Molly

Bloody hell my husband is a looker. I never expected to be attracted to the stranger I’d married, but damn am I ever. I’m sitting across from him in one of the most expensive restaurants in the city. After we left the streets, Quinn took me to a hotel where I showered and changed clothes. He picked out a brilliant green maxi wrap dress, my favourite colour, and some simple brown sandals. I had no idea Quinn had such good taste. Not long after that, we found ourselves here, me trying to read this menu which I think sells snail as an appetizer.

“See anything you like?” Quinn asks. He also changed and is now wearing a suit and looks hotter than hell in it. Closing my menu, I decide to answer the way I do to everything, with brutal honesty.

“Not a bloody thing,” I say, and watch his eyes widen in surprise. “Listen, I don’t know what girlies you're used to taking out, but I just want some street food and to explore the area. None of this stuffed shirt bullshit.” He stares me down, then cracks a smile.

“Well fuck,” he grunts, leaning back in his chair and putting down his menu.

I stand and move beside him, holding out my hand. He looks at it, seeming shocked for a beat before taking it and standing as well. I lead him out of the fancy restaurant and once we’re on the sidewalk ask, “Which way to the strip?”

We switch positions and he leads me now as we walk for a few minutes. No words pass between us while I enjoy looking around. We make it to the strip, and I see a line of food trucks. “Wow, there are so many!”

Quinn chuckles at my excitement. “Aren’t there any in Ireland?”

“A few, but nothing like this! What should we eat?” I glance up at him and realize every time I look at his face it seems softer than before. Maybe he’s warming up to me.

“Well, you don’t get more American than burgers and fries,” he tells me.

“Dead on.” I drag him to the correct truck and we order our greasy food, then find a seat in the eating area.

“I was trying to impress you,” Quinn confesses, watching me while we eat.

“Money and fancy restaurants don’t do a bloody thing for me,” I tell him honestly. “Now that fight club was impressive though.”

“It’s one of six I run,” he says with a shrug.

“No shit?” I ask surprised. “It’s set up smart and managed well.”

He smiles at me. “Allen does a good job. You're familiar with these clubs, so you must spend a lot of time fighting?”

“Since I can remember. Shane was my coach.”

“You fight professionally?” He asks.

I laugh. “God no, I’m the champion of the pits, Ireland’s underground league.” I grin at all the fond memories I made there.

“Most women wouldn’t smile over that,” he comments.

“I’m not most women.”

“I know.” He smiles, and just like it has all evening, my heart beats a little faster with each one.

We spend the rest of the evening exploring, gambling, seeing magic shows, and buying way too much shit from the gift shops. We also talked a lot. He told me about his time in Ireland as an orphan, or Irish rat as most call street kids, before the O'Sullivans took him in. He moved with them to Boston at ten and grew up in the crime family, though they eventually parted ways so he could be on his own. I learned so much about him, and told him numerous things about myself. I felt free with him, open to tell him everything and anything I wanted to. He talked about his friends, Novak, Lawson, and Foster, and their joint operations between states. It’s an impressive network. I also discovered he has a protective side, or maybe it’s possessive. He growled and snapped at every man that even looked at me. It’s a new feeling for me because I’m so used to people knowing I can handle myself that they don’t bother scaring off men.

Around one in the morning I realized it’s the most fun I’ve ever had, and I didn’t want it to stop, but I started feeling a desperate need for bed. We drive to his house and it's beautiful. There’s lots of grass and trees, which you’d never expect so much of in a desert.

“It’s stunning,” I say as I start to get out of the car.

“Wait for me to open it for you,” he growls before walking to my side and giving me a glare.

“Bloody hell Quinn, I'm not a chiseler. I can open my door,” I sass at him.

“I know you’re not, but you are my wife,” he says as if that explains it. I just roll my eyes at him.

“Yeah, yeah. Bitch me out later. I want to see my bed, I need sleep.” I head toward the house. Quinn punches in a code and opens the door. “Wowza, this place is grand.” We walk in and I like the surprisingly homely and airy floor plan.

“You can explore later, now you need sleep.” He guides me up the wood stairs, and down the hallway to a set of double doors. The room is just as beautiful as the rest of the house, but it’s the king-size bed that catches my eye. There’s even a blanket that looks like a cloud straight from heaven.

“Oh god, I can't wait to fall into that,” I sigh out, and hear a low growl from Quinn behind me, but I ignore it, too focused on sleep. I pull the string on my maxi dress and let it fall open, then shrug it off as I walk to the bed. I'm only wearing the underwear set I got earlier today and should feel embarrassed baring myself to him so soon, but I don’t. I’m not like the beanpole women I've seen in Vegas. I’m tall, thick, and strong, with Irish meat on my bones.

He makes the same sound and I look at him as I pull back the blankets. His eyes are roaming my body, making me feel warm all over. His hands are clenched at his sides and I give him a light smile as I crawl into bed. As soon as my head hits the pillow I feel at peace, already dozing off.

“I’m taking a shower.” I hear an almost painful grunt from Quinn followed by cursing and fall asleep imagining him in the shower.

I don’t need much sleep, never have, so I wake up a few hours later. I feel a huge arm wrapped around my waist and know its Quinn because I already know his smell at this point. I slowly turn in his arms, so we’re face to face. His eyes are closed, but I can tell from his breathing my movements woke him up.

“You’re sleeping in my bed,” I say, stating the obvious.

“Our bed,” he corrects as he pulls me closer, his voice sounding sleepy.

I let out a breath, giving up on this conversation, and instead rub my cheek against his chest. He has soft manly hair and smells great, which soothes me. “I’ve never done this,” I say softly.

I feel a small jolt go through him. “Done what?” He asks, sounding more awake.

“Slept in the same bed as a man,” I clarify.

I hear a low growl rumbling in his chest, and realize my comment could’ve come across that I just hit it and quit it.

“Easy boyo, I’m a virgin.” I lean up and kiss his bearded chin. He melts instantly, crushing me in his embrace.

“You’re my virgin bride.” I hear the pleasure in his voice. I don’t know what’s happening between us, but it's strong, powerful, and fast. For the first time in my life I don’t feel the need to fight back, but instead just let it take me.

Realizing I need a few more hours, I close my eyes and dream of the possibilities with Quinn, and it's the best night’s sleep I’ve ever had.