Page 134 of Dublin Beast

Harper

Inever thought I’d find peace inside a grand stone castle guarded by armed Irish mafia men, but here I am—naked, tangled in sweat-damp sheets, and more content than I’ve ever been in my life.

And it’s not only because of the orgasms.

But they certainly helped.

The fire in the hearth crackles low, casting a warm glow across the new velvet curtains and midnight blue area rug we picked out together. The bed beneath us is massive, draped in charcoal linens that smell like Bryan and sex. And everywhere I look, my gaze catches on something that says I belong here.

That he wants me here.

That he wants me to stake my claim.

And despite my reservations about the violence he possesses, the tenderness, honor, and compassion in him tips the scales of my heart.

He’s a flawed man living in a dangerous world, but he’s also a very good man.

But more than the décor or the cozy domesticity of a ready for Christmas Quinn estate, it’shim. It’s what we’re building together.

Bryan’s heavy arm drapes possessively across my waist. He’s lying on his side, one leg tangled with mine, his bare chest pressed to my back. His breath is steady and deep against my neck, as his fingers lazily stroke the curve of my hip.

Over and over he traces a lazy circuit that feels more intimate than sex itself.

We’re sated. Warm. Wrapped in each other like we’re the only two people in the world.

“I like this,” I murmur, eyes half-lidded as I trace my fingers over the inked lines of his forearm.

He hums, low and pleased. “The sex or the spooning?”

“Both. Obviously.” I grin and roll to face him, catching the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But more than that. This room. This bed. The smell of firewood and your ridiculously sexy aftershave. Your family. Your home.”

“Our home.”

I smile. “Ourhome. I like it. It feels right.”

He brushes a strand of hair away from my cheek and tucks it behind my ear. “Good. That’s what I wanted.”

I press my palm to the dark scruff of his jaw, loving the rasp of stubble under my hand. “I don’t know when I’ve felt so at peace. After the past six months, I wasn’t sure I’d ever feel this way again.”

He kisses me—soft, slow, reverent.

“Same,” he whispers against my lips. “You dragged me out of the dark and made me want things again. A future. A family. To do better. Tobebetter.”

My throat tightens, but I don’t let it win. I kiss him deeper instead, pushing him onto his back as I straddle his hips beneath the blankets.

“And I’ll keep dragging you back into the light,” I whisper, trailing kisses down his neck, “as long as you promise to still be a very bad man with me at night.”

“Deal,” he growls, his voice rough and hungry.

His hands find my thighs, gripping tight as I shift against him, feeling my insatiable hunger for his cock stir deep in my core.

It doesn’t matter that he’s already filled me and fucked me through three orgasms, my body weeps for him instantly.

Always wet and hungry for more.

Will it always be like this?

I reach down and find the stiff length of his cock. When I stroke him down to the base, precum pools at the slit of his crown. “Do you ever run out of steam?”

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