Page 21 of The Heir's Defiance

“Then what? Let him trade me like cattle? Because it keeps the ports cleaner?”

She doesn’t answer right away, just stares into her tea like it might offer a gentler truth.

“You think he’ll listen to me?” I ask.

“No. But you should respect him anyway. That doesn’t mean you have to agree, but it does mean you shouldn’t make him your enemy.”

I shake my head. The tea burns my throat going down, but I don’t stop drinking. When I stand, she doesn’t stop me. That’s her version of agreement—or surrender. I can never tell which.

I thank Orla and slip out without slamming the door. The walk back to my room is quiet except for the sound of my own pulse beating a steady, dangerous rhythm.

By mid-morning, I’m in the garden with pruning shears, snipping back the dead leaves from the thyme and rosemary. The sun’s higher now, enough to warm the stone path beneath my feet, but I don’t stay long. My mind isn’t on the herbs or thebuds struggling to bloom at the edge of the bed. I move through the motions—cut, clear, water—but nothing roots.

Back inside, I curl up in the window seat with a novel I’ve already read twice. The words blur. My eyes drift from the page to the sky, watching a pair of pigeons battle for space on the power lines. Even they seem desperate for territory.

When the clock ticks past eleven, I make my move. Liam is posted near the east corridor, too visible to approach outright, so I drop a scarf down the laundry chute—one of the ones he’s seen me wear. Thirty seconds later, he appears at the side door.

“You know I’m on the clock,” he mutters, not meeting my eye.

“I’m aware. You still have a key to Kavanagh’s, don’t you?”

He hesitates, then pulls it from his pocket, and I reach for it. “You’re going to get me killed one day,” he says.

“I haven’t yet.”

He shakes his head, but he lets me go. We take his car. I stay low in the back seat as he pulls through the gate without a word. This blackmail thing is working well, though he's right. I could get us both killed if Da finds out what's really happening. I could take advantage of his insistence that I be useful, tell him that I'm meeting with Connor, but where would be the fun in that?

The drive doesn’t take long. Liam parks in the alley and nods once before pulling away. I let myself in through the rear stairwell, each creak on the steps swallowed by the old building's silence. The flat is cold and still. I flip the latch, draw the curtains, and breathe. Five minutes later, I hear the knock—just once. Connor’s here.

I cross the room and open the door. His shoulders fill the doorway, breath curling in the cold air behind him. Before he can speak, I grab the collar of his coat and pull him inside. My mouth finds his before the door swings shut.

Connor's hands fly to my hips, his grip tightening as if he's newly awakened from a long hibernation. Heat rises between us, the temperature in the room seeming to spike several degrees in an instant. The air is thick with desire and desperation, each caress and kiss a furtive secret. Pulling away, I lead him to the couch, and we tumble together onto the threadbare fabric.

His hands are everywhere at once—in my hair, down my back, beneath my blouse—unfastening buttons too fiddly for my trembling fingers. In return, I tear open his shirt, revealing his taut torso and the tattoos etched into his skin. They tell a story of violence and retribution in a language I don't understand but can read all the same.

“Greedy this afternoon?” he asks gruffly before his teeth bite down on my lip. I let out a yelp and wrap a leg around him.

“Just feck me,” I grunt when he lets go of my lip with a chuckle.

Connor's grin is wicked as he roughly unbuckles his belt and kicks off his boots. "With pleasure," he growls, and then his mouth is on me again, stealing my breath and any semblance of composure I had left. His kisses are bruising, possessive, as if he's trying to claim every inch of my skin with his lips alone. My back arches into him, my legs tangling with his as we writhe against each other on the worn couch.

“God, we should’ve done this last night….” There was no place in that old warehouse, and even here it’s not comfortable.

I tear at my jeans, frustrated by the buttons that refuse to budge. Connor chuckles darkly and helps me, yanking them off with a force that almost rips them apart. He discards them and then pins me beneath his body, the solid length of his arousal pressing into my thigh through his boxers that bulge in the opening of his fly.

“You want me to feck you in a random deserted warehouse?”

“I want you to possess me anytime, any place,” I tell him as I push on the waistband of his jeans. His fingers tear at my shirt and pull it over my head, then tug at my bra strap until I’m bare beneath him.

“You don’t know what you're saying, Nora,” he cautions, but I do know. After speaking with my mother, I know this is the way out. It might not be what I envisioned, but I know it’s the only way.

“Don’t underestimate me, O’Rourke.” Curling my knees to either side of my chest, I plant them on the thickness of his belt and shove his jeans and boxers down with such force that his cock slaps his stomach when it’s loosed.

Connor's breath catches in his throat at my words, and for a fleeting moment, his blue eyes soften. Then, with a low growl, he positions himself between my thighs and pushes inside me in one deep, searing stroke. I gasp aloud at the feeling of him filling me so completely and so deeply. His hips rock against mine, imposing his rhythm upon me as he delivers on his promise to claim me fully and completely.

"God, Nora," he pants into my ear, his teeth grazing my neck. "Forbidden feels so fecking good…” His hands grip my hips, almost leaving bruises as he grinds himself against me, thrustingdeeper and harder still. I can feel every hard ridge of muscle in his arms tensing as he holds me down.

I try to reach for his chest, and his left hand catches one wrist then the other and slowly, he stretches my arms upward to pin my hands over my head as his thrusts slow. “Don’t ever lead me on. Don’t you ever say things to me just to get me off. If you don’t mean it, don’t even think it around me.”

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