Page 71 of My Irish Mafia King

I roll my eyes, cheeks flushing. “What? What do you think you’ve seen?”

“I think those hormones you mentioned have just started playing a different game with you…”

I bite my lip. “Maybe.”

“Well,maybeI can help you with that…”

He kisses me with searing heat, gliding his hand up my leg toward my sex. The hormones have been playing havoc with me, making me feel so sensitive sometimes. The moment he presses against my clit through my underwear, the pleasure is unreal.

I bite down on his shirt, shifting my hips in time with his frantic hand movements, grinding up and down the faster he moves. I moan, then start screaming in release when he pushes my underwear aside and grinds his hand against my naked core.

He presses the heel of his palm against my neediness as he toys with my entrance. I bite down so hard, I know I’m going to leave a mark on his chest… and I know he likes that. I’ve tattooed him with my teeth so many times already.

The orgasm shivers out of me, making me squeeze my legs together tightly, my body aching all over and my breathing growing rapid. I’m drowning in pleasure, the crescendo seeming to last for several minutes. Time bends like some crazy leprechaun has played a trick on us.

The pleasure passes, leaving me with that warm, satisfied feeling.

He kisses me on the neck, that special place that sends so many tingles through me.

“Are you ready for the grand reopening?” he asks.

“Are you talking about the bakery… or after the birth, when we can have wild, heated sex again?”

He laughs. “I think it’s my turn to use your favorite word.Ew.”

“I’m excited,” I tell him, hugging him tightly. “But that’s not a revelation. I’m excited for every single chapter in our lives.”

He wraps his arms around me. “It’s hotter now than it was when this place was on fire.”

I giggle, kissing his chest.

Epilogue

KILLIAN

Eight Years Later

There’s something special about watching my wife in the kitchen with Jocelyn and Finn. The twins watch their mother attentively. I rock Harry gently in my arms, our youngest child sleeping peacefully. In general, he’s been far more chill than Jocelyn or Finn ever were.

“Remember,” Lucy says. “We need to be careful with the butter. We’re not smashing it into the flour… and yes, I’m looking at you, Finn.”

Finn laughs, his mop of red hair bouncing. He’s got his mother’s hair and eyes, reminding me of how she looked when she was a young girl walking the Irish countryside, lost until I found her.

“Yeah, Finn,” Jocelyn giggles. People say she looks like me with her blue eyes and blonde hair, but it’s difficult to look at our kids and see anybody other than my gorgeous wife. “No Hulk smash, okay?”

As they press the butter into the flour, Lucy looks up and spots me. Sunlight streams through the window, lighting up the kitchen, making her look like an angel.

In Gaelic, she says, “Are you spying on me, husband?”

I grin, replying in Gaelic, “If all I got to do for the rest of my days was watch you with our children, I’d die a happy man.”

She’s even more beautiful now than the first day I walked into The Celtic Crust. It’s not just her physical appearance, though she’s more attractive in that way. Three births have made her curvier, giving her a maternal look that always gets me going. Her hair is tied up, braids woven, making her look like a Celtic pagan princess.

It’s her determination, too. Not only is she a wife, mother, and queen, but she’s also opened three more bakeries, turning The Celtic Crust into a franchise.

I carry Harry into the kitchen, smiling at the twins. Finn looks up at me with a big gap-toothed grin on his face. “Hey, Daddy. Hey, little Harry.”

“Daddy, look,” Jocelyn says. “Mommy’s teaching us how to make Irish scones. She says they’re your favorite.”

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