Page 41 of Delectable Lies

ROHAN

My fingers curlin on themselves, and my nails bite into my fleshy palm. Then, eyes blazing, they cross the courtyard and laser in on the electric blue Ford Mustang parked directly in my line of sight.

Firmly aligning my backbone, I cross my arms over my chest and lean back, resting my arse against the picnic table's edge as I zone in on the girl sitting pretty in Liam’s passenger seat.

Her warm, chocolate tresses freefall past her shoulders, draping over the slight swell of her breasts, framing her high cheekbones and shielding her alluring amber eyes from my view. Her full attention settles on Liam as a wide grin lights up her face, then suddenly, her head tips back at whatever he said. Although I can’t hear it, her laughter rushes through me, and jealousy powers the blood in my veins as sudden malaise clenches my stomach.

No! That won’t do, love. Those smiles — the ones that light your soul on fire — belong to me.

My thirsty eyes stay trained on her as she reaches for the door handle and gently eases the car door open. Then, her all-black converse-clad feet greet the tarmac before she pulls herself from the passenger seat to stand. My gluttonous gaze sweeps over the bare skin between the top of her knee-high stockings and the hem of her too-short school skirt.

Fuck me.

My tongue trails along my bottom lip, and I visualise what it would be like to mark those olive thighs with my teeth.

Finally, I draw my penetrating stare upwards over the fitted blazer until my eyes latch on to her temptress-like features. Pouty pink lips, a button nose dotted with barely-there freckles, and wide round orbs men like me crumble beneath.

My father warned me about the seductive allure that comes hand-in-hand with the Ryan women, but unfortunately for him, and maybe even my future self, I never listened to him or his shitty life lessons.

Within seconds, Liam and Beibhinn climb from Liam’s car, flanking Saoirse as though they are her bodyguards, and I suppose, in a way, they are.Not that their protection will do her much good as far I am concerned. However, I have one motive in mind, and I sure as shit won't allow a Devereux to upheave any of my grand plans.

Excitement flurries in my gut as she tilts her chin and squares her shoulders before she strides forward with a confidence I had yet to see from her.

Sin é, mo bhanríon. Ná léirigh laige nó beidh na vultures ciorcal.That's it, my queen. Don't show weakness, or the vultures will circle.

My insides itch, begging to push towards her. But when Liam’s arm wraps around her shoulder — drawing her closer to his body as he glares at me with a victorious grin — I remain rooted by the possessive greed strangling my lungs.

I have two options, go in guns blazing by metaphorically pissing all over her or play the long game and lure her in slowly.

Both are good ideas, but only one of them will have her eating out of the palm of my hand. Which is why I stay rooted in place.

Reaching into the inside pocket of my school blazer, I pull out my silver cigarette case and flip it open. Then, I extract a blunt and guide it to my lips before sparking it.

The first drag coats my tongue and, with a heavy inhale, fills my lungs with its toxicants as I school my features to remain unfazed by the sight before me.

With a tip of my chin, I blow out the plume of smoke, polluting the fresh morning air.

“Here comes trouble.” Aodhán slips in beside me, ignoring the curious looks from the rest of the table. “Seems like we'll be seeing more of your new plaything, or, should I say, Liam’s new plaything?”

His low chuckle grates on my every nerve, but luckily for Aodhán, I'm far too preoccupied with the girl striding towards me to do anything about it.

I remain stoic, savouring every pull of my joint as I watch Liam lead Saoirse towards the picnic table exclusively reserved for the Killybegs Kings. It takes everything in me to hold back the urge to knock the cat-who-got-the-cream smirk off his smug-as-fuck mouth.

What a gobshite!He may think he's claimed her as his prize, but once again, he's sorely mistaken.

Take your fill, have your fun, cause when I finally claim her, all your sly touches will be a distant memory, paling in comparison, Devereux.

Dropping the blunt roach to the grass, I stub it out under the toe of my boot as manicured fingernails curl around my bicep. The rush of Hannah’s overly sweet perfume invades my nostrils. “Who is with Liam and Beibhinn?” she asks, a tinge of disdain licking every syllable.

As the daughter of a syndicate member — a bishop to be exact — Hannah Crowe made it her mission to bed as many Kings as possible, all in hopes of bagging one of us and cementing her future. Her life mission is to climb further up the hierarchy ladder by locking any of us down. So far, she has not succeeded. She’s merely a warm hole we pass around — or share — whenever an itch needs to be scratched.

I'm not one to slut shame anybody for their sexual preferences, but this girl has taken more dicks than a Pornhub Gloryhole, and although there have been plenty of nights I have indulged in what she so eagerly offered, I haven’t touched her in weeks. Not since I first lay eyes on my newest obsession.

I’m seconds away from peeling Hannah from my side when Saoirse’s gaze pricks my skin. Our eyes connect, and a slow, menacing smile forms at the corner of my lips. Her wide orbs bounce between me and the striking blonde plastered to my side before narrowing into curious slits.

Is that jealousy I see, love?

Deciding to test my theory, I draw Hannah closer, palming her arse. It’s slight, but I don’t miss the fleeting eye roll Saoirse gives me, or the tight set of her clenched jaw.

---