King of the Cage: A Dark Irish Mafia Romance (Devil’s Own)

I knocked at the locker room door, and it swung open after a second. One of his men stood there. The one from last night. Declan.

“Well, isn’t this a nice surprise,” Declan murmured, his grin wide.

“Your boss has something of mine, and I want it back,” I announced, shoving my foot into the gap in the door to stop him from shutting me out.

“He’s indisposed at the moment.” Declan grinned.

What was he doing? A flash of irrational jealousy hit me. Was he hooking up with the hot ring girl? Why do you care? He’s not your boyfriend.

“That’s fine, better, actually, since you can just get it for me. I’m looking for a knife, a folding blade, with initials down the hilt. Go and be a good little minion and grab it for me…” I waved my fingers at Declan.

He chuckled and pushed the door open the rest of the way.

“I don’t go through the boss’s things… but you can help yourself.”

He stepped out of the locker room and held the door open for me.

“You think I won’t?” I asked, going into the room.

Declan shook his head. “No, I think you will, and that’s what makes you fun, Santori.”

With that, Declan left and pulled the door shut behind him, leaving me in the middle of the silent locker room.

It smelled like I’d have imagined it would. I wrinkled my nose and looked around. Bran was nowhere to be seen. The main room was large, with wooden benches down the center and lockers lining the walls. A door branched off to the left and another to the right.

First, I went to the lockers. One was open. I delved inside, assuming it was Bran’s. There wasn’t much inside. A leather biker jacket, T-shirt, wallet, and cell phone. And a towel. Wait. A towel?

So, was Bran not even in here? I turned around and peered through the archway at the end of the room that seemed to lead to the showers. He wouldn’t be in the shower without a towel, right?

The silence crawled down my spine, urging me to break it.

“Hello?” I called, channeling my inner B-horror movie heroine. “You’ve got something of mine, O’Connor, and I want it back.”

Silence met my call, followed by the lowest, barely audible whicker of a chuckle.

Was he fucking with me? Goosebumps popped up on my arms. There was something about the thought of him there somewhere in the dark, watching me, that sent me hot and cold all over. It was spooky, and that pissed me off. Anger made me hot, fear made me cold, and both warred inside me. Most of all, Bran O’Connor was as infuriating and childish as ever. Lost Boy, indeed. He lived up to his moniker.

I found myself moving toward the archway. He thought he was so smart, stealing my knife and keeping it from me. I had no idea when I’d see the guy again, and I wanted that knife back. He probably doesn’t even have it on him, the voice of wisdom said inside my head, but I’d gone too far along this path now to turn back. It felt like a game of chicken and I wasn’t going to be the one who backed down.

“I said I want my knife back, O’Connor,” I called out.

My voice echoed around the tiled shower portion of the locker room. The archway concealed most of the bright lights, and there was only a very low light in the showers. Water dripped in a corner, and the smell of shower gel met my nose.

“I know you’re here, Lost Boy, cut it out. Do you have my knife or not?” I demanded and stepped farther into the room. What the hell was I doing? He knew where I was. He was watching me, so why was I walking farther into his little game? I had no idea, except that leaving without my knife felt like failing, and it wasn’t a feeling I liked.

I stilled — a creak sounded ahead and to the right. It was a metallic creak. Then the sound of water pounding the tile. The shower turning on. I turned in that direction and moved quickly. He thought he was so smart, but I’d bet I was faster than him.

I rounded the end of one of the shower blocks and found the running water. A lone shower beating down, there was no one there.

At that moment, I realized my mistake. The shower block was open on both ends. So, all he had to do was make a big circle.

His hands met my hips as I turned around. I nearly slipped on the wet tile. Bran backed me against a wall, his hands hard on my hips, not allowing me to fall.

“Boo. Got you, Santori,” he murmured, a low and wicked sound.

“I was hardly hiding,” I protested haughtily. “I told you I was here for my knife. I’m not leaving without it.”

“Is that right? You want to take my collateral before your debt is paid?” He smirked and, placed his hands on either side of me, caging me against the wall. “Or maybe you came to pay up.”

“You wish,” I bit out, though honestly, his proximity was making it hard to breathe. I was hot all over, and I couldn’t stop my eyes from following the water droplets on his chest as they slid downward.

I looked down, and then my eyes slammed back up to his.

“So, that was your only towel in your locker,” I said, striving for nonchalance.

Bran smirked. “Precisely. Seeing as you knew I didn’t have a towel, I can only surmise you wanted to end up right here, like this. If you wanted to catch me naked, there are easier ways to manage it.”

Wet, glistening from the shower, and so, so naked, Bran O’Connor was a sight to see.

My gaze trailed down his inked, built torso again, slower this time, down the dips in his lower abdomen and over his cock. Long and heavy-looking, it was a lethal weapon. I could only hope he was a shower, not a grower, or he’d put some poor girl in the hospital.

“For the second time in as many days, my eyes are up here, wee one.”

My eyes returned lazily to his.

“Just checking everything’s still attached after that fight. Seemed like a close one,” I retorted tartly.

“It wasn’t.”

“Still as arrogant as ever,” I sighed.

“And you are still finding trouble… Why do I suspect that’s a bit of a pattern with you?”

I shrugged. “Maybe trouble finds me?”

He chuckled and brushed a strand of hair from my cheek. I stiffened. The movement was oddly intimate and casual at the same time.

“I don’t have your wee knife, if that’s really why you’re here,” Bran said.

“Why else would I be here?” I wondered.

Bran grinned and gave me a slow look over that sent heat trailing in its wake. His implication was clear.

I rolled my eyes. “Well, if you don’t have it, then where is it?”

He stepped closer, and his wet body pressed into my T-shirt, soaking through. I opened my mouth to protest, but his next words stole my outrage.

“Home. You want to come back to mine and look for it?”

He cocked his head to the side and waited for my answer.

Yes. I really fucking want to. But I’d already given my insane, reckless side free rein last night. I couldn’t make a habit of this, or Elio really would find out, and then there’d be hell to pay.

“Nice try, O’Connor, but I’m not willingly going anywhere with you. I should think that last night would have made that obvious.”

Bran nodded. “Right, well, in that case,” he breathed and then moved so fast I couldn’t do much more than open my mouth in fright.

He leaned into me and grabbed my jaw in a firm grip, keeping me prisoner just like he had last night, and kissed me. His tongue snaked into my mouth, sliding along mine. I shuddered. I pushed at him and bit his lip. He pulled back and chuckled darkly.

“You’re such an asshole,” I muttered, breathing hard.

He nodded, using his thumb to wipe the blood from his full lower lip. “Yep.”

“I didn’t come here for this,” I said.

“Liar.” Bran’s eyes crinkled at the corners.

“I’m not attracted to you.”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire.” One hand wandered down and trailed between my legs, his wet fingers stroking my pussy through my leather pants.

“You’re making me wet,” I complained, and only realized my words once I’d heard them.

Bran burst out laughing, and my mouth twitched. I couldn’t help it. I laughed, too.

“I really fucking hope so, selkie, because wanting you is killing me,” Bran murmured, his voice thick.

“Then go and die, O’Connor, because this fooling around with your enemy thing isn’t as fun as you seem to think it is,” I said tartly, trying to pull myself together.

“Isn’t it? It feels pretty fucking fun to me. Too fun, honestly. You’re not making this easy, Giada Santori.”

“Making what easy?” My eyes had fallen back to his chest.

He had a particularly eye-catching tattoo. A long, black inked line with other lines bisecting it at different intervals. It wasn’t regular; there was no pattern. I wanted to ask what it stood for, but that wasn’t the relationship we had. It wasn’t a relationship we could afford to have. My brother was waiting for an opportunity to kill this man or make him disappear. Getting to know him in any capacity beyond a random hookup would be a mistake.

It was flattering to know that last night hadn’t dampened his hunger for me. Still, part of me didn’t know how to feel about that.

“Remembering that we’re meant to hate each other… staying away from you. I don’t want to steal your skin, Giada, but you might give me no fucking choice.”

His deep, Irish brogue sent shivers across me, despite the nonsensical nature of his words.

“You’ve suffered a head injury, right?” I asked with a fake frown of concern.

“I wish,” Bran muttered and leaned in, taking a huge, deep breath of the curve where my shoulder met my neck.

I swayed against him, his heart beating strongly against mine. It was too intimate and close. It was too much of everything.

I pushed him back and slid out under his arm.

“Well, if you don’t have my knife, I guess we’re done here,” I murmured smartly and made to escape, just when his hand landed on my arm and stopped me.

“You still owe me, Santori. If you want your wee knife back… how about we even the score?”

Heat billowed through me. I blinked at him in the low light. I was unnaturally hot. It was taking all my willpower not to jump him, despite knowing he should be off-limits. Or maybe because of it.

“What did you have in mind?”

He looked me up and down. I stared right back. When his gaze slid down my body, his cock jerked, drooling against his abs.

“Pulling those leather pants down enough to slide inside and fill you up.” His voice was rough. “I want to see if that tight little tummy bulges when I’m balls-deep inside you.”

I stared at him, short of words. I tried to picture what he was saying, and I couldn’t. It felt too personal and close. Something about this man had lowered my guard, and I didn’t fuck around like that. I needed to keep my walls up. It was the only way to be safe.

But that didn’t mean I didn’t like the way I affected him. I’d never seen hunger in a man’s eyes like Bran’s. No one had ever looked at me the way he was, especially after knowing me for more than five minutes.

I wet my lips, and his eyes jumped to the movement.

“Well, I don’t like to leave my debts unpaid. I believe in tit for tat,” I said, my voice already low and throaty in anticipation for what I was about to do.

“Is that right? That’s very fair of you, selkie,” he murmured.

I positioned myself before his feet and sank slowly down.

“Why are you calling me that? What does it mean?” I glided my hands up his thighs. This wasn’t like me. I wasn’t a woman who went to her knees easily, or often. I was about as comfortable giving head as I was receiving it, but something about this man made me feel differently. I wanted to turn him inside out. I wanted to see him spit and groan and come, his balls literally in the palm of my hand. All that strength and power, under my control.

“A mythical creature… sometimes a blessing from the gods of old, other times… a curse,” Bran muttered quietly, his breath hitching when my hands reached his cock.

I circled him with my fingers; well, as far as I could. He was so hard, and silken at the same time. I could barely bend his cock away from its upright angle. I leaned up on my knees to lick down from tip to root, and he cursed in Gaelic.

“And which am I?” I mused, running my tongue around the puffy, salty head of him.

“I don’t fucking know… or care,” he grunted, his hand moving to my cheek as I swallowed him down as much as possible. “As long as you’re right here, with me… I don’t care. Fuck,” he bit off.

I bobbed up and down on him, my jaw growing tired quickly. He was too thick. I pulled my mouth off him and moved my hands up and down his shaft, double-fisting his impressive length. When it got dry, I spit on his cock, so my fingers stayed wet.

He groaned; I tightened my grip.

“What the fuck are you doing to me?” he demanded roughly.

I gave him a small smile. “What? My mouth hurts… it’s too small, or you’re too big, take your pick. Doesn’t it feel good?” I knew it felt good because of the look on his face. The way his hands twitched on my head, the way he swayed, losing control of his motion. I felt powerful and I liked it.

“It feels fucking incredible. You are fucking incredible,” he added and cupped my cheek again. “You’re going to make me come, and you’re going to pop your mouth back on and swallow me down, like a good girl.”

I snorted and raised an eyebrow at him. “Am I?”

He grinned. “You sure are… because you want to make me come as hard as I made you come, don’t you? You want to even the score, because you’re a competitive wee one and you can’t stand losing… so drink me down, Giada, and you’ll win.”

His eyes gleamed with teasing and wicked delight. I was so hot all over, I felt like I could singe through my leather pants. I had to have smoke coming off me. No one spoke to me the way this guy did. No one played with me, or teased me the way he did. I felt like someone else. Someone who laughed without worrying how loud it was. Someone who was just herself, unapologetically, without walls too high to climb over.

He was damn right about one thing. I was competitive as hell. Without another thought, I slipped my mouth around him, enclosing the fat tip of his cock and sinking down as far as I could manage, my hands working furiously to tip him over the edge.

When he came, he growled my name, his hands tugged my hair, and his whole body pulsed. His cum hit my tongue, hot and salty, and I swallowed to keep up with the sheer amount. He came a lot. A real lot.

I swallowed him down, my tongue circling his tip as rope after rope of cum left it.

His fingers tugged my hair back, sending my face upward, and my gaze hit his and held. He stared down at me, drinking in the sight of me on my knees before him, his cock buried in my mouth, white welling at the corners.

When he pulled out, I sucked down a breath. My heart pounded hard, and my knees ached. My mouth felt well-used, the muscles so stretched, and yet, there was a strange euphoria. Just endorphins, I told myself sternly. An instinctive reaction to something chemical inside me responding to his scent, his taste, everything about him.

Bran lifted me by the arms so my sore legs didn’t have to do any work. He stood me up and then lowered his mouth toward my lips. I held still as he ran his nose down my cheek, and then his tongue flicked out and licked up a small trail of cum that had escaped my mouth.

“I was serious that I don’t have your knife. It’s at home.” His voice bordered on hoarse. “I guess you’ll have to come with me if you want it.”

I pulled back and shook my head. I couldn’t take another encounter with this man tonight. I’d completely lose my head. I didn’t do repeat performances, and we were treading into dangerous territory.

“You can mail it to me,” I said flatly.

Bran chuckled. “I don’t think it’ll make it through the postal system.”

“Get one of your minions to run over and give it to me. You know where I live,” I reminded him.

He nodded, looking oddly serious, considering his generally teasing words. “Yes, I do, and don’t think that knowledge won’t haunt me every day.” He sighed and stepped back. “Did you know I was fighting here tonight?”

I rolled my eyes. “The world doesn’t revolve around you. Of course not.”

He nodded. “That’s what I thought… which only leaves a few options for what’s happening here, between us.”

I cocked my head to the side. “Coincidence?”

He shook his slowly. “I don’t believe in it, selkie. There’s no such thing.”

I chuckled and turned away just as my cell phone vibrated in my pocket. I answered, leaving the shower area.

“Marco, what’s wrong?” Why would he be calling me right now?

“Have you seen Sol? She’s disappeared,” Marco said quickly. “She went to the bathroom; she didn’t feel well after she finished your cocktail, and now I can’t find her.”

“Did you call her?” I demanded, gripping the phone tightly.

Bran pulled his T-shirt and jeans on, watching me silently freak out.

“Wow, what a good idea!” Marco mocked.

“Marco!” I interrupted. “Is Enrico Sepriano still around? Can you see him?” I urged quickly, a terrible feeling of foreboding building in my gut.

My eyes locked with Bran’s. He was dressed and standing in front of me.

“No, I mean, I can’t see him now, either. You think they went somewhere together? Sol wasn’t feeling well…”

“I’ll be right out. Meet me in the hallway near the locker room.”