Page 20 of His Possession

“Rory,” she cried out, a testament to the wonder he had coaxed from the depths of her soul. It was amazing, a revelation that left her breathless and clinging to the remnants of earth-shattering bliss.

As the aftershocks of her climax subsided, Rory’s movements became a languid crawl up her body, his skin scorching against hers. The corners of his mouth lifted in a half-smile filled with promise before his lips crushed hers. The kiss was a maelstrom, devouring any remnants of restraint. There was only them, the heat of their bodies entwined, and the thundering pulse of desire that demanded fulfillment.

He positioned his cock at the entrance to her core, and she nodded against his mouth in unspoken consent. With a gentle but firm push, he entered her, and a soft gasp escaped her throat. The fullness, the intimate connection, sent ripples of pleasure coursing through her system.

“Rory…” The word was a sigh, a prayer, as she wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing him deeper. He moved within her, each thrust punctuated by a shared breath, a shared heartbeat. They moved in sync, a dance as old as time yet as fresh as the new desire blooming between them.

The world outside his bedroom ceased to exist. Nothing could touch her here, not the shadows of past doubts or thewhispers of former pain. In Rory’s arms, entwined with his soul, she felt invincible.

His rhythm quickened, a crescendo of motion and emotion that spiraled tighter with every thrust. The heat of his body seared against hers, an inferno that promised to consume them both. She clung to Rory, her fingers digging into the cords of muscle along his back, each movement driving her closer to the edge.

“Rory,” she gasped, her voice hitching as the building pleasure coiled within her. With every stroke, he hit a depth that sent stars bursting behind her closed eyelids.

“Give over to me, Maeve,” he urged, his breath hot against her ear, his voice a rough whisper that wove through the haze of her senses. “I’ve got you.”

And then, as if his words were the key to release the lock, the tension snapped. The explosion of bliss was blinding, all-consuming. Her body shook with the force of it, waves of ecstasy rolling through her in a relentless tide. She cried out, a sound that echoed off the walls, raw and full of wonder.

“God, yes…Maeve,” Rory groaned, his own release following close on the heels of hers. She felt him shudder, his body tensing above her in powerful spasms, and then he collapsed, his weight a comforting pressure that anchored her to the here and now.

When the maelstrom finally calmed, Maeve lay tangled in the sheets, her head resting against Rory’s chest as their breathing slowed. He draped his arm around her, his fingers tracing absent patterns along her back. The silence between them was comfortable, the kind that didn’t need to be filled.

But even as her body relaxed, her mind churned. The bond between them had shifted, deepened in a way she hadn’t expected. And with that bond came questions—ones she wasn’t sure she could answer.

“You let nothing you care about get destroyed,” she whispered, repeating his earlier words. “What happens if the thing you’re protecting gets lost, anyway?”

Rory’s hand stilled, his voice low but firm. “That won’t happen.”

“You can’t control everything, Rory,” Maeve said, lifting her head to meet his gaze. “Not even for me.”

“No,” he admitted, his eyes dark. “But I can destroy anything that tries to take you from me.”

The promise in his voice sent a shiver through her, equal parts thrilling and terrifying. Maeve closed her eyes, resting her head against his chest once more as she let his heartbeat’s steady rhythm pull her in.

But even as she lay in his arms, safe and secure, one thought lingered in the back of her mind.

What if loving Rory meant losing herself?

CHAPTER 8

RORY

The first rays of dawn barely lit the horizon when Rory settled into his office, his mind already racing through the reports waiting for him. The room was still, the kind of silence that allowed focus but also left too much space for unwelcome thoughts. His panther stirred uneasily, a restless presence under his skin, and Rory exhaled slowly, bracing himself for the long day ahead.

The file Cormac had left the night before sat unopened on the desk, its edges crisp, the nameMichael O’Connellstamped across the top in bold letters. Rory picked it up, his fingers brushing the coarse paper as he flipped it open. The photographs inside were grainy but clear enough to show Michael’s men moving through Galway, their presence calculated but unmistakable. It was a message as much as a search.

Michael O’Connell wanted his daughter back.

The thought made Rory’s jaw tighten, his panther rumbling low in his chest. Michael wouldn’t take Maeve for a father-daughter reunion. He’d use her. He considered Maeve a pawn, a piece on a board where loyalty and blood were meaningless unless leveraged. The idea of Maeve caught in Michael’s graspwas enough to make Rory’s hands clench around the edge of the desk.

“Keep it together,” he muttered, forcing himself to focus. Emotion couldn’t cloud his judgment now—not when the stakes were this high.

A sharp knock at the door interrupted his thoughts, and Cormac stepped in, his posture as poised and deliberate as ever. He carried a slim laptop under his arm, his dark eyes sharp as they met Rory’s.

“I have something you’ll want to see,” he said without preamble.

Rory gestured for him to sit, leaning back as Cormac set the laptop on the desk and opened it. The screen came to life with a series of surveillance photos, timestamps ticking in the corner. The first few showed David Foster entering a quiet cafe, his polished appearance and affable demeanor belying the snake Rory now knew him to be.

“Someone took these two nights ago,” Cormac said, clicking through the images. “David met with Lorcan Kelleher’s men for nearly an hour. They left through separate exits, but it’s clear this wasn’t their first meeting.”

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