Home > Filthy Secret (Five Points' Mob Collection #6)

Filthy Secret (Five Points' Mob Collection #6)
Author: Serena Akeroyd

 


Part One

 

 

One

 

 

Past

 

 

Aidan Jr.

 

 

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was two weeks ago.”

“That’s a long time for you, Aidan,” Father Doyle rumbled.

My mouth pinched at the corners, his disapproval getting my back up like nothing else could.

Da made me come here today.

Da.

No one else.

And seeing as I didn’t feel like getting my ass kicked, I’d come.

When I peered around the small box where my brother had been raped, I felt my skin start to crawl.

Uncle Paddy had fixed all my problems.

He’d made Father McKenna’s corpse disappear.

But that didn’t clean my soul.

That didn't help me sit in this fucking box without wanting to wreck it.

That didn’t make the aftermath of knowing I was just as capable of violence as my father any better.

“Aidan?” Father Doyle prompted.

I should want to confess my sins.

I should want to share the burden, begin the journey toward forgiveness, but I didn’t want to atone.

Murder was a sin, but what that bastard had done was far worse. I felt no guilt, no shame—

“Aidan? It’s time to confess, boy.”

My nostrils flared at his demand.

That was how McKenna had reeled Conor in—priests had power over us. They were the only people who could make my da tremble at the knees. The police and the IRS didn’t do that, just the priests.

“I had dirty thoughts about Kitty Greaves,” I lied eventually.

Father Doyle grunted under his breath. “Is that all?”

I murdered one of your brethren and I wish I could do it again.

As he gave me my penance, I clenched my fists, and in God’s soapbox, I made a vow.

When my time came, when I sat in the seat of power, and reigned over the Five Points, this bullshit would come to an end.

We’d answer to no one.

Not even God himself.

 

 

Two

 

 

Aoife

 

 

PRESENT - CHRISTMAS DAY

 

 

“Do you know how much I love you?”

A smile danced on my lips. “I mean, I could guess. But are we talking metric or imperial here? You know I’m a baker, Finn. Be specific.”

Before I could tease him much more, he rocked his hips, thrusting harder into me until my eyes fluttered to a close.

No longer was I thinking about inches or centimeters, just that my husband filled me so full that I wasn’t sure where he ended and I started.

A groan escaped me as he thrust back inside me, doing this thing with his hips that had my G-spot screeching to life in a wonderfully rude awakening.

My hands dug into his shoulders and I moaned out a promise, “No more teasing, no more teasing.”

“Definitely no teasing the father-to-be," he growled in my ear, sucking on my earlobe in a way that tickled rather than sent shivers down my spine.

My moan morphed into a laugh. “What about the mother-to-be? She deserves an orgasm,” I retorted, my words broken as he lived up to the task and moved a little harder, a lot faster.

“You deserve something, that’s for sure,” he rumbled, dropping his mouth now so that it was hovering over my lips.

I fought fire with fire because with a kiss, that was the only place Finn let me attempt to conquer him. As I explored him, savored him, reveled in him, I felt the second something switched on.

Gone were the teasing strokes, and in their place, I felt his tension start to brew as he tugged on my bottom lip.

“Mine,” he ground out.

My pussy clenched around his dick at the declaration, a declaration that always had me squirming and celebrating.

This hard man, this mobster, this brilliant mind, this beautifully scarred soul—he called me his.

I’d never imagined that belonging to someone could feel like this. Had never imagined I’d want to.

Who wanted to be owned by another person?

But if Finn owned me, I owned him.

It was a mutual possession, and that was what made it so perfect—

"Say it," he rumbled, breaking into my thoughts.

"Yours," I breathed.

"Who do you belong to, baby?"

“Y-You.” I ran my hands over the length of his spine, rubbing the taut muscles with my fingers before I dug my nails into the firm curves of his ass cheeks.

A hiss escaped him. “You will always be mine, Aoife. You know that, don’t you?”

I blinked bleary eyes at him. “I k-know that,” I whimpered as my toes curled into his calves, digging into them as much as he was digging into me.

“Good.” He crooned, "You take me so well, baby. So fucking well. So perfect for me. Mine," he ended, sealing it with a kiss he pressed to my lips, before he speared his tongue into my mouth, telling me silently that the time for words had long since gone.

As he rocked into me, his tongue slid against mine, fucking me there as fast as he fucked my pussy. He reared up slightly, grabbing my legs and repositioning me so they were spread wider apart, absorbing my gargled scream with his kiss as he pounded my G-spot.

Again, and again, and again.

He angled my legs so the front of my thighs were against my chest, and he seemed to sink deeper into me as he joined our mouths once more.

I sobbed into his kiss, broke down into it, then was reborn in it as I came.

I came so damn hard and for so damn long that I was literally crying as the pleasure pummeled me.

Pleasure so fierce, so riotous, that it was painful.

It hurt so good.

So good.

Heart racing, lungs burning, I dragged my mouth from his before I passed out from the lack of oxygen and screamed with the ferocity of my unending orgasm.

It went on for what felt like an eternity.

Ceaseless.

Endless.

The darkness was there… beckoning me, enticing me with its comforting embrace, then he nipped my bottom lip and he brought me back to him.

“No passing out,” he chided gruffly, but I heard the relief in his voice.

A relief that was undoubtedly founded in the fact that I hadn’t passed out—he didn’t like it when I did that.

We all had our quirks. Mine was that I didn’t like waking up to find my pussy empty. I loved the feeling of him deep inside me because I felt that connection to my soul. It bound us together, made us a force to be reckoned with, and in the months and weeks ahead, I’d need that.

Carrying Jacob hadn’t been easy.

Finn knew that too.

I also knew he’d never wanted me to get pregnant in the first place, but he’d let me try because I told him I didn’t want Jake to be like him or me—only children.

The next eight months were going to be rocky, but we’d get through them.

Together.

“Love you, baby,” he rasped, his mouth caressing mine, not letting me answer him just yet.

The holiday season had been particularly stressful this year, and I could hear the release in his tone and knew that he’d found some peace in our joining.

Dazed and punch drunk, still full of him, I broke our kiss, reached up and nuzzled my nose against his jawline, then mumbled, “Love you too.”

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