Page 19 of Bloody Knuckles

"Lesson one about Gallaghers," I say, rising slowly to my feet. "We never give our enemies what they want."

Fury and desperation war across his face as I stand before him, disheveled but triumphant.

"You think this changes anything?" He tucks himself back into his trousers, movements jerky with unfulfilled desire. "You're still my prisoner."

"And you're still hard," I counter, licking my lips with deliberate slowness. "I wonder which of us is more uncomfortable right now. Blue balls are such a bitch."

He rises from the sofa, rebuttoning his shirt as he comes toward me. "You'll regret starting this game."

"Will I?" I stand my ground despite the dangerous intent radiating from him. "Seems I've learned plenty about your... vulnerabilities today."

His hand shoots out, gripping my jaw. "You've learned nothing except how to provoke me."

"On the contrary," I say against his grip. "I've learned Murphy betrays my father. I've learned your strategy against the Gallaghers has critical flaws in it. And I've learned—" I press my thigh against his still-hard cock, "—that Cormac Donovan can be controlled by a woman he considers nothing but collateral. That and hos cock, like most men."

He spins me suddenly, shoving me face-first against the wall. His massive body presses against my back, cock hard against my ass as his lips brush my ear.

"You think you've won?" His voice drops to a dangerous whisper. "This little demonstration just proved how wet you get for your captor. How eager you are to touch me."

One hand slides around to cup me through my jeans. The pressure against my center draws an involuntary gasp from my lips.

"Soaked," he murmurs, satisfaction threading through his tone. "Your body betrays you, princess. Just like you’re going to betray your family, and fuck me."

He's right—my arousal has reached embarrassing levels. But I refuse to surrender the advantage I've gained.

"Yet you're the one who'll be thinking about my mouth tonight," I respond, pushing back against him. "Imagining what would have happened if I'd kept going."

His fingers tighten on my jaw, turning my head for a brutal kiss. His other hand works at the button of my jeans.

"Should I finish what you started?" he growls against my lips. "Show you what happens when you tease a predator?"

My body screams yes even as my mind recognizes the danger of surrendering now. “We bite harder.” He growls. With monumental effort, I twist from his grip, putting some distance between us.

"Another time, perhaps," I say, struggling to steady my breathing. "When it's my choice, not yours."

Something shifts in his demeanor—malice replacing raw desire. He straightens his tie, composure returning with alarming speed.

"Well played, princess." His voice turns deceptively casual. "But the game's far from over."

"No," I agree, maintaining the confidence I don't entirely feel. "It's just beginning."

He retrieves his leather book from the coffee table, tucking it inside his jacket. "Enjoy your victory. Brief as it will be."

At the door, he pauses. "Oh, and Aoife? That information about Murphy? Consider it a gift. What you do with it... well, that might prove interesting. Oh, you can’t do anything you’re a prisoner."

The door locks behind him, leaving me alone with the aftermath of what just happened. My body still thrums with unsatisfied desire. My thighs press together, seeking relief from the ache between them. My nipples remain hard peaks beneath my blouse, sensitive even to the brush of fabric.

I sink onto the sofa, the lingering scent of his cologne surrounding me. The taste of him remains on my tongue—salt and musk and forbidden pleasure. I press my hand between my legs, desperate for relief from the throbbing need he left behind.

The encounter rewrote the dynamic between us, if only temporarily. No longer simply captor and captive, but players in a more complex game. A game where desire serves as both weapon and weakness.

The knowledge about Murphy sits in my mind. A traitor so close to my father. Information Cormac deliberately left for me to find? Or carelessness born of his growing obsession? He’s not careless, so I have to wonder.

Either way, I've gained leverage—both over Cormac and potentially within my own family. The question remains what to do with it. There’s nothing I can do from here.

One thing becomes clear as I slip my hand beneath my waistband, seeking relief from the ache he created. Cormac Donovan might control my prison, but he no longer fully controls our interactions. The power balance has toppled in my favor.

And next time—because there will be a next time—I won't stop until I've claimed complete victory over Dublin's most dangerous man.

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