Page 53 of Stolen Rival
He makes a huffing sound before placing the papers on his lap and folding his hands on top. “I’m all ears. What can I do for you?”
This is it, my time to shine. To manipulate this man into giving me a modicum of power, to see if it’s even possible for the mighty Patrick Mahoney to do something on someone else’s terms.
My mouth is dry, my knees are trembling, and my stomach is on the floor at the idea of this marble statue of a man seeing my naked body, but now I’ve made my bed, it’s time to take my sexuality by the horns and get into it.
“I wanted to show you something the staff gave me before we left Ireland.”
He cants his head to the side, jutting his chin out as if to say “continue,” so I do. I open the belt around my waist and drop the dressing gown into a pool around my feet.
He blinks but says nothing. I’m too far away and thelighting too dim to see if he’s clenching his jaw or if his breathing picks up, but I pretend he’s saying “fuck” a lot in his mind right now to spur myself on and give me the bravery to see this through.
Control, remember.
“Isn’t it gorgeous?” I take a few steps into the room, clocking a chaise propped against the left-hand wall of the room, with Patrick’s bed to the right.
Perfect view.
“It probably cost a fortune, wouldn’t you say?” I let out an airy giggle as I continue sauntering toward the sofa. “Hard to believe something made of such little material probably cost as much as a week’s worth of groceries. But it feels so nice against my skin.” As if to emphasize the point, I turn to face him, cup my silk- and lace-clad breasts, and run my palms over them. Adding a soft moan for good measure.
“Sorcha.” My name is barely more than a growl.
“Yes, Patrick?” I flutter my eyelids at him. Men like that kind of thing, don’t they? God, I wish I had more experience at this. Strike that. I wish I had any experience at this. My heart thrashes against my ribcage as he slowly removes his reading glasses and places his paperwork and specs on the bedside table next to a half-filled glass of water.
“What are you doing?”
I’m playing with fire, that’s what. There’s every chance this man will toss me over his shoulder and drop me into a cold shower. But there’s also a chance he might touch me and grant me the win I’m so desperate for. To stop being the woman things happen to and evolve into the woman who makes things happen.
Struggling to ignore the guilt that I’m not at all repulsed by the thought of the man who murdered my family’s puttinghis hands on my body, I perch on the edge of the chaise, facing him, shoulders back and what I hope is a soft, secret smile on my lips.
If it’s seen as a smirk, I’m fucked. And not in the way I expect to be.
“I can’t sleep.” I spread my legs. “I thought I might join you for a little while.” I walk my fingers along the triangle of fabric between my legs. “In case there was anything you could think of that might make me sleepy.”
He says nothing, but his eyes are fixed on the hand between my thighs. When they flick to lock with my stare, they’re full of heat, but instead of moving, instead of saying anything, he simply… sits.
Alright, stubborn, controlling, infuriating arsehole. Two can play that game. I lean back against the seat and let my hand slide under the soft fabric.
“Sorcha.” It’s a warning this time, and when he says my name, it sounds like he’s dragged it over gravel before letting it fall from his lips.
I don’t answer him. I sink my fingers into my drenched pussy on a sigh so heavy all my muscles loosen. I’ve held out. I haven’t masturbated since we got married, but I can’t hold back any longer, especially now my hand is in my underwear.
The noises I make as I finger myself aren’t exaggerated, but they aren’t quiet either, and I should probably be embarrassed at the audible confirmation of how aroused I actually am, but I’m finding it hard to care. I’m taking something for me, and it is empowering, incredible, freeing.
Pulse racing, chest heaving, and skin warming, my body races toward release.
“I forbid you from coming, Sorcha.”
A snort bursts out of my body. “You might be able tocontrol just about every aspect of my life, but in case you haven’t noticed, I’m in charge of this orgasm.”
There, that should be enough to goad him. Challenging his authority is never met kindly. He loves reminding everyone that he holds the cards, he has the power, he is the power. But this might be just what I need to get the upper hand over him. If it is, I might laugh. Pussy being his undoing is just so… predictable.
Tossing the verbal grenade with the pin pulled works a treat. He springs from his bed in nothing but a pair of black boxers and closes the distance between us in seconds. “Is that so?” he asks, staring down at me, his eyes molten and his dick pressing against the black fabric.
I ignore him, allowing my eyes to flutter closed as I exaggerate aroused gasps and moans. My racing heart reminds me I’m playing a dangerous game with a dangerous man, but when his hand clamps over my wrist and yanks my hand away from my pussy, I know I’ve won.
Chapter 27
SORCHA
