4. Bree

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As Declan kisses me back,I'm shocked that I started all of this. He's just so close to me and he smells so good and all day I've been angry, furious even, and it feels good to get the feelings out. Not to mention that he's an incredibly handsome man, deep blue eyes, broad shoulders, a sharp jaw with just the hint of stubble across it.

At first, I'd hoped to distract him, but as soon as my lips met his, it was like I couldn't stop myself.

He'd just been so close to me, and the anger in me had to go somewhere. And I thought, at first, I was going to hit him but then ... I did something completely insane.

The Burke crazy must be rubbing off on me. But I'm just so pissed off, and I want it out of me. I want a distraction, and Declan Burke is here and he's hot and he's all over me.

His breath feels hot against my neck before he kisses me there, and I moan as his teeth scrape across my flesh. The pain as he bites down hard shoots pleasure through me, and I arch my back, then gasp.

Declan's ripping the wide straps off my shoulders, almost ripping my breasts out of the top and attacking my nipples with his tongue and his teeth, and the tug as he pulls his head up makes me soaking wet.

He grunts, pushing up the fabric to my hips, and there's so much of the dress he gets frustrated and just starts ripping strips off. Each sound of the fabric shredding makes my lower abdomen clench with need.

This isn't about love, and this is very clear as he finds me bare, groaning low in his throat.

"No panties? On your wedding night?" he teases, and I lean up, angry, clamping my hand over his mouth.

"Shut up," I tell him. "I'm trying to pretend you're someone else."

He glares down at me, ripping my hand away from his mouth. "After tonight, you'll never say that again. You won't be able to forget me," he taunts, and then he unbuttons his pants.

At some point during the night, he's discarded his suit jacket, so he's only wearing a tailored blue shirt, and the buttons are close to popping at his chest as he shifts to put my legs around his waist.

I spread my thighs easily, and when he slides his fingers through my lower lips, he finds me slick and ready.

I don't think I've ever been this hot, this wet, and I hate myself for it. I hate him, even as he releases his long, thick length from his slacks, taking himself in hand as he presses inside me.

I cry out, arching my back, wrapping my legs around his waist to bring him closer, deeper.

He leans over me, doubling over, and then a couple of the buttons on his shirt do pop, showing tantalizing glimpses of bronze skin.

I let out a grunt of sorts as I rip his shirt open, sliding my hands under it as buttons fly across the room and feeling his skin, palming across his nipples.

He gasps, his hips bucking involuntarily, and that's what I want. I want him deeper, want him harder. I want it rough, and Declan seems all too willing to oblige me.

He spears into me, bumping the edge of my womb with how deep he's going, and it aches but god, it hurts so good.

All the anger flows out of me and into him, and his blue eyes are dark with lust as he looks down at me.

"Fuck you," I spit out, and he gives me a wicked half-grin.

"I am, princess."

He fucks me harder, thrusting in and almost out of me, going so deep that it makes my eyes roll back into my head.

"Fuck," I curse. "Fuck, fuck, I'm going to come."

"Come all over my cock, princess. Want to feel you," he grunts, rolling his hips in a slightly uneven rhythm.

I know he's as close as I am, can feel him pulse against my walls. And when I finally reach my peak, I nearly scream, clawing my nails along his back. My press-on nails pop off, but I don't care.

I don't care about anything but how good he feels inside me. "God, don't stop," I moan as my second orgasm approaches, and when it hits, it hits like a freight train, and spots appear behind my eyelids.

After just a few more hard thrusts, Declan spills inside me, and then it washes over me.

What have I done? I've just consummated this marriage.

I open my mouth to curse him, to tell him how much I hate him, but Declan kisses along the side of my face, pressing his mouth against his teeth marks on my neck.

What is he doing?

He pulls out of me, panting, and when he does, I just know he's going to walk off.

Instead, he stands up and then crouches at the end of the bed, grabbing my ankles and pulling my legs over his shoulders.

When he presses his face into my sex, I moan so loudly I'm sure the whole huge household can hear me.

I'm already so sensitive, but he doesn't go easy on me, latching around my clit and pressing two fingers into me, fucking his come back inside as he laps at my clit.

I come again, crying out, and he hums against me.

"Enough," I whimper.

"Not yet," he murmurs against my inner thigh. "You can come again, princess. I know you can."

His praise slides pleasure through me, and it's almost painful, the ache I have in my lower abdomen.

I take in a deep, shaking breath as he continues to finger-fuck me and suck on my clit, and when I come, I gasp and whine, barely able to breathe.

Declan looks up at me with a grin, and he plops down on the bed next to me before throwing an arm around my waist. He's only there for a few moments, but it's strange, the way he holds me, like he's cuddling me.

Why isn't he just walking away?

"I'm going to shower," he mutters, and stands up, as if he's realized what he's doing.

He leaves the room, and I rub my hands across my face.

"What the fuck did you do, Bree?" I huff, wiggling out of the rest of my dress and letting it fall to the floor. I'm nude, but it's a little too late to be embarrassed about it. I feel a little sore, and I think I'll have fingerprint bruises on my hips after that session.

I can't believe I just did that. It's not that I've been treated badly here. Just the opposite, especially since Paige untied me. And the sex was unbelievable.

But they are still the enemy, and I have to get the hell out of here.

I always thought that I'd get married for love, and now I'm married literally out of hate. It's depressing, and the long day catches up with me and tears finally slip down my cheeks.

I slither under the covers, covering my face with the pillow and trying to keep my cries quiet. After a few moments, my tears dry up, and I think about my family.

My brother is gone. He left as soon as he could. Said he wanted nothing to do with the family business or anyone involved in it. He calls, occasionally, just to check that I'm okay, but he hardly ever talks to Dad.

Sometimes, I wish I had his courage. I don't know that I could cut my father out of my life like that. He's always given me everything I asked for and more. He's always been a hard man, and he's been a little distant, even more when it comes to anything emotional, but he's always been there.

Especially since my mother left. She might have abandoned us, but he didn't. Many nights I was up crying with him holding me as I did.

He's my father.

And now I'm married to his enemy's son. What will he think of me?

Finally, I close my eyes, and I'm sure that I won't be able to sleep in such a strange place, but I drift off before I know it.

I wake up a few hours later, in an unfamiliar place, trembling. Everything crashes down on me, and I wonder if they've locked my door. I get up and walk to it, slowly opening it.

My heart starts to beat faster as the door opens easily.

The hallway seems empty, but I can't be sure.

I step out, bare-footed, trying not to make any sound. I can't stop looking around, my throat tight with fear, remembering Gray's look of pure hatred, and Declan's threats. From what he said, I'd assume men to be everywhere, guarding the estate, but at least upstairs, there's no one.

I creep to the staircase and the murmur of voices reaches me, coming from the far door. I can't quite make out what they're saying, but I think I recognize Declan's voice.

He's close. I'll have to be careful.

I slip down the stairs, silent as a mouse, heading toward the front door. As I'm about to reach it, Gray steps out of the shadows, the gold tints in his dark blond hair glinting in the light.

"Where do you think you're going?" He has a twisted smirk, and I can't help it, I squeak and turn, fleeing back up the stairs and into my prison, slamming the door behind me.

My heart is pounding so hard it almost hurts, and I rest against the door, chest heaving, for a long moment, afraid that he might come after me.

Declan said that I won't be hurt, but I don't trust any of the people here as far as I can throw them—which isn't very far.

My eyes fill with fearful tears, and I climb back onto the bed as I let them fall. I certainly can't cry in front of them.

My brother doesn't know I'm here, or he'd be here by now, but my father will come for me. I know he will.

I still remember the night my life changed forever.

"Wean," my father says hoarsely, waking me from my slumber.

He always calls me that. Child. One of the few Irish words I know.

I sit up, rubbing my eyes. "Daidí?"

"Your mother." He shakes his head. "She's gone."

"Gone?" Panic settles in my throat. "What do you mean, she's gone?"

At twelve years old, I was very close to my mother. She had always said we were twin souls. I didn't have other friends, not really. Well, maybe Yolanda Ricci, the niece of the head of the Ricci family, but to be honest, she kind of got on my nerves.

I was home-schooled by a tutor, and I couldn't really meet other kids my age unless their parents were also in the life. I was sheltered, but my father just wanted to protect me.

When Daidí gets closer to the bed, plopping down on it, the aroma of whiskey is strong on his breath.

"She's hurt?" My heart is slamming against my chest plate.

He shakes his head. "She just left us, wean."

Tears start to stream down his face. I sit on his lap and his arms wrap around me as we sit there and cry most of the night.

He told me she'd left a note, said that she wasn't ready for this kind of commitment, which seemed strange after twelve years of being a mother and fifteen of being a wife.

I never saw the letter. I never had to. My father would never lie to me.

Over the next few weeks, he drank too much, and I started helping out anyway I could. Sometimes trying to understand the books, others with phone calls and keeping his appointments.

He needed me, and I was more than willing to help.

We became united, a Murphy front, and we've been that way ever since.

I squeeze my eyes, my heart tightening with how much I miss my father. He wasn't always there for me like he had been that night. He has his issues with expressing emotions, but he has tried. I know that he loves me, and that is enough.

And now I'm stuck behind enemy lines, and what do I do? I sleep with the son of my father's greatest enemy.

I take in a shaking breath, trying to stop crying. Crying doesn't do any good, it just makes our eyes red and our soul a little lighter for a bit, my mother always said. I guess she was right, even if she ended up abandoning us.

I need to get some rest. It's the only way I can stay sharp and find my way out of here. So, I close my eyes.

When sleep overtakes me at last, oddly, it's not my father I dream of but my mother: her kind blue eyes, how her soft hands used to refresh my forehead when I was sick.