Chapter 11

Clare’s mind was running a thousand miles a minute as she stepped down the dark hallway at Legends. She had come to know it well over the last few weeks, attending Casey’s classes. She was fully aware of Rory patrolling behind her, his steps heavy on the ground but somehow also comforting in the darkness around them—a fact that confused her, since she had become so protective of her independence.

“Rory, what the—” Clare stopped in her tracks as she exited the hallway into the main room of the gym.

The room was large and open, with multiple rings for fighters to practice in surrounding the main cage in the exact center of the room. It was larger than the rest, and higher up off the ground. She had seen Rory and Kane practicing in there many times before, but tonight it was something she had never seen before.

“You did this for me?” She turned around to consider him, tears welling in her eyes. She swore she saw him blush, but it was instantly gone as he took her hand, pulling her toward the ring.

Each corner of the cage was adorned with a trio of tall white candles of varying heights, glowing beautifully in the darkness and illuminating the center of the ring. As she surveyed the space, she realized they were flickering flameless candles, which made her smile at his practicality. A blue-and-white checkered blanket lay flat between the candles, held down by a few cushions of varying shades of blue and a wicker basket to one side. There was an ice bucket, with a carafe of water and a bottle of champagne.

“Come on, let’s get in,” he told her as they reached the edge of the ring, then without asking or warning, he gripped either side of her waist and lifted her straight up onto the platform.

She grabbed the rope wall that surrounded the cage to steady herself, then slipped through the opening, shaped like a padded door, into the cage area. Rory followed her and the two sat on cushions in the center of the candlelit ring.

“I don’t know what to say, Rory. I’ve never had anyone make me a picnic before. Especially after midnight. And in the middle of a cage?”

“I like to do things a little different.” He smiled at her, then proceeded to open the picnic basket and pull out the contents that he had prepared for them.

“Since it’s pretty late at night, I figured you already ate dinner. So, this is dessert.” He flashed her a wicked smile, and she felt her face flush at the direction her mind was going.

“Homemade honey-almond brittle—my mom’s recipe, but I gave it a try, so hopefully it tastes as good as hers does. Plus I have dark chocolate, and sparkling cider.”

“Sparkling cider?” Clare repeated, sounding surprised, as he pulled the bottle out of the ice bucket to show her. She had originally thought it was champagne when she had seen it.

“Someone I admire once told me not to lose myself to drinking.” He fiddled with the seal on the bottle, avoiding her stare.

“Rory, I didn’t mean to…” Her voice came out soft and sad. Guiltily, she wondered if she had made him feel bad about himself.

“No, you were right, Clare. I need to stop depending on liquor for everything. My knee is killing me, but you were right.”

Smiling, she picked up a small piece of the honey-almond brittle and nibbled on it, surprised to find that it melted in her mouth, tasting undeniably sweet. Her eyes widened as she contemplated what she was eating, admiring the fact that this rough-shaven hulk of a man had created something so delicate.

“It’s great, isn’t it?”

“Holy crap, Rory, this is amazing! I can’t believe you made it.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” he taunted, pulling out two fluted glasses, which he placed between them.

He opened the bottle, breaking the seal, and poured a small amount of cider into each glass. He picked up both glasses and handed one to her.

“Thank you.” She began to lift the glass to her lips, but he touched her forearm, stalling her.

“Can’t drink until we make a toast…”

“All right.” She joined him as he lifted his glass up toward hers.

“To the first person I’ve ever been in the cage with that I’ve wanted to kiss.” He smirked as she scrunched up her nose at him.

“Thank goodness for that.” She took a sip from her glass, almost wishing she were drinking alcohol to help calm the butterflies flying around inside her. He reached out his hand to touch her gently, and as he did, his shirt sleeve rode up, revealing part of the tattoo that she had seen earlier.

“What is that?” She motioned to it, letting her fingers trail over that spot on his skin for just a second before she jerked her hand away, embarrassed.

She hoped he didn’t notice how taken she was with the design. Plus, she felt a bit shy that she had seen him entirely naked and had slept in those same arms, yet somehow hadn’t paid attention to any of his tattoos.

“This was my very first tattoo. I was way too young to have gotten it, but I was born on August first—a Leo, if you ever read the horoscopes. So, on my seventeenth birthday I convinced a friend of mine whose father owned a tattoo shop to get me in. He gave me this lion.” Rory rolled up his sleeve and stretched out his forearm, showing an intricate and detailed figure of a roaring lion.

“It’s beautiful, and it’s perfect for you.” Clare continued to admire it as he poured them both another drink.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know…The other day Casey called you a wolf. But you’re not a wolf—everything about you is lion.”

“You’ve been thinking about what kind of animal I am?” He seemed amused.

“Why not?”

“Hmm, then I’m going to have to come up with an animal for you.”

“If you pick kitten, I swear I’m walking out of here right now.” Clare cocked her head, and Rory simpered, looking smug.

“Don’t worry, little mhuirnín. You are most definitely not a kitten.”

“Good, because I’d like to think I’m more original than that.”

“Is a lion original?” He flexed his arm again, showing off his tattoo.

“Not really,” she teased, touching his arm again, “but if it makes you feel any better, Casey called me a duck.”

Rory burst out laughing at that, a deep belly laugh with his head thrown back.

“It’s not that funny.”

“It’s hilarious. You’re not a duck.” He squeezed her arm gently. “But we should change the topic or I’m going to keep laughing at that.”

“All right, how about the topic of how I found out your secret yesterday?” she teased, enjoying regaining the upper hand.

He raised one brow, intrigued at her revelation. “My secret? What’s that?”

“Ace, and Woodlawn Rescues,” Clare started to say, as he rubbed his hand across his face in an attempt to hide the redness creeping up his cheeks.

“I knew I should have revoked Patty’s membership years ago,” he joked.

“Why didn’t you tell me? You know I love animals.”

“I wasn’t hiding it, I just didn’t think about it. My family doesn’t know about my work there, so I don’t talk about it often.”

“Why not?” She couldn’t understand why such a close-knit family would be kept out of such an innocent part of his life. From her little experience with his parents, she knew that they would respect Rory’s work and be proud of him. They didn’t seem the type of people to discourage their children about anything.

“Most of them aren’t really into animals like I am—only Quinn loves dogs. Plus I like having something that’s just mine. When you grow up in a big family, everything you own and every part of your life is shared. I like having something the others don’t know about. Maybe that’s weird.”

“No, it makes sense, I guess. I don’t know much about families.” Nostalgia filled her voice, and Rory reached out to squeeze her knee, then refilled her now empty glass.

“My family loves you, and I’m glad that you found out about the rescue,” he told her.

“Why’s that?”

“Because how would I have ever really told you? Oh, hey, girl-I’m-trying-to-impress, I volunteer four times a week at an animal shelter,” he joked in a mocking tone.

“You’re right, there’s no way to say it without sounding like you’re either bragging or lying.”

“See my point? But now you know something no one else knows about me. I like that.” Clare noted a sad expression in his silver eyes when he nodded, although she couldn’t exactly place why. Maybe he wanted more people to know who he really was, or maybe he was struggling to figure out who that was; she wasn’t sure.

He interrupted her thoughts, reverting back to the subject of their earlier conversation. “Do you have any tattoos, Clare?”

“No way—I’m absolutely terrified of needles.” Clare shook her head vigorously.

“You seem to like my tattoo,” he hinted, pulling the blanket under her toward him slightly so that her knees were almost against his, sliding her across the ground with such ease.

“Do you like it, Clare?” His voice had dropped lower, as if she could hear it rumbling in his chest.

Her eyes dropped back down to the lion, and she licked her lips. Taking another sip of her cider, she nodded. Then she downed the rest of the glass quickly, feeling a flush of warmth rush to her cheeks and through the rest of her as his gaze flamed through hers. She felt an overwhelming urge to let him in, to push away her fears and make the most of the here and now. To take charge of those fears and herself.

She had lived in fear for so long. Fear of being alone. Fear of being with someone. Fear of Travis and his fury when he realized what she had done. Fear of moving on or running away. Fear of losing those she loved or of the past catching up with her.

Fear of everything.

With Rory, in the golden hue of the candlelit ring, all she wanted to do was push away those fears and be who she had been before everything changed. Before she had thrown away her entire life for a chance to start new.

“Clare?” His fingers found her chin, tilting her head up, making her realize that she had been lost in her thoughts.

She moved slowly, sliding her legs underneath herself and pushing up to her knees. Rory stayed still, watching her intently, his silver eyes turning dark and murky. She crawled right onto his lap, sliding one leg around each side of his waist so that she was facing him. Her movements were slow and careful, and she savored each touch, each second, each discovery.

She could feel his chest rising quickly under his breath; he was aroused at her proximity. It made her feel powerful, to be able to have that effect on him. Her hands rested against his chest and they both stared down at them, watching as her hands moved up and onto his shoulders, disappearing around to the back of his neck. Their eyes met.

Then nothing was slow.

His lips crashed on hers so forcefully, she was sure she would have fallen backward if his hands hadn’t been wrapped around her waist, holding her up. She returned his kiss with a greediness and hunger that she didn’t know she possessed. Everything about him, his touch and even the way he fit against her, was perfect.

Her arms tightly around his neck, she lost herself in him and pushed so forcefully against him that he fell backward onto the mat. His arms held her tight against his chest and her mind was quiet for the first time in as long as she could remember.

He had turned off everything, except for her.

But just as quickly as it started, it stopped. Rory gently pulled his mouth from hers and pushed her up, putting distance between them and forcing her to sit up. Startled, Clare flushed, feeling slightly embarrassed.

“I’m sorry, was that wrong? I don’t usually—I mean, I don’t know what I was—”

“Clare, no. That was—” Rory rubbed his hands over his eyes in frustration. “Fuck, that was amazing, Clare. But I made you a promise.”

Clare slid off him, sitting next to his waist, with one leg over his hips. Frowning, she nibbled on the edge of her lip.

“Did I misread something here? I thought you wanted me. Crap, that sounds so silly. I’m sorry.”

“Clare, I want you so much right now, it physically fucking hurts. But this is different—you’re different, Clare. I promised you we would go slow and that you were in charge tonight. Remember my promise?”

“Rory—” she tried to interrupt.

Clare, if there is one thing I am, it’s true to my word. I just want this to be your choice, something I feel like you haven’t gotten a lot of in your life. I don’t want to just have one amazing night with you, which this would be. Believe me, mhuirnín, the other night was by far the most fan-fucking-tastic night of my life. I want this to be more than that.”

“I don’t know what to say.” She would be lying if she said she wasn’t thrilled to hear him say how much he had enjoyed their previous night together.

“I sound like some weak pansy, don’t I?”

Clare snorted at that last statement. Rory was anything but weak.

“Rory, what do you want from me?” she asked as he grabbed her arms and pulled her down to lie on the mat with him.

He lay flat on his back with her head on his shoulder and one of his arms wrapped around her back. Her hand rested on his chest, feeling the steady, fast beat underneath. It felt like she had done this all her life, lived right there pressed against his side. Legs intertwined, fingers interlocked. As if his body was made to hold her.

“Clare, I’m swinging in the dark here. I’ve no clue what I’m doing. All I know is that this is different. I don’t want to just have one night with you. I think I might want every night with you, and I can’t even believe those words are coming out of my mouth right now…”

“Why? Is that a bad thing?” His words were thrilling and terrifying at the same time. She continued to push his resolve, questioning him, and the truth hit her. She wanted to be with Rory, she wanted him to be with her. All the promises she had made herself about staying single, not wanting a man…none of that had factored in meeting this man.

She wanted this man.

“With you? No, never. It just surprises me, I guess.” He pushed a piece of her hair behind her ear.

“It surprises me, too.”

“Did Patty tell you what I do at the shelter?” he asked her a few moments later as they lay quietly together. Clare nodded.

“Well, this might make me sound like an even bigger pansy, but I love rehabilitating those dogs, because they’re a lot like me. Most of them were raised from puppies to be fighters, or to be in that type of world. Ace was a bait dog—they pulled out his biggest teeth the moment they grew in, then filed down the rest. That’s why he’s all covered in scars. They used him for other dogs to practice on, to learn how to fight, and took away any chance he had at defending himself.”

“That’s so sad.” She thought of the sweet dog she had come to enjoy seeing and petting. Her heart ached at the thought.

“It is, but when I got him, I showed him a new life. Showed him that there were other options out there, aside from a life of fighting. I guess it gives me hope, you know? Like maybe there are other options out there for me, too. That maybe by teaching these tough, beaten-down dogs how to trust and love again, maybe somehow I’ll learn that, too.” His voice trailed off and she squeezed her arm around him tighter, hugging him.

She stayed silent as she listened, reveling in this other side of him. He always seemed to surprise her. One day she would see the rough fighter who punched her boss, the next day a man feeding a stray dog, and the next a broken man sharing with her the most private parts of his pain.

“Does that make any sense at all, mhuirnín?”

“I think so. You’ve played different roles and lived different lives, just like those dogs. A few years ago you were only known as Rory Kavanagh, son of the famous Kavanagh clan.”

“Irish troublemakers.”

“Then you became champion mixed martial arts fighter Rory ‘Knockout’ Kavanagh.” She traced circles on his chest with her fingers.

“Top ten in the country,” he said proudly.

“And now? Who do you want to be now?”

“I’ve been wondering that for some time.”

“Have you come close to figuring it out?”

Rory’s eyes darkened at her words.

“I think I’m getting closer, and it’s only because of you.”

Clare felt a stab at her heart, a pain whose origin she couldn’t pinpoint. All she knew was that she hurt for Rory; she could feel the vulnerability in his words. It was hidden, but it was there. It was laced so thick between every word, she wanted to take it all away.

She wanted to give him all the answers he had been searching for.

She wanted to be those answers.

“Kiss me again, Rory,” she commanded, freeing him from his promise earlier.

“Maybe tomorrow.” Rory chuckled, and she felt the ripple in his chest against her cheek as she narrowed her eyes, not liking his answer.

“Seriously?”

“Mhuirnín, I would never tell you no.” Rory flipped over on top of her, maneuvering quickly as his voice dripped with desire and his lips closed over hers.

She froze in surprise at his sudden movement, then melted into his arms. His hand pushed underneath her shirt, his fingers cold against her skin. She welcomed the chill, since she felt like she was on fire. With his help Clare shimmied out of her top, throwing her shirt to the side.

“You’re not wearing a bra?” He raised his brows, looking surprised as she blushed fiercely.

“Problem?”

“Hell, no.” He wet his lips with his tongue before dipping his head down and finding a pert pink nipple. He tugged gently, bringing it to attention as she arched her back to get closer to him.

He moved up to find her lips with his, their tongues meeting and twisting in a slow, deep dance. She felt his fingers trace her collarbone, and she shivered under the intimate touch. He continued to trace his way across her bare chest, then stomach, until he found the waistband of her pants and hooked his fingers into it.

Pausing for a moment, he pulled his weight from her, kneeling over her as he removed her jeans in a few quick motions. She licked her lips as he slid his shirt over his head, revealing hard, defined abs. She scrambled up to her knees at the sight, facing him.

“I want…” Clare faltered as her eyes flickered across his firm body. She knew that he was waiting for her to finish what she started, but her hands slid over his chest instead. She gulped nervously as she felt an ache settling between her legs.

“This is your ring, mhuirnín.” He was reminding her that she was in control tonight.

“I want to give you the same pleasure you gave me the other day, but don’t grab my head. Don’t force me,” she clumsily stated, flushing with embarrassment at her request.

She had only ever had unpleasant oral sex, during which she felt forced or unable to breathe. Like it wasn’t her choice. She wanted to do this on her own; she wanted to be in charge of just this one part of him.

“Babe,” he tilted her chin up to look at him, his eyes imploring hers seriously, “I would never make you do anything. I’m yours tonight. I’m yours for as long as you’ll keep me. Do you believe me?”

“I do,” she exhaled, realizing that she really did believe him. He’s mine.

Clare’s hands rested on his chest, pushing him back lightly. He took her cue and sat back, then lay down. Her hands trailed down his abs, circling around his belly button and then traveling with the small line of hair that disappeared into his jeans.

Not so deftly, she unbuttoned his pants, avoiding touching his shaft as he sprang free. He helped her remove his jeans, then let her slide her hands up his legs. She stopped as her fingers bumped over the raised scars that jaggedly traversed one knee.

“Does this hurt?”

He shook his head. He was embarrassed about the ugly scar, even more so of the weakness it implied. She could read it all over his face as he watched her carefully.

Leaning forward, she dropped her lips to his leg and grazed the scar, leaving small kisses along its length. She could feel his eyes piercing her, and she hoped she wasn’t upsetting him. She just wanted him to know that she didn’t mind, that she liked every part of him. Scars and all.

Moving her head up, she hovered over his member for a moment before she took him inside her mouth while his body stiffened underneath her. Letting her lips glide up and down, she had to force herself not to smile when she heard him moan. She occasionally licked the head with her tongue, making a flicking motion as he pushed himself toward her. Her hand gripped the bottom of his manhood, moving with her slick, wet mouth.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw his hand fisting the blanket beneath them, and she noticed every muscle in his body was stiff and tense. She decided to tease him ever further, swirling her tongue around him and squeezing her lips tighter as she picked up her pace.

“Clare, babe, please,” he groaned, banging one fist against the floor. His other hand took hold of her shoulder and gently pushed her up, sliding himself out of her as she looked up at him in confusion.

“Did I do it wrong?” she asked nervously.

“Are you kidding me?” he growled hoarsely, as he pressed her naked body down to the mat and climbed on top of her. “I can’t hold it any longer and I want it to be deep inside you when I let go.”

She blinked in surprise, her breath hitching as he pushed her knees apart and pushed his tip against her most sensitive nub. She cried out as the sensation tore through her, and he used that opportunity to bury himself completely inside her. Clare lifted her hips to meet his next thrust, matching his force and wanting to feel him at her peak again.

He didn’t disappoint, reaching between their bodies to squeeze her nub with his fingers and rub fiercely. He moved rapidly in and out of her and she shoved her face into his shoulder, biting him as a muffled scream pulled through her and her toes curled deliciously. Her climax racked her body hard, electrifying every part of her as she struggled to find air.

He stole her nipple, sucking it into his mouth and twirling his tongue around it as he picked up his pace and rocked against her forcefully. The action intensified everything that she was already wading through. Finally shuddering, he pressed as deeply into her as he could and molded his body to hers.

They lay there quietly for a moment, letting the torrents of sensations run through them until they were finally able to regain their composure.

He breathed, sliding out of her and falling to her side. “Are you on the pill?” She just nodded, still smiling blissfully as he wrapped her against him.

“Is it always like this?” she asked quietly, her lips only a few centimeters from his chest. She hoped it was; she wanted this. She wanted him, and all of him. She had spent weeks trying not to have any sort of romantic feelings for this man, but that notion was completely gone now. She was starting a new chapter in her life, and she wanted him in it.

“What do you mean?”

“Being with you—it’s different. Not like before.” The high of a few moments before slowly declined as fears crept through her. If things were so amazing, she was terrified that they could only get worse. Her experience told her that a handsome face could easily hide things.

“Clare, I told you, we are different together. Tá mé leatsa. Tá tú mianach. I am yours. You are mine.”