Page 41 of The Heir's Defiance

When we pull apart, I rest my forehead against his.

"If they come for you, I’ll burn everything down."

He exhales against my cheek. "You won’t have to."

"We'll figure this out," Connor whispers against my hair, his arms tightening around me. I want to believe him, but the cold understanding that neither of us has the answer chills me to the bone. We're like two drowning swimmers clinging to each other in the middle of a stormy sea, hoping our combined strength will be enough to keep us afloat.

His lips claim mine again with more desire in them this time. I let him deepen the kiss and part my lips as I rise slowly, turning to straddle him on the beat-up old sofa.

His hardness presses against me, and I can't help but want him. I need to feel alive, feel something real and true before everything crumbles around us. This may be the last time we ever have like this—pressing our bodies together as if nothing else matters.

With his fingers tangled in my hair, Connor guides me to my knees. My hand fumbles for his zipper, working it impatiently as our mouths collide in a frantic mess of teeth and tongues. His breathing is ragged in my ear as my lips leave his and find the growing bulge in his trousers.

With slow, teasing motions, I unzip him, releasing him from his confinement. The scent of arousal hits me hard, intoxicatingly familiar yet new all at once. I wrap my hand around his hard length, cradling him with a delicate touch. I look up at him through my lashes, my gaze hooded with desire, challenging him to stop me now. He doesn't. His fingers curl around my neck, gripping and guiding me closer.

A soft moan escapes his lips as I tentatively taste him, the heat of his arousal salty against my tongue, and I greedily take more of him into my mouth, sucking and licking at his needy flesh. Connor's hands roam down my back and underneath my shirt, his callused fingers tracing patterns on my skin that leave goosebumps in their wake. He groans as I take him deeper.

Connor's hands grab my shirt, roughly tugging it over my head and throwing it to the floor. His mouth follows, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses down my neck as he pulls me back up, his tongue dipping into the hollow of my collarbone before he continues southward. He unhooks my bra and his lips find my aching nipples. The sensation has me arching into him as I undo my jeans, and I moan softly into the chill of the room.

It's like every nerve in my body is on fire. I had almost forgotten this feeling, the way he could make me feel so alive, so consumed by desire that nothing else matters. Not my father, not the war between our families, not even the ticking clock that looms over us both. This is what it's like to be free.

His hands possess me, like he's been craving this just as much as I have. We're frantic, desperate in our need to feel one another. As if this moment may very well be our last.

As Connor's fingers trace my curves, I'm lost in a sea of lust and longing. His mouth finds its way down my stomach, histongue leaving moisture that cools quickly in the chilly air. I lean toward him as he reaches the lacy hem of my panties. He looks up at me, his eyes dark with desire and determination. It's an unspoken question I've been waiting for since this whole nightmare started. I nod, unable to catch my breath.

With one fluid motion, he rips them off, discarding them carelessly on the floor. His hands reacquaint themselves with my curves, his touch intoxicating, possessive. A moan escapes my lips as two fingers slip inside me, stroking and teasing with a mastery that leaves me trembling. Connor groans as he works me open, watching the shifting expression on my face. He lifts one leg and I brace it on the couch next to where it sits, and when his mouth covers my swollen nub, my knees go weak.

His tongue laps at my folds, teasing and taunting with expert precision. My nails dig into his shoulders as a wave of pleasure rolls over me. His tongue and fingers work together in perfect harmony, eliciting a chorus of moans and gasps from my lips. The tension inside me unravels, coiling tighter with each flick of his wrist, each swipe of his tongue.

My hips rock against him, driving him deeper, pleasure pooling in my lower abdomen like molten lava. My world narrows down to the feel of him between my thighs, his mouth on me, consuming me whole. The room spins as he circles my clit with his tongue, and I teeter on the edge as I fight for control. But control is the last thing I want to possess at this very moment. With a guttural cry, I arch my back and fall over the precipice, my core spasming around his digits.

Connor doesn't let up, following the aftershocks of my orgasm with a fervor that leaves me breathless. His lips continue to tease and worship my sensitive flesh, driving me higher until I'm closeto the edge again. When he finally pulls away, I'm panting, my chest heaving.

I hear the rustle of his pants, feel his free arm working as the muscles in his shoulder ripple beneath my fingertips. And when I’m ready to explode again, he pulls me closer until I collapse over his lap, straddling him.

Connor's thick hardness presses against me, seeking entry. Our chests heave in sync, our ragged breaths mingling in the cold air. I lift my hips, guiding him to my entrance, and with a deep breath, I let him inside. He groans as he fills me, his hands gripping my hips as if he's afraid to let go. I bite my lip to stifle a moan of pure, unadulterated pleasure. It's been too long since I've felt like this—consumed by desire, lost in the moment with the only man who understands me like no one else can.

Our bodies move as one, his hips rocking into mine with a delicious friction that has me alternately screaming in ecstasy and deep, heated groans as we grind together, lost in the moment. Connor's thrusts grow harder, faster, and I wrap my arms around his neck and breathe in his ear. His grip tightens, and I whine. Our breathing is harsh and labored, mingling with the rhythm of our bodies crashing against one another.

"Nora," Connor grunts out between heavy breaths, his blue eyes dark with desire. "I… I love you." The words hit me like a hammer to the chest, stopping me mid-moan. He’s never said those three little words to me before. Maybe he’s too caught up in the moment, in the danger and adrenaline of our forbidden trysts. But now, in the dimly lit room, with our bodies entwined and hearts racing, they seem to carry a weight I've been longing for.

The way his body moves against mine is too distracting to pause and get hung up on his confession. I feel my core tightening around him and his grunts grow louder. And when my walls clamp around him, I feel him release. We ride out the pleasure together in waves, convulsing and twitching as his thrusts slow.

I don’t pull away, and he doesn’t make any apology for his confession.

I drape myself over his chest and hope against hope that somehow, things will work out. That somehow, we’ll end up on the right side of things because if he dies by my hands, I don’t want to live.

23

CONNOR

The war room reeks of sweat. It’s after midnight, but no one looks tired—just wired. Every man in here knows what it means when we’re called in this late. And no one speaks unless they have something worth bleeding for. The air’s thick with tension, like it’s been pressed into the walls over the years and is now bleeding back out.

The table is cluttered with everything from smuggler manifests to surveillance prints. One of the lads tossed an old burner across the wood twenty minutes ago, and it’s been vibrating ever since. No one picks it up. Fluorescent lights hum overhead, flickering every few seconds like they’re about to give out. It makes everyone look worse—drawn faces, pale eyes, blood and dirt still under fingernails.

Ronan stands at the head, both hands planted on the edge of the table, shoulders squared. He hasn’t sat once. That’s how we know it’s serious. His knuckles are white. He keeps scanning the room like he’s already choosing whom to bury first.

No one says a word until he finally opens his mouth.

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