Illicit Temptation (Astoria Royals #3)

EPILOGUE ONE

Shea – Manhattan – Two Weeks Later

“ S hea-Lynne O’Rourke, rumored to soon be the new owner of Lagerfeld Events, ties the knot tomorrow in a private ceremony at an undisclosed location to a man rumored to be her former bodyguard. Deeee-lish. (Tongue emoji) Except, how in the world does this woman expect to impress Manhattan’s elite without showcasing her talents? Here’s hoping someone takes photos and sneaks them onto Instagram. THIS girl needs the tea!”

I read the post to Larke and Erin on a conference call the night before my second wedding to Trace. “Are either of you THIS girl?”

Erin clears her throat. “It’s my shadow account. It’s meant to tease people. Get them talking about you. I promise to only post one photo.”

“She’s just echoing what I know people are thinking,” Larke adds. “Are you sure about having such a low-profile wedding, Shea?”

I lower my head. “I made it clear what I wanted. Small, no fuss. You guys as witnesses. My brothers are busy. I don’t want to bother them or disrupt the kids’ schedules.”

And I don’t want a public photo of Trace. He’s officially Quinlan Empire’s enforcer. And my enforcer husband is not home at the moment because he had an emergency .

“And you’ll have it. I promise.” Larke’s assurances have me queasy, given what’s at stake. “Maybe I should just skip it. Wait until...” I can’t finish that. “We’re already married.”

“Kieran’s instructions to me were pretty firm.” Larke sounds even firmer.

Sneaky that he’d go to her and make her plan it. Or rather schedule it. ASAP, was his demand. And without regard or care if all seven of my brothers are free. I read between the lines. They want me married. A legit wedding with a priest and vows, before God and family.

I could have asked Trace for a big celebration, us waltzing down a grand aisle in front of hundreds of people watching me in a sinfully extravagant dress. That idea makes my stomach twist instead. I’ve sadly seen the women who want weddings more than husbands. It took a couple of months for me to come to this decision, but now I just want my husband. This event tomorrow is a formality to make everyone else happy.

Ma is still in the hospital, slowly recovering. I’m sad she isn’t well enough to be a part of our day, but she’s alive. That’s more important.

Cormac rented an apartment near her in the city and visits every day while he figures out his next steps. I wouldn’t be surprised if he joins Quinlan Empire.

“And you managed to find an available priest on short notice?” I ask Larke about the one thing old-school Kieran insisted on.

“Yes. Turns out priests aren’t very busy during the week,” Erin chimes in.

“Great.” I had one card to play with Kieran to make sure he accepted Trace and me. No pre-nup. And to untie all my money from the family. Whatever I have, will be shared with my husband.

Eoghan is quickly amending my tax returns from the last three years, so I don’t get tagged by the IRS since I filed them all as Single and not Married knowing I was married. That will keep him busy.

Katya ended up having a C-section and Lachlan hasn’t left her side, or put down his daughter, except to let me hold her. Baby Layla is gorgeous with wisps of Katya’s fair hair and my brother’s gray eyes.

Riordan and Priscilla are covering for Lachlan, having Kieran’s nannies look after Saoirse-Rose. The rest of my brothers are busy running the O’Rourke kingdom and going home to kids and wives, a few of them pregnant and who I hear are very horny. That’s as far as I let that thought resonate.

“Did you pick a dress from the ones I sent over?” Erin asks, shaking the idea of my brothers with their wives away.

“Oh no, not yet.” I hop off the white tufted leather sectional sofa in the living room of Trace’s apartment. Our apartment once all of our assets are combined.

“I can’t believe you!” Larke says, huffing. “It’s the one thing brides salivate over and you don’t care.”

Wandering into the bedroom, I put the phone down and activate the speaker. “Because I wear fancy dresses all the time.” I unzip the first white garment bag. Then the next, and the next. “Okay, we have a problem.”

“What?” Erin sounds panicked.

“I don’t like any of these,” I whine with a profound sense of sadness all of a sudden.

“Because they’re not wedding dresses,” Larke snaps. “I’ll have a few real humdingers sent over early tomorrow morning.”

“She asked for simple, Larke,” Erin argues.

I feel so conflicted. I’m used to being in the background. These dresses say background all right. Erin gave me exactly what I asked for. Why do I hate them?

“I’ll figure it out,” I say and pick up the phone.

“Where is the gorgeous groom?” Larke asks, cooing.

“I honestly have no idea,” I answer because it’s true from a location standpoint. And I can’t tell my team over the phone, he’s probably murdering someone.

“It’s kind of late. Are you worried?” Larke whispers.

“Not in the least,” I laugh.

He walked through fire to stop me from getting a divorce and even stayed celibate .

Yawning and with the daunting uncertainty of what I’ll be wearing tomorrow and the prospect I’ll have to get up early and hunt down a dress on my own, I end the call with my team.

Tucked in bed, I scroll on my phone and shoot off a few messages to bridal designers who I know keep one-of-a-kind simple wedding dresses in stock. But it’s late and figure they’ll answer me in the morning. My heavy eyes close, and I drift off to sleep in a bed so soft, I sink right in. It feels like Trace’s arms are around me.

I’m awoken by a warm heavy body on top of me.

“Hello, wife.”

My eyes spring open to natural light of a bright and sunny late-spring morning pouring into the bedroom. “You’re just getting home?”

“Home... Our home, aye.”

Squinting, I check the clock, shocked at the time. “Where have you been? Did you have a bachelor party I didn’t know about?”

“I’m not a bachelor, love. I was tying up loose ends.” He pushes the covers away. “Or in this case, decapitating them.”

I take in his appearance. Unlike other mafia husbands, who I heard come home covered in blood and head straight for a shower, mine pulls me in and swipes any fresh blood across my cheeks before devouring me.

Butterflies take flight in my stomach every time he touches me with bloodied hands. I’m ashamed of how I love the smell of raw male heat after a kill and the scent of blood on his skin.

I’m feral for it. I am an O’Rourke, after all.

Trace growls in my ear. “I need to bury my cock inside you.”

I brush the front of his pants and find his long steely cock throbbing. “ Take me. You own me.”

He hisses at the contact. “Aye, I do, Mrs. Quinlan.”

I bite my lip hearing that, especially how proudly he claims me as his. And in a few hours, I’ll officially and proudly take that name in front of enough family that no one will question my place at his side.

“Right now, I need all of you,” he says, lifting away my soft cotton nightgown with both hands. “I need you to submit every inch to me. Can you do that, love?”

Traces pushes his pants down and wrenches his cock free from tight black briefs that drive me crazy. Wearing a white shirt speckled with dried blood and unbuttoned enough to expose his chest tats, he lines himself at my entrance.

I cry out at how hard he is when he pushes roughly inside me.

“Fuck, this is so hot.” A lusty satisfied moan, deep and throaty, leaves Trace’s lips. “Jesus, you’re still so tight. I worry I’ll tear this cunt apart by fucking you so rough.”

Everything else washes away and the room spins in heady bliss as he takes me. A fiery buzz reaches every single one of my cells. I bite down on my lower lip, wanting to scream from the rocketing pleasure. The pressure builds and my eyes are ready to roll in the back of my head.

“My God, wife,” Trace hisses. “Your cunt is the eighth fucking wonder in this damn world.” He pulls out but thrusts back in, again and again in a rhythm that will destroy me. “You’re so fucking wet. The second I entered you in Vegas, it hit me. I never felt anything as good as your cunt.”

Trace arches his hips to get deeper inside me. With my leg thrown over his shoulder as if he’s an untamed male cat with a barbed cock, he locks us together. He’s so deep inside me that I feel like we can never come apart.

His hips slap against the back of my thighs, and his balls, tight and firm, tease my ass, he has me spread so wide. Heat crawls up my spine, and my womb starts to slowly clench, aching with need.

I tremble, my fingers going numb with pleasure as my nails dig into his bloodied shirt. My breathing shallows out as my climax storms through me.

“Christ love, the way you come around my cock.” Trace closes his lips around the base of my throat. “Fuck, I’m coming.” His cock pulses inside me as he fills me with hot cum.

Pressed against me, his face buried in my hair, he moans and cries out as my inner walls tighten around him.

“It gets better and better, doesn’t it?” I whisper.

“No pressure,” he laughs and kisses me. “Fuck, I’m a mess.” Trace pushes off the bed, leaving me aching and quivering.

“I think you mean me.” I struggle to breathe.

“Not even close. Give me a minute to shower.”

My phone buzzes, and I’m so high from the sex that I’m ready to blow off the call. I’m guessing it’s someone responding about helping me out with a new wedding dress. I don’t have the energy for that. I’ll let Trace pick out one from the plain ones Erin sent over. He’d rather me be in a sack anyway.

But when I lift my phone, I realize, that’s not what buzzed. It was my other phone. The burner in my nightstand. The only time that phone rings is when there’s trouble. I bolt straight up still naked and dripping with, sweat, cum, or drool. Maybe all three?

I reach into my nightstand for the phone, the only item in there. My dildo mysteriously vanished.

Seeing Cormac’s alias on the caller ID doesn’t lessen the fear.

Ma...

“Hey,” I say, softly preparing for some kind of blow .

“Turn on the news.”

Now, I’m even more terrified that there’s been some horrible incident with my brothers, and it’s been made public.

“What’s going on, Cor? Talk to me.”

“Channel 7, do it.” Cormac hangs up.

Curious, I grab the remote and scooch to the edge of the bed.

“Detective Garamond from the NYPD can’t give any more specifics, but the commissioner’s office just released this statement:

“Diamond Mogul Archer Crest, who we’ve also uncovered to be smuggling illegal weapons through the blood diamond trade, was found dead, decapitated in his Fifth Avenue office, which sits several stories above the renowned Crest Diamonds showroom.”

Archer.

Dead.

Decapitated.

Tying up loose ends, or rather decapitating them...

“An expert on deep lacerations suspects a knife such as the one shown here, would have been used.” The reporter cuts to a photo on the screen.

I slap a hand over my mouth staring at the same knife I’ve seen Trace use.

Trace...

I glance down at his white discarded, bloody dress shirt. I rush to the mirror and see small sweeps of deep red still lingering on my cheek.

Archer’s blood.

Trace fucked me speckled in my ex’s blood.

Still naked, I charge into the bathroom where he’s showering. His gorgeous naked body stops me in my tracks. I take a moment to admire him fully, and then I open the glass door, steam softly wafting around me .

“Come for more, love?” He soaps up his cock. “I’m ready for another go at you.”

God, he’s insatiable. “Archer. Was it you?”

He smiles wickedly, and with one hand, yanks me into the shower and pushes me up against the wall. “Aye...”

“Oh God... But why, why now?”

Trace studies me, his hand around my throat, his ringed fingers teasing my jugular. “His wife came to me.”

“What?” I go breathless.

“With divorce papers that gave her more money than she’d been asking for.” He turns the water off. “She told me he said he only wanted one thing.”

I shudder. “No.”

“Aye, he wanted you . Gave her a fortune and twenty-four hours to sign or he’d...”

“He threatened her.”

“She was pregnant.”

“God.”

“That’s the devil himself. The man threatened to kill his pregnant wife. There was no way I’d let an unhinged animal like that keep breathing.” Trace hands me a towel and wraps another one around his waist. “And living in the same city where you’re working and can run into him? No way.”

“So you did it for her?” I ask, sniffing.

“I did it for us .”

“And the night before our wedding?”

“A wedding he planned to stop.” Trace pulls my hair and kisses me deeply. “Consider his head in a ditch an early wedding present.”