King of Masters by Brynn Ford
CHAPTER 20
Stella
“TO MURPHY AND Stella!” Cormac toasts.
“Cheers!”
“Here, here!”
I’ve already thrown back another shot before the throng takes a sip in our honor. I’ve planted myself on a stool beside the bar on the far side of the room. It’s a large living space, a sunken square forming the center, which is filled with comfortable couches and seating. Murphy wanted us down there, in the center, but I refused.
I don’t want the attention for marrying into a family of fucking traffickers. Besides, he said I could drink as much as I wanted, and that’s exactly what I’m doing. I told the bartender to keep them coming, and he hasn’t disappointed me yet.
My ass is perched precariously on the varnished wooden stool. The smooth fabric of my gown keeps slipping, threatening to toss me off the damn thing.
Three toasts in, three shots in.
As Declan stands and begins to speak, I wave my hand at the bartender, who works to pour me another. Murphy stands beside me, holding his tumbler of ice-cold beer. It looks good, but I need the strength of straight vodka in my system to get through this shit.
“Marriage was never something that was on my mind, personally,” Declan says. “But I always knew it would be something that Murphy would want. He’s always been the caretaker of the family, the big brother who looked out for all of us. He made sure we had love before we had anything else.”
I spin sideways on my stool, turning to look up at Murphy. He watches his younger brother with kind eyes and a calm expression. I recognize the expression from months of video chats. It was an expression he didn’t show me at first…it came over time. I recognize it as a look of attachment.
He grew attached to me over time, but that’s nothing.
Attachment isn’t love.
“Murphy doesn’t give love easily,” Declan says, “but once you’ve earned it, you’ll have more of it than you’ll ever need.”
Murphy grins, then looks over at me, meeting my eyes. I didn’t mean for him to see me looking at him, so I quickly turn away and forcefully swallow down my feelings. I grab the newly filled shot glass in front of me and throw it back in the middle of Declan’s toast. The bartender’s already pouring me another.
“Stella,” my heads snaps as Declan calls out my attention, “I know you didn’t come to him in the traditional way. You came five years early and you’re not from our world, but I hope you’ll give Murphy the chance he deserves. Let him love you the way he does and…” he pauses, his eyes holding mine intently, “maybe you can help him grow to become more than he was meant to be. You can help him become better than his destiny.”
“Declan,” Boyd warns.
A silent beat passes as Declan gives me a look, hope glinting in his eyes. Then, he raises his glass. “To Murphy and Stella.”
The crowd takes another drink and I finally drag my eyes away from Declan, turning to face the bar fully, and taking a fifth shot from the bartender.
Murphy’s hand lands on the small of my back as he slips in beside me. He sets his beer on the bar top and leans in close. “Five shots in, hmm? Should we thank our guests before you’re too drunk to stand?”
“Are you keeping count?”
“I’m always watching you, sweetheart.” He presses a quick kiss to my cheek that makes me swoon while also making me want to vomit in equal measure.
“You haven’t finished your drink,” I point out. “Maybe you ought to catch up.”
“I don’t think you want me drunk tonight.” His hand slips lower, the tips of his fingers graze my ass, and his gentle touch makes me shiver. “Your arse is begging for me in this dress, and I might not be able to control myself.”
Goosebumps ripple down my forearms. I hate the way he makes me feel so desired. My lust for him is at war with my mind, and the tug and pull of it is intoxicating.
Maybe that’s just the liquor.
“Come on.” He steps back and holds out his palm. “Let’s say thank you before your speech is too slurred to understand.”
“I don’t want to say thank you. I’m not thankful.”
“Don’t test me tonight.” His eyes narrow, his hand remains outstretched for me to take.
“You really want me to speak to your family?”
He huffs, his shoulders shrugging with tension. “I want to thank my family for their offers of congratulations and support. I want my wife to be polite and do the same. This is your fucking life now. I suggest you start it on the right foot with my family.”
I lean away, glaring up at him. My inebriated eyes see the opportunity in this. “Okay, fine.”
I dramatically slap my palm onto his and swivel on the stool, hopping off it onto my heels. I clench his hand in mine when I sway, a little unbalanced. He pulls me into his side to steady me.
“I’ve got you,” he says.
My heart pounds an extra beat.
I reach behind to pick up shot glass number six, and Murphy grabs his unfinished beer from the bar top. He releases my hand, instead placing his on the small of my back, his fingers splaying wide, his little finger creeping down toward my crack—intentionally—and I find myself a little breathless at his touch.
Goddamnit.
“Family,” Murphy projects to get the crowd’s attention. “Stella and I just wanted to say a quick thank you. I know we weren’t meant to be doing this for another five years, but we meet your support of our unusual engagement with gratitude. I’m not sure Stella quite appreciates just how unusual our engagement is.” I look at him and he looks at me. “When I met her, I knew she was someone different, someone special. I tried to fight it at first,” his eye contact is unwavering, and his voice is nearly painful with sincerity, “but it was clear early on that no other woman could ever match her in my eyes.”
My pulse hums behind my ears, blood pumping frantically through my veins.
He looks back out at the crowd. “Stella is to become one of us. She will soon be an O’Shea, and my gratitude for those of you who’ve already welcomed her graciously as such cannot be expressed with words alone.” He pauses. “Stella, would you like to say something?” His hand slips around to the side of my waist, squeezing lightly.
I feel a little dizzy, but I’ve been given an opportunity to speak my mind, to say what I’ve wanted to say to these monsters since I learned about their business and the four families.
“Um,” I pause to clear my throat, “I don’t know most of you people, and it doesn’t really matter. I don’t have to know you personally to know what you’re all about.”
Murphy’s fingers tighten around my waist, but not in warning…they’re claiming and possessive.
My eyes flutter shut at the way his touch makes me feel, but I quickly pop them back open. “I didn’t choose to be here. I didn’t choose to be a part of your family. I was taken advantage of because I fell in love with Murphy. I did. But it doesn’t change the fact that you’re all criminal scumbags who—”
“Murphy! Get your woman under control!” Boyd shouts, causing a murmur of dissent from the party.
I glare at Murphy’s father with heat in my gaze. “No man controls me, you wrinkly old piece of shit!”
“How dare you?” Boyd pushes to his feet, as if he’s going to come after me.
I have to slap my hand over my mouth to hide the laugh that bursts from my lips without warning. This old man is going to stumble across the room to put me in my place. Behind my drunken eyes, I see the image of a graying man waving his cane at me violently as he shuffles at a snail’s pace, and I can’t stop the laughter. I double over, hiccupping as I snicker.
Murphy’s hand moves from my waist and it lands on my ass softly. “Stella.” When he doesn’t immediately get my attention, his hand lowers and I feel his thumb subtly trace along my crack. Then, he presses it in between my cheeks, and it startles me.
I jolt upright and look over at him. Humor and annoyance mingle in his expression. I think he’s unsure of whether to be angry with me or to laugh with me.
“I think we’ve all had enough toasting for one night,” Murphy says, then raises his drink. “To us.”
He stares me down as he takes a sip of his beer. I stare right back as I toss back my sixth shot. Gradually, the volume of the crowd increases, but we’re still standing together and staring.
The longer our eyes are locked, the quicker my anger grows. Anger I’ve held on to from the first day we touched down in Ireland. Anger that’s been building and building. Anger that needs an outlet. Anger that brews in my gut and tingles in my core with sexual repression.
I don’t know how the two exist together, but they do…rage and lust.
I feel the way my upper lip twitches into a snarling scowl the longer I look at him. He tips back his drink, finishing his beer, his eyes on mine, gulp after gulp after gulp. When he’s finished and he brings his glass down, I reach out and smack it from his grip. It falls to the floor with a clang, a chip from the top breaking free and sliding across the floor.
I don’t feel satisfied by that. I wanted it to shatter. I wanted it to shatter the way he shattered my life by bringing me here. I throw my shot glass down after it and let out a breath of relief when it smashes and splinters, breaking with a satisfying clang into tiny pieces. I dare him with my eyes to do something about it.
“That was unnecessary,” he grits.
“You’re unnecessary.”
Jesus Christ. I’m stupid drunk.
He looks past me. “Fiona, clean that up, will you?”
My head cocks to the side with a snap. “Leave it alone, Fiona.”
“Say another word, Stella. Smash another glass. Show me your defiance one more time. I dare you.”
I step impossibly close to him, our bodies kissing as I give him unflinching eye contact. “What are you gonna do, spank me?”
His eyes smolder and I sink, weak at the knees. His arms whip around me, encircle my waist, and cage me against his hard body. He pours his heat into me, his aura throbbing, hitting me with pulse after pulse of electric warmth. It radiates through my belly, spreading deep within my womb, melting my fury into hateful hunger.
His lips graze my ear as he whispers, “Is that what you want from me, sweetheart? Is that why you want me angry? So I’ll bend you over and spank you like you deserve?”
I put my hands on his chest, but I don’t push, even though I know I should. “I don’t deserve your violence.”
“But you want it, don’t you?”
I shove his chest. “Fuck you.”
In one swift motion, he releases me, but one of his hands slips down my arm. His hand clamps around my wrist, then he turns and walks, hauling me along behind him. I’m nearly jogging in my heels to keep up with the wicked pace he sets as he drags me through the murmuring crowd and out of the room. He moves us into the hallway, his fingertips painfully digging into my bruised wrist, which still aches from my escape attempt and fall earlier this week.
“Let go of me!”
He doesn’t say a word and we don’t go far. He pushes open an unlocked door to an unfamiliar bedroom. He flips on a light switch, yanks me inside, and slams the door shut behind us. I spin to face him when he lets go of me.
“You’re such an ass—”
He rushes me, we collide, and he kisses me.
He kisses me hard and fast, and then he stops, dragging himself away, leaving me breathless. I step forward, wanting to taste him again, but he grabs me by the back of my neck, turns me to face away from him, and shoves me forward toward the wall.
“Put your hands on the fucking wall,” he growls.
I slap my palms against it to catch myself, to try to shove away from it, but he comes in close, pressing his lips to my neck and breathing against my ear. His voice trembles with the same angry, aching lust that I feel for him.
“You’re gonna be good for me. You’re gonna be a good girl for me and give me what I want, aren’t you?” The rumble of his voice twists a tight knot in my stomach, wringing out tension that drips inside me, begging to be released.
I ache for him.
I’m wet for him.
I’m stupid drunk, and I fucking need him.
I nod.
He draws a line with his nose along the curve of my neck and I shiver. “Keep your hands on the wall and don’t move unless I tell you to.”
His hands grapple at the backs of my thighs, fingers clawing as he works my tight dress up my legs. The fabric skims across my backside as he shoves it up over my hips.
“Fucking hell,” he hisses, his fingernails digging a sharp trail up the back of my thigh, cutting into my bare ass cheek, which is exposed from the thong I put on to avoid panty-lines. “That’s fucking beautiful.”
He grips my hips with both hands and harshly tugs me backward. “Hands stay on the wall,” he reminds me as my back arches.
His hand whistles through the air and lands with a sharp thwack against my ass, rocking me forward. Whimpering, I jerk my hips away from the impact. He grabs my hips again, towing them back.
“Hands on the wall,” he says before smacking me again.
My lips part and I let out a puff of breath on impact. His touch is biting, heating my flesh, sending a shockwave of pain down the back of my thigh.
“Murphy…”
He hits me again and my back arches more, seeking the roughness of his touch, because at least it’s honest.
“Tell me to stop,” he says.
I can’t.
I can’t tell him to stop because his touch is twisting something within me. It’s drawing out my rage, it’s boiling, it’s filling me to bursting with explosive energy to lash out at him the way I need to.
I want him to hit me.
I want him to make me furious.
I want him to give me a reason to fight so I don’t crumble to my knees and beg for his cock.
“Harder,” I demand, deepening the curve of my back as I push my ass out for him. “Fucking do it harder, Murphy.”
He pulls his hand back and smacks me powerfully, rocking me toward the wall as I scream out from the bruising impact. Before he can hit me again, I spin, slap his cheek, shove his chest, and throw punches. I attack him off-guard, and he stumbles backward, falling flat on his ass on the carpet as I push and shove.
I drop to my knees over his lap, straddling his hips as I reach back and slap him across his cheek again. His hands shoot up and his fingers wrap around both of my wrists, wrenching my arms between our bodies.
He pulls me to lay on top of him. I try to get my feet beneath me so I can yank my arms from his grasp, but he’s quick, flipping us both. I land hard on my back, and it knocks the wind out of me as he crushes me, laying heavily on our hands between us.
I fight and struggle to get my hands free, but he surprises me, releasing them both without warning. I thrash, trying to get myself out from under him, but he sits across my stomach, pinning me beneath him in such a way that I can’t even kick my feet. His fingers work at his black necktie, loosening the knot and tugging it free from his collar with a sharp yank.
I try to sit up, but he slams down on top of me. His chest lays heavily on mine as he wrangles my arms up above my head. I can feel him grow hard in our struggle, his thick erection pressing against my belly.
He wraps his tie around my wrists, knotting and tugging, tying them tight as I register the look of longing in his eyes—a look that forces me to pause and take in a steadying breath.
It’s a look I only recognize because I’ve seen it so many times before through a screen.
It’s desperation.
It’s struggle.
It’s the ache of wanting something you can’t have.
He’d look at me like that when he told me how much he missed me, how much he wished he could touch me, hold me, fuck me.
I don’t even realize that my body has stopped fighting until I feel the drag of his fingertips down my arms. His palms rub over my chest, skating over the mounds of my breasts. I gasp at the contrast of sensation, the jarring transition we’ve made from fighting to gentle caresses.
His hands travel up again. One slips up my throat, grabs me hard, and tilts up my chin. The other glides over one of my arms stretched above my head, which is tied to the other. He grips both of my bound wrists in his large palm, grinding them down into the carpet.
My back arches beneath him, my breasts heavy, aching for him to touch me again, but my anger hasn’t quite let go of me yet. We pant as we watch each other with careful, hungry eyes.
I can’t tell him that I want it, that I want him inside me.
I can’t say those words and admit defeat.
But fuck, I need it…I need him. Though my words remain sheathed behind my gritted teeth, my body encourages his rough touch. I lift my hips, rocking them from the floor, seeking friction against him.
He groans, his palm clutching my bound wrists, his fingers pinching the sides of my throat, making me gasp for him. He knows that I like this, this rough and reckless kind of sexuality. He knows what turns me on, what makes me come. He knows it all because I bared my soul to him. He can use it against me. He may be using it against me now, but hell…it’s working.
It’s fucking working.
I let my tongue run over my lips, tempting him, begging him with every physical signal my body will allow me to give, because I can’t ask him to fuck me.
I see the shift in his eyes from lightness to smoky gray as they dart across my face, lower to watch the heavy rise and fall of my chest, and finally land on my lips.
He dips his head and our mouths collide, his tongue darting inside me and filling me up. Raw, sexual hunger slips from his tongue and it feeds me, fuels me, rips a moan from deep within me.
He lifts his right leg and moves it in between mine, sliding his knee up against my pussy. I whimper in gratitude for something to move against, and my hips wriggle, rubbing my clit against his knee.
He groans and presses harder, his knee unrelentingly driving against me as he deepens our kiss impossibly more. He’s heavy on top of me. I’m completely at his mercy, so lost to anger and drunken lust that I feel like I could lose my mind if he doesn’t make me come.
There’s no sound around us except for our moaning and panting, our smacking lips that kiss and suck and fuel that linking desire between us.
How can I still desire this monster?
He pulls back with a snap that leaves me breathless and sits back on his heels. He grabs my thong and tears it down my legs. He lets me slip my pinned leg out from between his knees so he can remove them, and though I should probably take advantage of that to kick him and run from the room, I don’t…
I can’t…
I don’t want to run from him.
I don’t want to run from this.
That’s the most painful thing to acknowledge.
I still want him, though he’s vile.
Instead of shoving my stiletto into his gut, I spread my legs for him and invite him to take the last bit of dignity I have left. His hands work his buckle as I bring my tied hands down, shove them between my legs, and stroke my clit with my middle finger.
“I fucking hate you,” I tell him, trying to convince myself.
“I know you think you do.”
“You took this from us. It should’ve been like this between us…desperate fucking on a goddamn vacation.”
He pulls his belt free from the loops, grips it in one hand, and slams his fist on the floor beside my shoulder. He bends over me, his other hand slapping over my mouth, and pushing down hard. “It can still be like this, sweetheart. All you have to do is let yourself enjoy it.”
I try to bite his hand, but my teeth can’t clamp down—they only graze his skin. I lick his palm instead. His eyes flash with hazy gray heat. He shifts his hand so he can shove two of his fingers past my lips, pressing them in deep. I gasp at the intrusion and my stomach clenches, my fingers moving faster over my clit as wetness pools.
I hate that this is hot as hell.
I fucking hate it.
I hate him.
“Suck,” he commands.
I stare at him unwaveringly as I bite his fingers.
He hisses but doesn’t pull them out. He pushes them deeper and triggers my gag reflex. My body lurches and I swallow hard as he draws them back an inch. He drops his head, rubbing his nose against my cheek.
“Suck them, sweetheart.”
I moan, need throbbing beneath my circling fingers.
I hollow out my cheeks to suck on his goddamn fingers because I want to…
I fucking want to.
He groans, his body shifting and rubbing against my hip and leg as we watch each other. “That’s my good girl.”
I turn my head forcefully, spitting out his fingers. “I’m not your good girl.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Fuck you,” I pant.
He sits back on his heels again, lifting the belt in his hand and folding it in half. I hope he hits me. I hope he hurts me. I hope he gives me a reason to hold on to this hate.
But this hate is passion, and that passion is what’s dangerous between us.
He shoves my hands away from between my legs, then turns his belt and thwacks it hard against my pussy. My body tenses as a sharp pain shoots through my swelling clit, rippling through my core.
“Shit!”
He pulls it back and hits me again.
My insides twist, rolling desire and pain together, wringing out a need to come like I’ve never felt before.
I can hate him and fuck him.
I can fuck him and it doesn’t have to mean that anything has changed.
Memories of touching myself for him during our video chats flood my mind, all the desires and filthy fantasies we shared with each other. I told him dirty things I wanted to do with him that I’ve never done with anyone…things I’ve never even told another man I wanted.
My mind wants to wash me in shame that I ever opened up to him that way—it wants to shut me down, but my body won’t allow it. When I look into his eyes, I still see him. I still see the man I fell for, the one I talked to every night on the phone for nearly seven months, the one who knows me better than anyone else ever could.
I can let him have this win.
But I won’t let him have the next.
“Fuck me,” I breathe the words. “Choke me and fuck me like you promised you would.”
His lips part as his breath catches in his throat. He scrubs a hand over his beard, a move so signature of the Murphy O’Shea I thought I knew that it makes me whimper.
He drops the belt beside my hip, shoves down his pants and boxer briefs to free his hard cock, and moves between my spread legs. I pull back my knees to rest against his hips as he angles his tip, and I lift my arms above my head, letting them rest on the carpet. I shudder watching his expression drift from pure passion to relief.
He’s not even inside me yet and he feels relief.
Because he wants me…he needs me to want him.
“Oh.” Air rushes from my lungs as he presses into me, slowly but steadily burying his cock deep inside me. “Fuck.”
We both moan and pant as he holds steady, as I adjust to his girth and the depth in which he penetrates my fucking soul. He moves one hand up the side of my waist, drifting upward, rubbing over my breast, and teasing my hard nipple. Then he clamps it around my throat.
Gradually, he pinches the sides of my neck, restricting my air flow. My lips part as I gasp, as the high of breathlessness forces a smile and makes my eyes flutter shut. I feel him move, slowly dragging his cock out before driving it back inside.
He loosens his grip and I pant to catch my breath, my entire body whispering its need across my skin.
His forehead falls to mine, our eyes locking with lust. “Again?”
I nod. “Again. Do it longer.”
He squeezes my throat and thrusts, pounding me with a slow, hard, steady rhythm. He squeezes until I can’t pant, can’t gasp, can’t tell him to stop.
I don’t want him to stop.
He releases.
I gasp.
He fucks me.
He squeezes.
Over and over, he grips my throat and fucks me until my hips are rising desperately from the ground, my back is arching, and I’m using the only breath I have between chokings to beg him to make me come.
“Make me come,” I beg. “Make me come, make me come.”
He lets go of me, rears back, grasps my hips in his large hands, and flips me over onto my stomach. He grips my waist and tugs, making me lift my ass from the floor and present it to him. He rubs his erection over my pussy, gathering wetness before he drags it back along my folds, teasing over my sensitive flesh. Then he reaches the puckered hole at the back.
“Oh, my God,” I moan as he pulls his cock away, replacing it with his thumb to rub my wetness all around the spot.
All at once, he thrusts his hardness into my pussy and nudges his thumb inside my back hole. It feels so fucking good, that I scream.
“Good girl. That’s a good fucking girl.” His voice trembles as he fucks me, slipping his thumb deeper inside me. His fingers are splayed over my cheek, nails digging in to hold me.
It hurts and it feels so fucking good.
We were like this in every fantasy I had of being with him—rough, needy, hopelessly and recklessly passionate.
I’m filled so spectacularly that my climax builds quickly, tingling through my sensitive flesh with a persistent throb that demands my tension against it. I press up onto my elbows, arch my back, and push back against Murphy, meeting him thrust for thrust, taking him with me as we chase a release from the tension that’s been building between us.
His thumb sinks deeper, and the overwhelming fullness spurs my release. My pussy pulses as I come hard, clenching around his cock, my whole body stiffening with tension as pleasure explodes in my core and ripples over every inch of me. Just when I think my climax is about to drop, I feel him spill inside me and the warmth of his cum drives me higher, sending one last tsunami of pleasure straight up my spine.
I collapse when it lets me go, and he meets me on the ground. Spinning us sideways with his cock still buried deep, he brings us both down to lay on our hips as he curls around me from behind.
I gasp for air, my lungs begging for it, but I can’t catch a good breath. Each inhale catches in my throat, the air building pressure within me that drives tears to burn behind my eyes. I break into sobs. He wraps his arms around me tight and I’m sobbing on the floor.
I’m sobbing because of him, and he tries to comfort me.
He tries to comfort me against the pain he caused me.
He caused me this pain.
I jerk away from his hold, roll over to face him, and slam my fists against his chest. “Untie me. Untie me!” I scream at him.
His eyes hold mine with a calm expression, but it doesn’t quell my swelling anger. He unties the knots that bind my wrists together and I shove away from him, stumbling to my feet, swaying, and almost toppling over from the post-orgasm light-headedness and my intoxication. I tug at my gown, shimmying the dress back down over my hips. One of the straps across the back is torn and dangling, and it tickles my bare skin as I move.
“How long are you going to hold on to anger over a future we never could have had?”
I whirl around and point my index finger at him. “You told me we could have it.”
“No, I didn’t. In fact, I distinctly remember telling you that there was a chance we could never be more than what we were. And I remember you wanting more, so I gave you more. I made it happen. I made a future for us where there was none.”
I chuckle through my tears. “This? This is no future. You’re a criminal, and the most disgusting kind. I could never love you.”
I swallow as if my body wants to take the words back and bury them deep inside me.
He buckles his pants and bends to grab his belt from the floor. “Love me or don’t, Stella. You’ll be my wife either way.” He shoves past me, heading for the door. I spin to watch him as he pulls it open. “I’m sleeping in my own damn bed tonight. If you don’t want to sleep with me, then I suggest you find another unlocked room you feel safe in. I’m done granting you kindness when I get none in return.”
I’m still and silent as he steps from the room and marches off down the hallway.