Page 62 of Iron Cross

I wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

“Lies!” I whispered. “You wound me,wife.”

I pulled her thighs around my waist and she twisted her ankles behind me, her arms holding on to my shoulders. There was no resistance here. She wanted this. I knew it.

I jutted my hips into her, letting her feel the breadth of my arousal.

“Please Eoghan, let me go.” She shook her head, and that filthy, purple hair danced against her cheeks. “I’m begging you, let me go.”

“You’re begging for the wrong thing, love.” I hitched her thigh over my hip, feeling her skirt rise. There was so little between us. Just one little bit of fabric, easily breakable. “I can feel your need.”

She blinked back her tears as she moaned, my cock throbbing against her sweet, sweet core.

She was fighting me. Fighting us. But she wouldn’t win.

Even now, she clung on to me, her legs holding on as her hands begged for me to let her fall.

I pulled away from the wall, and just so that she knew what she wanted, I let her go, taking my hands off of her. But she clung on to me.

I let a satisfied moan escape my lips as her arms and legs tightened around me, her rhythm continuing.

“I’m not holding you, sweetheart,” I groaned as her cunt strangled my cock. “You’re doing this for us.”

We were married. We were joined. Whatever powers still existed in the world had bound us together, and there was no escaping fate.

“You feel it, don’t you?” I whispered against her cheek. “That this is home? That this is heaven?”

She didn’t respond as another tear stained her cheek, the black marks of her makeup leaving the evidence of its wake.

“I know what you need, Kira,” I said against her skin, my tongue darting out to taste her. To get more of her in my senses. “You need to come home. You need to let me protect you.”

“Please.” She shook her head, but I knew it was the very last throes of her resistance before she’d give in to me. We had danced this tango a million times before, and would a million times after. “Please…”

Her voice trailed away, as I slowly, painfully slowly, thrust my hips to create the friction we were desperate to have.

“You and I are one,” I told her, kissing her pretty throat, biting on the delicate skin. “You and I are joined, and no one can pry us apart. Not even you.”

She shuddered as her climax took over her body, and the beautiful, sensual feel of her coming apart pulled me over the edge with her, as I filled her with three years of longing. As I filled her, my mind filled with the thoughts of another child. Another little one, but this next child would be created in her image, more than mine.

Another, and another. I’d never let her slip my grasp this time.

Chapter nineteen

Housekeeping, You Fucking Prick

Kira

Iwoke with a scream, as the smell of bacon and the sound of voices infiltrated my dreams.

“Cillian!” I screamed, pulling myself from bed, seeing myself in pajamas I hadn’t put on last night.

I rushed out of the room into the living room, feeling an unfamiliar ache in my thighs, almost stumbling as I went.

“Cillian!”

I slammed the bedroom door open to find that my son was just happily bouncing in his high chair. In front of him were cups of coffee and a donut. Chocolate frosting with sprinkles.

My estranged - or was he? - husband wore the the same jeans as before, but his chest was bare. His thick, corded muscles moved beneath his skin. The man was an animated Greek statue. I thought that I had romanticized him in my memories - longing did silly things to a person’s memories.

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