage, guarded by a man who likely kills without hesitation if it meant keeping me safe.

By the time I make it downstairs, the smell of coffee bombards my senses, and I find Rylan in the kitchen, shirtless, with his back to me as he flips pancakes like he’s been doing it his whole life. The tattoos that snake across his shoulders and down his arms catch the light, and I have to bite my lip to stop myself fromopenly staring at him like a lovesick fool, the effort nearly feels futile with how effortlessly gorgeous he is.

“Morning,” he says without turning around, his voice warm and teasing. “I was starting to think you’d sleep all day.”

“Good morning.” I slide onto one of the stools at the island, forcing myself to sound casual. “You cook?”

“Don’t look so surprised.” He glances over his shoulder with a grin. “I’m a man of many talents.”

“Clearly,” I mutter, hiding my smile behind the coffee cup he’s already set out for me. The mug is warm in my hands, and for a moment, I let myself enjoy the simple pleasure of it.

But then he turns, setting a plate of pancakes in front of me, and reality creeps back in. This isn’t normal—this quiet moment, the sense of safety, the way he looks at me like I’m the center of his world. It’s a far cry from the life I had—teaching in a classroom, going on casual dates, and living without the constant need to glance over my shoulder. And it’s certainly not the life I ever envisioned for myself, tangled in danger and emotions I never expected.

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