Page 80 of Dirty Eoin

There’s a lengthy pause. Is my plan about to blow up in my face? I can almost hear the non-existent ticking of a goddamn bomb.

“Yes.”

“Your word. Give me your word.”

“I give you my word.”

Silence.

Offer and acceptance. Contract in place. We both know I’ve now given him the green light to take anything he wants. To do anything he wants.

And doesn’t he just fucking know it? He grips my hip with one hand, deliberately digging his fingers in to bruise my flesh, no doubt in punishment at my having backed him into a corner. From stopping him having his cake and eating it too.

Two words.

Tough. Shit.

His other hand wraps around my throat, gripping it tightly. My breath hitches at the connection, welcoming the feel of this human collar once more.

His thumb tilts my chin up, and he stares down at me, drinking me in as his eyes flit from aquamarine to green. With a growl, his lips capture mine, his tongue immediately taking ownership by thrusting deep into my mouth.

Searching. Tasting. Remembering.

Arrogance has an addictive flavor. I know because I’m tasting it right now. It tastes like Eoin fucking O’Connell.

And then it’s payback. He bites down hard.

I taste blood.

He sucks on my bleeding lip before he devours me once more, sharing the metallic taste as his tongue fills my mouth possessively.

I yank his top free from his jeans, and he pulls it over his head to give me the access I crave to his hot, sculpted flesh all covered in scars and black ink. Underneath his clean, shiny surface, Mr. Impeccable really is a very dirty boy.

So perfectly imperfect. So tall, lean, and totally defined. The man is the carnal sin of lust itself disguised as a hot as fuck mobster.

I drag my nails down his chiseled torso, my fingers dipping inside the front of his jeans until I can feel the heat emanating from his hard dick. He growls his annoyance when I move them away.

In retaliation, he releases my throat, knowing I’ll immediately miss its possessive hold. He’s letting me know who’s in charge. I hiss in complaint, which he ignores as he pulls my top over my head.

“You’re mine.” His breath is hot against my lips. “Say it.”

“No.”

“Say. It.”

“I fucking hate you.”

“Such a perfect cussing little mouth that I’m sure I’ll find plenty of uses for later. Hate me all you want, Mrs. O’Connell, but admit that you now belong to me.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Say. The. Words.”

“I belong to you.”

“Good girl.”

“I’m not a good girl. I will never be a good fucking girl. I’m a bad girl. And I lied. I will never belong to you,” I hiss.

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