Illicit Temptation (Astoria Royals #3)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Trace

S hea mentioning the trip to Dunbar Valley has the wheels in my mind turning sharply.

While Kieran heads the O’Rourke family in Astoria, his father has wrestled back control of Waterford. On a recent trip back to see my parents for their anniversary, I learned he now runs the supply lines in and out of Waterford. Routes that go through...Dunbar Valley.

I paid the retired patriarch, Fergus O’Rourke, my respects based on a lifetime of family loyalty. The man’s wife is sick, but his savagery is strong. He misses being king.

If there’s someone’s permission or blessing I need to keep Shea as my wife, it’s him . Her brothers might have a plan with the Italian mafia, but Fergus is her father. His word should be final.

Until that trip happens, it takes months to get permission to visit someone in Dunbar, I’ll be dodging any possible attempt at a divorce by throwing sand in the gears of any scheme Shea comes up with.

Since she doesn’t have a driver, I make that my duty, just as I did for months with her brother Balor. I can see problems better from the road and take control of them head-on.

She owns a stunning white Escalade with classy walnut trim that when I get inside, I feel like I’m sitting in a spa chair of buttery soft leather. This beauty has every bell and whistle. Balor’s Rivian was sleek, but the electric engine tripped me up.

Call me old-fashioned, but I love the rumble of a powerful carburetor.

With Shea settled in the backseat, I twist around to clear up a few things. “Lachlan didn’t tell you I’d be replacing Soren?”

“He thinks you all melt into the background, and I won’t notice a difference,” she says, not looking up from her phone screen.

In any other circumstance, that would be true. The perfect bodyguard isn’t seen or heard by the client at all. Just by those on the outside. In the event of some attack, it’s not lost on me that the first to go in any assassination attempt is the bodyguard.

Right now, no one wants to hurt my sweet Irish Rose. No one wants me dead either. And even when I’m part of the new power mob structure in Lower Manhattan with Griffin, I’ll make sure my wife is safe. Just as Lachlan does. That incident at his wife’s college six months ago is bulletproof evidence that the strongest and most brutal protector can and will screw up.

Clearing my throat, I say, “No contact with Archer?”

“No,” she answers sharply not even looking at me. “He’s back with his wife. Officially.” There’s no hurt in her voice like she’s written him off.

“Good,” I say, hoping he stays the hell away from her.

“That sounds gracious of you, seeing you nearly killed him.”

“He’s irrelevant, princess.” Now I have to consider how to kill the Las Vegas don.

She’s not marrying him. I doubt our little wedding will stop it. Nico Scava will pay the right person to wipe that marriage off the books, erase it from existence. I need her father’s blessing and to marry her properly. I could go to Waterford alone, take a few days off, but I need witnesses. Her brothers, who will be on the Dunbar trip, will need to hear it from his mouth. Hear her father give his permission. And that she’s mine.

“It’s for the best that my brothers didn’t find out about...the fight with Archer,” she says, sounding nervous. “Right?”

Attempting to throw her off, I say, “ You’re all that matters to me. Not him. Which brings a concern to mind.”

“Just one concern?” she asks, teasing me.

“Be careful flirting with me, princess. I see no professional boundaries here I can’t cross. You’re my wife, and when I want to fuck you, I will.”

Her jaw drops. “You’re so sure of that?”

I huff a laugh. “I concede, I won’t be all over you in public. I won’t give anyone the idea that I’m distracted. But in private I’m—”

“Can we get that divorce?” She cuts me off.

“Oh, lass. I’m going to love coming home at night to warm showers or soaking in a bathtub with my wife riding my cock. Come on, give in to all those lingering stares at me, I’m yours. And I’m not going anywhere.” I test whether or not she knows about her brothers’ plan. “It’s not like you’ve got someone else to marry, yeah?”

She scoffs. “No. We made a silly mistake. No offense to your ego, but I don’t like this hanging over me. I plan elaborate weddings for Pete’s sake. How would it look if it got out that I got drunk and...”

“Yeah?” I peer at her. “Had the best sex of your life with your lawfully-wedded husband?”

“You think you were the best sex of my life?” she sasses me.

“You came enough times. Is that usual for you?” I growl.

“No comment.”

Which usually means... No.

I consider if I should just ask her to marry me properly, only that would require me to admit I love her. Something she’ll never believe, and think it’s an ego thing. In a few months, Griffin will have secured his throne. That gives me time to woo Shea properly. Make her fall in love with me and want to stay married to me in time to get her father’s permission.

If I have to use my cock to pacify her and show her the kind of carnal promises I offer, even better. I have to tone shit down and play it cool. All while wearing her down.

“Let me put it another way. Do you plan on fucking anyone else?” I ask to at least make it clear how I feel about someone touching her.

“No.” She coughs to clear her throat. “You?”

“Fucking you? Yes, please.”

“You’re exhausting.”

“I sure did exhaust you.”

“Feel free to...enjoy yourself.” She goes quiet. “Have you been with anyone since August?”

“Nothing’s changed since August. I told you then I want to stay married.”

“We can’t...”

At another light, I turn around and grab her knee. “Relax, wife.”

“Stop saying that.” She dumps her head in her hands.

Shea is stunningly beautiful, but she looks tired and worn out. So, I keep quiet and pay attention to the narrow two-lane road that veers off to a single lane headed for the oceanfront.

I will away my hard-on for Shea and settle into the seat. Without asking, I tap the media button to listen to music. A deep voice comes through the speaker:

“Jesus Christ, princess,” I growl a deep guttural moan. “Your mouth feels fucking magical.” I pull my long, hard cock all the way out, the glistening skin making me nuts. But I thrust back in, hitting the back of her throat. I fuck her mouth until I’m sweating, trickles dripping into my ass crack. Struggling to breathe, I bite out, “This fucking mouth is so hot, the way you suck and strangle me. This is the best damn blow job of my life. I’ve wanted to shove my dick in your mouth the first time you kissed me, and I felt what that damn wicked tongue can do.”

I yank the SUV off the road, my breathing ragged, and my dick hardened to steel all over again. Turning around to face Shea in the back, I mutter, “ What in fuck’s sake is that?”

She fumbles with her phone. “Oh God, my Bluetooth connected to the car by mistake.”

I notice white Bluetooth buds in her ears. “I thought you were on the phone.”

She bites her lower lip, looking at me. “No, I was...catching up on my latest audiobook.”

I glance at the media console. Carnal Midnight. Chapter Three. Chapter Three ? And he’s got his dick down her throat? What the hell am I missing?

“Play that back,” I say, feeling myself go off the rails.

She laughs. “No. Not while you’re driving. It... It gets more intense.”

“You’ve listened to this before?”

“Not this. But others in the series. After the...blow job, the guy...”

I vividly remember the last time my cock was in a woman’s mouth. It was Shea’s. Staring at her and her luminous beauty my entire sexual past fades from my memory. And there’s no one else. There’s only Shea.

“The guy does what?” I challenge her, rubbing a dick that can now punch a hole through my pants.

“He...fucks her.” She swallows roughly, her throat working, tempting me to climb into the back seat and give her what we both want.

There’s little I can do on the side of the road when her wide-ass SUV hangs partly in the street and cars are going around us, narrowly missing oncoming traffic. Unless I want an accident or worse, deaths on my hand, and not just my own from the heart attack I’m about to have, I offer Shea a brief answer .

“Good for him.” I clear my throat and mutter, “My princess is into smut.”

Princess. That’s what the guy on the tape with the velvet voice called the woman he was throat fucking.

We drive the rest of the way in silence, me keeping the media off so I don’t get another dose of Shea’s savage taste for filth. I tap in the code on the front panel in her driveway and the wooden gate swings open.

“Lachlan gave you my code?” Shea asks, her voice pitching up.

“I got your entire security file.” I glance behind me and smile.

“File? All my passwords? Even my phone?”

“Especially your phone. Don’t even think of downloading a dating app to replace Crest.”

She snorts at that. “A dating app. I feel bad for the poor bastard who gets matched up with me.”

I cackle, even if I don’t love the self-deprecating humor. “Me too, since I’d have to kill him. No one’s dating my wife. But I assume you think that because you’re an O’Rourke.”

“According to you, I’m a Quinlan.” She shifts in the seat, and I imagine she’s wet from listening to a man describing in detail what it’s like to throat fuck a woman. “But I checked the marriage license, I didn’t change my name.”

“We took vows. You’re a Quinlan.”

“A divorced O’Rourke-Quinlan. The men will be lining up.”

I throw the car into park. “Be careful, princess. No one insults you in my presence. Especially you.”

She unsnaps her seatbelt and leans forward, our faces close enough to share breathing air. “I wouldn’t want to end up in the trunk of a car.”

“I’d just fuck you in the backseat until you understand how goddamn gorgeous and sexy you are.” My breath hitches. “I’m... That was out of line.”

“Don’t worry, husband.” She pats my hand and opens her door because I didn’t get a chance to. “You’re on a roll.”

I fumble with my own seatbelt and shift my stiff cock. He’ll get a workout in the shower later.

Shea, in a tight black pencil shirt and sheer, pale blue blouse with her cashmere coat over her arm, saunters to her front door. From the back of her Escalade, I take out my two suitcases and three garment bags.

“When did you pack up my car?” She spins around.

“When I got to your office. I took car service out here. My Benz is in a Manhattan parking garage.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her Griffin’s plan to assume control of a powerful Irish family in Lower Manhattan. But that information remains secret to protect loved ones. Experts know the signs of someone lying and someone who truly has no clue.

“By all means. Make yourself at home.” With a hand on her doorknob, Shea points to a paved sidewalk that disappears into the yard. “You’re in the guest cottage out back.”

When she tries to slam the door in my face, I stop her. “No. I’m not an outhouse kind of guy.”

“I put a fifty-grand kitchen in that outhouse . You’ll be very comfortable.”

“In case you haven’t noticed,” I step over my luggage and tower over her, “I’m quite the big boy. Your cottage isn’t roomy enough for me.” I have first-hand experience spending the night there six months ago. I hated it.

“Fine.” Shea’s head sags forward, which might be from exhaustion since she left her house early this morning. “Can I help you with those?”

I cock my head, surprised. She’s not spoiled, and I always knew that, considering how damn hard she works. “ I got it, princess. Just show me your bedroom.”

“My bedroom?” she shrieks, but a blush changes her glowing peachy skin to a rosy red delicious.

Delicious she is. Christ, I need to taste every inch of her again, starting with those sweet lips right down to that tangy pussy.

“As your husband, I have every right to make you share my bed,” I emphasize.

“Plenty of married couples keep separate bedrooms. And since we’ve been married, we’ve slept apart.”

“You can force me to sleep in a spare bedroom for appearances,” I argue. “Wandering into your bedroom in the middle of the night sounds like fun.”

“I think it’s time to get a dog,” she says, shaking her head.

“Great, a puppy we can raise together.” I manage both suitcases stacked in one arm with the three garment bags slung over my shoulder. “Any breed you fancy? I’m a Belgian Malinois fan. They can scale walls. If you believe TikTok.”

She spins around, looking at me like I have ten heads. “There’s a spare bedroom behind the kitchen.” She points.

“No. I want one closer to yours.”

She exhales roughly, growling almost. “If you insist on being upstairs, you’ll have to sleep in the smallest guest room. The two others are for kids. One has a racecar bed and a white four-poster frame with a sparkle tulle canopy, and the other has...”

She turns from me holding her stomach.

I drop everything and spin her around. “What? If you tell me one of your bedrooms has anything that belongs to that piece of shite who raised his hand to you in August...”

She shudders in my arms. “No... The other has two cribs. ”

“Cribs?”

We stay this way, her in my arms, her head inches from slipping under my jaw.

“My brothers have been making lots of babies these past two years. And their wives love it here in the Hamptons. Nearly every weekend in the summer, I have visitors. The kids need a place to sleep.”

The idea of a crying wee-one in the room across the hall while I’m buried balls deep in their Auntie Shea makes me...

Smile.