Chapter 10 (Michael)

After Fiona left, I busied myself for a bit by cleaning my gun. I then proceeded to put away the now-dry breakfast dishes and pick up some of the toys Fiona had not gathered earlier. After finishing those chores, I glanced at the clock and noted that Aodhan would sleep for at least another twenty minutes, perhaps more given the fact that we had spent three hours the previous day playing soccer which seemed to wear him out more the day after while somehow increasing his energy the day we played. Fiona claimed it was normal for a child, and I took her word for it, knowing she had much more experience in the area than I did. Of course, I was rapidly gaining experience that I had never expected by spending time with Aodhan—two months before, I would have laughed at the thought that I would know the sleeping habits of a four-year-old boy so well.

Since I could not sit still for long, I decided to use the time until Aodhan woke up to call Dan. I had not had much chance to communicate with my handler in the past few weeks since Fiona and I had begun spending most of our time together, so I knew he would be anxious to hear from me. Indeed, it proved to be the case, and he picked up after the first ring. "Michael. I was beginning to think you had forgotten my number."

"Just haven't had time alone to call."

"Michael, I know deep cover missions are hard, but if you're getting too close to this, you need to step away. We can't afford to screw this one up."

"I'm fine, Dan. What have you learned from the tracking data?"

"Not much. We picked up two small-time drug dealers in the Middle East, but they weren't involved in any sort of weapons smuggling. Seems Dougherty likes to keep his businesses separate."

"And all of the cocaine went to them?"

"Not all. Two of the trackers have been stationary since you placed them in an industrial area west of Belfast. I'm guessing a storehouse of some kind. I'm working on getting a team in place to see if we'll get lucky, but if he keeps storage separate as well, we're SOL."

"What about his cellphone?"

"Tracker went dead a week and a half ago. I'm guessing the bug did, too, which you would know if you weren't so busy with your asset. Dougherty's more careful than we gave him credit for—the phone was likely a burner that he's since deactivated."

"Dammit," I cursed, automatically keeping my voice soft despite my emotions, conscious of the sleeping child in the next room. "Did we get anything from the tracker before it went dead?"

"A few trips to another area north of the city. Possibly another warehouse but we weren't able to pinpoint the location since he moved fairly frequently. I think the western location is our best initial move since we at least have a precise location."

I closed my eyes as I clenched my fists, reining in my emotions. I had expected better news than I was hearing, and I knew if it did not get better, they would pull me out of Ireland. I could not let that happen, not yet, not with everything still so new with Fiona and Aodhan. Given more time, perhaps I could come up with a plan to stay with them in some capacity, maybe convince the CIA to use Fiona as an asset. It was a long shot, but it would give us a way to stay together, a bit of hope in a situation that was likely quite hopeless. "I want in on the raid," I finally declared.

"Michael, I understand you want to catch this guy, but I think you're forgetting what deep cover means. It means that if you're caught with a bunch of CIA operatives, you will most likely wind up dead or, at the very least, no longer welcome in Ireland."

"Then I won't get caught."

"You seem quite confident for someone who hasn't been able to find any of the guns we sent you to find."

"It's hard to do so when you won't let me fully participate."

Dan was silent for a moment before sighing. "Fine. But you will wear a mask, and you will do exactly as you're told. No lone Ranger bullshit."

"Deal."

"Okay. We should have the details worked out in the next couple days. Try and call me soon for those or you won't be joining us at all."

"I can do that."

"Good. And Michael? No more distractions. Especially not the pretty kind that likes to blow up cars." Instead of answering verbally, I hung up.

About ten minutes after his conversation with Dan, I heard movement in the bedroom, and I knew Aodhan was awake. I moved to the kitchen to prepare a snack, knowing the boy tended to do better with food in his stomach and often demanded some as soon as he awoke. I had just finished slicing an apple when Aodhan emerged from his room, dragging a stuffed dog behind him. He stopped in the doorway to the small kitchen, looking around. "Where's Mammy?"

"Mammy had to go out fer a bit," I said, hoping it truly was only a short while. Though I had watched Aodhan by myself a couple times before when Fiona stepped out for a quick run or some errands, it was never for very long and the boy was generally asleep the whole time.

"Why?"

"She jes' had a few things t'do. C'mon, I made ya a snack." I pointed to the apple. Aodhan moved to the table, crawling into the chair, and I felt a momentary sense of victory. Unfortunately, it was quickly quashed as Aodhan wrinkled his nose.

"I don't like apple."

"Ya ate it yesterday. An' the day b'fer that," I reasoned.

"But t'day it's yucky."

"Tis no different."

"It is! I don't want it!"

"C'mon, Aodhan, just eat the apple."

"I don't wanna!" In a fit of temper, Aodhan knocked the plate to the floor, sending the carefully-cut apple slices skidding across the linoleum. I felt anger bubble up inside me, but I forced myself to remain calm. Slowly, I took a deep breath, counting to three. When I had first met Aodhan, I had resolved that I would never become my father and never raise a hand in anger against the boy. I had managed to adhere to that promise very well so far, for Fiona dealt with the punishment when the four-year-old acted out. Unfortunately, Fiona was not around to help with the current situation.

When I felt calm enough to speak, I took a second breath. "Pick it up," I instructed.

"I won't!"

"Aodhan, I'm not playin' 'round here. Pick it up."

"Make me." Aodhan crossed his arms defiantly over his chest, and for a moment, I had a flashback, remembering a time when I faced my father with a similar expression. I had been a bit older than Aodhan at the time, perhaps six or seven, and my father had wanted me to pick up some toys Nate and I had scattered around the living room. I had given the very same instructions to Frank Westen, and the older man had proceeded to ensure that I did indeed pick up the toys. He had even given me a black eye as a reminder to keep the area clear of toys in the future. It had been remarkably effective—I had been a fastidious cleaner for years after that point, knowing the slightest thing out of place would incite my father's rage. In his current situation, I knew that Frank Westen's tactics would have been equally effective at ensuring the apples were removed from the floor. However, in the grand scheme of things, a few spilled apple slices seemed a small price to pay for something Frank and Michael Westen never had—a true father-son relationship built on love and trust instead of fear. And while my position in Aodhan's life was still not fully defined, it was definitely moving into father/son territory, a prospect that scared me less than I had expected. But if we did establish such a relationship, I wanted to be sure it was different than my relationship with my father.

"Go to your room," I told Aodhan, keeping my voice calm. It was a punishment I had seen Fiona employ numerous times. I only hoped it would be as effective for me.

"Why?"

"Because ya misbehaved. ya know the rules. Boys who misbehave have t'go to their rooms an' think about what they've done," I explained, parroting an excuse I had heard from Fiona.

"Mammy wouldn't make me go."

"I daresay yar mother would drag ya there kickin' and screamin'. Ya want me to do the same?" We stared at each other for a moment, neither willing to back down. Finally, Aodhan slid off the chair and stomped away. I heard the door slam with a surprising amount of force for his small size. Releasing a breath I hadn't realized I was holding, I bent over to start cleaning up the apples. Though Aodhan was mad at me currently, I had learned that four-year-olds were fickle, and I doubted his temper would last long. And I had not had to resort to any sort of physical violence. It was the first time I truly began to believe that I was not doomed to repeat my father's mistakes.

I let Aodhan cool off for a few minutes before crossing to his room and knocking on his door. He did not answer, so I spoke first. "Can I come in?"

After a few seconds, he finally responded. "Ya can come." I stepped into the room to see him sitting cross-legged on his bed, glaring at the door.

"Do ya know why I sent ya t'yar room?" I questioned.

He glared for a moment more before his anger seemed to abate slightly. "Cuz I threw apples."

"And ya didn't listen t'me when I told ya t'clean them up."

"Sorry." He did look a bit contrite, and I felt I was making progress.

"Do ya still want a snack?" He nodded eagerly. "What d'ya want?"

"Ice cream!"

I could not stop the brief chuckle from escaping my lips. "Ya can't have ice cream 'fore dinner," I reminded him, knowing he was likely testing me. "How 'bout yogurt?" Though neither Fiona nor Aodhan had shown much interest in the fermented product before, I had always enjoyed it, and Aodhan had requested some as well the first time he had seen me eat it. After that, he had declared it was "yummy" and asked for his own every time he saw me eating it.

"I'll have yogurt," he agreed. "Blueberry?"

"I think we can manage that." Crisis averted, I led him to the kitchen where I found the desired yogurt. Peeling back the cap, I set it in front of him with a spoon. As he ate, I busied myself in the kitchen, searching for something to make for dinner. I was contemplating the freezer when I heard Aodhan call me over.

"Mick-ll! Mick-ll!" Responding to the urgency in his voice, I spun without even closing the freezer, my hand automatically dropping to rest on top of the gun in my waistband. However, Aodhan appeared unharmed if a bit messy, and I did not see any indication of danger.

"What's wrong?" I asked, stepping closer.

"Have some yogurt!" He held out a spoon with the treat. I suppressed a grimace, having never been fond of eating off the same utensils as someone else, especially someone who tended to coat everything around him with saliva as he ate. However, I knew I could not refuse the offer, for Aodhan was truly excited about sharing his yogurt. Trying to appear excited, I leaned forward just as he shoved the spoon toward me. It clattered against my teeth, and I got just as much yogurt on my lips as in my mouth. However, I knew better than to say anything about that to Aodhan.

"Thank ya," I said, swallowing. Aodhan beamed with pride, obviously happy I liked the treat. "Why don't ya eat the rest yarself?" I suggested, hoping to avoid more sticky offers. "I had a yogurt earlier, so I'm full."

"Okay!"

"What d'ya want fer dinner?"

"Cou-cou!" I was not surprised by the request. I had first cooked the Mediterranean grain a couple weeks before, and Aodhan had taken to it immediately—or, perhaps, taken to the mound of feta cheese he had piled on and the lime quarter Fiona had let him squirt over his food. However, he had also eaten the chicken and vegetables I cooked with it without complaint, so I was happy to make the meal again. Checking the fridge, I discovered there was still plenty of feta cheese as well as two limes, and I had seen a couple chicken breasts in the freezer.

"Couscous it is," I agreed, happy to have reached some sort of compromise. I began searching the refrigerator for the necessary vegetables. After a few seconds, I felt a prickling of the hairs at the back of my neck and turned to see Aodhan standing in the kitchen watching me carefully.

"Can I help?" he asked.

"Wit' dinner?" I hesitated, unsure of what a four-year-old could do. "I don't know. Don't ye wanna play wit' yer toys?"

"Mammy lets me help!"

"Yer mother's method o'cookin' dinner usually jes' involves the microwave. Tis a tad easier t'help wit' that," I pointed out logically.

"But I wanna help!" Aodhan stomped his foot, and I sensed another impending tantrum. I was not quite sure what had the normally even-keeled boy so upset on that particular night, but I suspected it had something to do with the fact that his mother was gone. Taking a deep breath to control my own temper, I considered my options. I did not want to discourage Aodhan from helping, so I wanted to give him something to do, but most of the tasks I had were not suitable for a four-year-old. I floundered for a moment before finally thinking of a workable solution. '

"Why don't you wash the vegetables?" I suggested, pulling them out of the refrigerator. Aodhan's eyes lit up at that suggestion, and I released my breath. Crisis two averted. Walking over, I helped him onto the stool Fiona kept in the kitchen for him and turned on the water so he could begin to wash as I chopped. We worked in silence for a few seconds until his next question caused my knife to clatter to the cutting board.

"Are ye me Da?" Aodhan questioned. He asked the question innocently enough, but I could hear the hint of hopefulness in his voice. I swallowed hard.

"What makes ye think that?"

Aodhan shrugged. "Kevin got a new Da. He said if ye were over here a lot, that means I had one too."

"I'm not yer father, Aodhan. I just like spendin' time wit' ye and yer mother."

Aodhan considered that for a moment. "Can ye be?"

"It doesn't work like that."

"Why not?"

"It jes' doesn't."

"Then it's stupid!"

"Sometimes, life is," I agreed.

The young boy was quiet for a moment, and I assumed the worst was over. I began to breathe a bit easier just as he asked another question. "Can I still call ye Da?"

"I don't know, Aodhan," I hesitated.

"Please! Everyone else has a da now! I want one, too!"

I sighed and turned to face him. "I don't know that ye really want me as yer da," I said. "I'm not exactly good at it."

"I want ye. Please, Mick-ll!"

"We need t'talk t'yer mother about it," I finally told him, trying hard to keep the slight waver from my voice. I had known Aodhan was growing close to me and had even encouraged it to some extent, for he was generally a good kid. However, I had not realized that he had become quite so attached. I had never expected to be a father to anyone, for my job was not conducive to settling down with a family and I had not had the greatest role model. But with Aodhan's blue eyes staring at me pleadingly, I could not help but think that maybe we could shape our own destinies and were not necessarily doomed to repeat our parents' mistakes.

Fortunately, the conversation turned more mundane after I deferred Aodhan's question to Fiona, and the small boy finished washing the vegetables before hopping off the stool. He stayed in the kitchen with me for a bit but eventually grew bored and left to play with his cars. As I waited for the vegetables to cook, he convinced me to join him in his game, and I spent half an hour crawling around the floor pushing a plastic car, wondering what my handler would think if he saw me in my current position. Fortunately, the kitchen timer rescued me, and I quickly cooked two chicken breasts and some couscous before setting everything on the table. Aodhan eagerly bounced over when I called him, settling into his seat. I sat beside him, and as we both began to eat, I belatedly remembered that he was supposed to wash his hands before dinner. Glancing over, I noticed he was already shoveling food into his mouth with a combination of his fork and his hands, and I decided the damage was done. What Fiona did not know would not hurt her.

As usual, Aodhan managed to get nearly as much food on the floor as in his stomach. In truth, it was partially my fault, for I had not thought to cut his chicken up for him. Instead of asking me to do so, he had stabbed his fork in the middle and lifted it to his mouth like some sort of chicken lollipop, accidentally knocking a good deal of couscous and feta cheese to the floor in the process. I quickly rectified the chicken situation, but it still meant that both he and the floor needed washing after eating. I sent him to find some pajamas and get ready for his bath as I began to clean up from dinner.

In retrospect, I should have known things were too quiet. However, I was so focused on my task that I did not even consider that a quiet four-year-old was a dangerous four-year-old. Just as I was finishing up the dishes, I heard him calling. "Mick-ll! Mick-ll!" I quickly turned toward the bathroom, nearly sprinting to the door. I stopped when I reached it and saw Aodhan standing in the middle of the small room, water lapping at his heels. That same water had flooded out of the bathroom and begun soaking the carpet outside. For a moment, I stared at him, stupefied at how much of a mess such a small boy could make, but I quickly snapped out of it and splashed over to the faucet to turn it off.

"What were ye doin'?" I questioned, my voice tight with anger. His face fell.

"I wanted t'help, so I turned it on like Mammy did. But it wouldn't turn off." I closed my eyes, trying to figure out how Fiona handled the boy every day. He seemed determined to destroy everything in his path. After a moment, he spoke again. "Ye're mad." His voice was soft, and it wavered a bit. I could tell he was on the verge of tears, and that was something I certainly did not want to deal with.

"Ye should've waited fer me," I told him.

"But I wanted t'help! Now ye'll never wanna be me da!" He did start crying at that point, taking huge gulping breaths as sobs wracked his small body. I knew I needed to do something to calm him down, but I had entered unchartered territory. In my household, tears would lead to a beating. Knowing that was not an option, I awkwardly crouched in front of the young boy and put my arms around him, pulling him into a hug. He went willingly, throwing his small arms around my neck as he sobbed into my shoulder. Automatically, I began to rub his back as I stood, trying to calm him. The action was more instinctual than I would have expected.

"I am upset that ye didn't wait, but that doesn't mean I don't want t'be yer father," I told him, searching deep inside myself for the appropriate words of comfort. "I would be honored t'be called yer da," I said. Aodhan's sobs seemed to lessen, and I felt a sense of triumph. "Ye're goin' t'do some things I don't like sometimes," I continued. "But that doesn't change how I feel about ye."

"Ye love me?" he questioned.

I hesitated only a moment. The words were not easy for me, for they were rarely used in my household and when they were, it was usually to manipulate. But despite my limited experience with children, I knew Aodhan needed to hear them. "I love ye," I told him.

"Me, too," he agreed, burying his head against my shoulder. I let him snuggle into my body for a moment. It felt surprisingly good. Finally, I set him back on his feet.

"Why don't ye get yer mammy's mop t'help me clean this up?" I suggested. Eagerly, he bounced off to do as I suggested, and I cringed only slightly as he splashed even more water onto himself and the carpet of the hallway in his eagerness.

At long last, I had the bathroom cleaned up and Aodhan settled into bed. Fortunately, the bedtime ritual was one I had performed before, and we read a couple more chapters of Treasure Island together before he fell asleep. I quietly slipped out of the room and to the couch, intending to read until Fiona arrived home, but I soon found my own eyes growing heavy as the late night the previous night and the long day chasing after Aodhan caught up to me.

A slamming door jarred me awake what felt like seconds after I fell asleep. I quickly sat up on the couch, reaching for the gun holstered at my waist, but my hand paused when I recognized Fiona. She had a fire in her eyes that I had seen only a few times before, and I watched warily as she crossed the room to the locked cabinet where she kept a good deal of her arsenal. "Fi, what's wrong?" I questioned as she unlocked it and began to remove a good deal of heavy equipment.

"I don't want t'talk about it," she insisted, setting aside a .50 caliber machine gun so she could pull out a grenade launcher. My eyes went wide, and I pushed myself off the couch, stepping to her side.

"Talk t'me, Fi," I insisted, stilling her hands with mine.

"Why? So ye can 'talk some sense into me'?" she questioned, yanking her hands from mine so that she could continue to empty the cabinet.

"I didn't say that. C'mon, Fi, somethin's obviously upset ye."

"Upset? I'm not upset, Michael. Upset would be if I spilled somethin' on a new dress or ye forgot an anniversary. That's upset. I'm not upset right now. I'm livid."

"What happened, Fi?" This time, I wrapped both my arms around her so that she could not continue arming herself. She did not even struggle which made me even more worried.

"They crossed a line, Michael," she said.

"Who?"

"Who d'ye think? Those bloody British bastards! They raided the east side, jes' like Liam said. But they didn't stop there. Oh, no. They had t'prove somethin'. Well, all they proved was that they're a bunch o'heartless bastards that don't deserve t'live!"

"What did they do, Fi?" I questioned, half dreading the answer. I could not help but think that I was a soldier, that I was technically on the same side as the men Fiona was maligning. For the first time, I began to wonder if I was truly fighting for the right side.

"They went into the Harrington's house. Gerard's a known republican; they arrested him a few weeks ago, so none of us were sure what they were doin'. But then they drug his wife and daughter out into the street, made his wife kneel down on the dirty ground. The little girl's jes' six years old, and she was cryin', askin' what was goin' on, where her daddy was. An' do ye know what those bastards did?" I had a guess, but I could not bring myself to say it aloud. "They told her she would see him soon. And then they pulled out their guns and shot both her an' her mother in cold blood. Six years old, Michael! An' now she's dead." Fiona looked up at me, her eyes filled with tears. I knew they were not just tears for the senseless loss of life that had occurred either; they were angry tears. Fiona was furious, madder than I had ever seen her before. And as angry as I was over the actions she had described, I knew that we could not act rashly. If we did something without thinking it through, we were likely to end up dead or in jail.

"Fi, I know ye're upset, but ye have t'calm down and think this through."

"No, Michael, I'm done thinkin' calmly. It's time t'give those bastards what they deserve."

"Fi, jes' wait a minute."

"No! What if it was Aodhan, Michael? That girl wasn't much older than him, and I'm definitely not a favorite of the British. What if they decide t'come after him next?"

"And what if ye do somethin' rash an' they put ye in jail? What d'ye think will happen t'Aodhan then?" That question caused her to stop for a moment, and I knew I was getting through. "I agree with you that they should pay, but we need t'have a plan, a way t'make sure we don't get caught. Because Aodhan needs ye alive and free, Fi. Ye know that."

She stared at me for a moment before deflating slightly. "I hate it when ye're right, McBride."

"Ye should get used te it," I suggested. I loosened my grip, stepping back slightly. She remained where she was though she did reach out and run a finger lovingly over the barrel of the machine gun. "Was anyone else hurt?" I questioned, drawing her attention away from the weapon. She turned back to me and shook her head.

"Not really. A coupla black eyes from a scuffle, but that's it. There weren't that many of them, and since we had advanced warning, we managed t'overpower them quickly. I actually thought it was all over when we heard Gerard's wife yellin'."

"So ye're okay?" I cupped her chin in my hand and turned her head to the side to ascertain if she was one of the black eyes from the scuffle. She waved me off.

"I'm fine, Michael. Tis not me I'm worried 'bout."

"And yer brothers? Ye're not s'posed to be meetin' them somewhere to rain hell down on the Brits, are ye?" I asked. Though I did not necessarily agree with their methods, I had come to like the Glenanne brothers well enough, and I did not want to see them in jail or worse.

"No, I'm not. Pat agrees with ye, that we need to regroup and plan our next move, and they all listen t'him." I smiled slightly at the hint of distaste in her tone. Her brothers may have all listened to Pat, but she did not and seemed unable to understand why they would.

"It's okay t'stop sometimes and think before actin', ye know," I remarked.

She scoffed and changed the subject. "How was Aodhan?" I hesitated, and she noticed immediately. Instantly, motherly concern overcame any lingering anger she felt. "What happened?"

"Nothing that bad," I assured her quickly. "We jes' had a mishap wit' the bathtub, and he had a temper tantrum over eating the apple I made him fer a snack. But the bathroom's cleaned up, and he apologized fer the apple." I paused, trying to think of the best way to articulate what I wanted to say next. "He also had an interestin' question earlier. Asked me if I was his father. Apparently, Kevin's parents got back together recently, and he put the idea in Aodhan's head."

I heard her sharp intake of breath before she spoke. "What did ye tell him?"

"I told him the truth."

"How did he take it?"

"Well enough, I s'pose. Though he still asked if he could call me 'Da.' I told him we'd have t'talk t'ye. I hope that's okay."

She gave me a small smile, shaking her head. "Ye really are one of a kind, McBride." She began to lean forward, her lips hovering just over mine.

"Michael," I corrected just before our lips met in a sensual kiss. Though I was grudgingly okay with her calling me McBride when we were planning a job or working on one, I wanted to make sure I was always Michael during more amorous activities. It felt less dishonest, and since I was beginning to realize that my feelings for her were perhaps the only honest thing we had, I wanted to preserve that.

-Mature scene-

I turned so that we could tumble onto the couch together, our lips still locked together. My hands began to tug the sweater she wore from her pants, and she raised her torso from the couch so that I could pull it off her body. I next removed the sleeveless shirt she wore beneath it as well, letting my hands smooth over her upper body. I cupped her breasts in my palms, relishing the small gasp she gave as I ran my fingers over the nipples which showed through the fabric of her bra. She pressed into me, and I repeated the action, squeezing a bit harder. My lips moved from her lips to her neck before descending further. As they ghosted across the top of her breasts, she raised her hips to press into mine, and I closed my own eyes against the cascade of sensation. I was determined to take care of Fiona's needs first, to help her relax and stop thinking about the horrors she had seen, even if it was only a few minutes' respite.

Fiona lifted her torso from the couch again, and I knew what she wanted immediately. Reaching behind her, I unclipped her bra, allowing me unfettered access to her entire upper body. My lips began their assault, soon causing her to squirm eagerly beneath me. I heard her breathe my name, her words cut off by a moan, and I smiled, relishing my ability to cause her to sound like that. I reached down and unbuttoned her pants, and she helped me to push them off her body. My hands skimmed her long, toned legs on their way to her underwear, and I spent a few moments enjoying their softness. Her pleas soon became louder, and I acquiesced to her request. I quickly pulled her underwear from her body, briefly pressing the heel of my hand to her most sensitive area as I removed them. She bucked into my touch. I knew what she wanted, but I was not finished with her yet, so I removed the pressure.

Bending over, I let my lips slide over the smooth skin of her legs. Every time I moved closer to the area I knew she wanted me most, I would skip over it, unable to suppress a smirk as she quietly chastised me for my oversight. Still, I did not give her what she wanted, for I wanted her to ask. Fortunately, I did not have to wait long; after my third pass, she finally groaned, "Please, Michael."

"As ye wish," I muttered, sliding my tongue between her folds. She gave a loud moan before throwing her hand over her mouth, belatedly remembering her sleeping son in the next room. I glanced up at her and then nodded in the direction of the bedroom to see if she wanted to put a locked door between us and the sleeping boy, but she quickly shook her head. That action caused me to grin even wider. It seemed she was quite eager for me to continue. With that thought in mind, I returned my lips to her folds, sucking her clitoris into my mouth. Her squirming increased exponentially, and I grabbed her hips to hold her in place as I continued my assault with my lips and tongue. It was not long before she was quaking beneath me, her cries of pleasure mostly muffled by her hand. I continued to stimulate her until she fell back against the couch, boneless. Smirking slightly, I let my lips travel over the rest of her body until they met hers.

"Seems there's still some unfinished business," she remarked, reaching down to grasp my erection through my pants. I thrust involuntarily into her grip.

"Let's go t'the bedroom fer that," I suggested, not trusting myself to keep quiet enough to avoid waking Aodhan. In truth, I was already pretty far gone, the heady arousal seeping through my blood and making me want to do nothing more except thrust into her until I finished. Obviously, some of that eagerness showed on my face, for she smiled broadly.

"The bedroom sounds good," she agreed. With that, I picked her up and carried her swiftly into that room, shutting and locking the door behind us.