Filthy (The Five Points' Mob Collection, #1)

by Serena Akeroyd

To many, she wouldn’t be sexy. Too pale, too curvy, too rounded and wholesome. But to me? It was like God had formed a creature that was born to be my downfall.

“And whether or not I wore a jimmy last night is none of yours.” “If it turns green and looks like a moldy corn on the cob, who you gonna call?” “Ghostbusters?” he tried.

Slowly, in minute increments, I pushed home, and only when I felt it did I realize what the fuck I was touching. Her hymen.

Then, he thrust into me, and the word that escaped his lips seared itself to my eardrums. It ricocheted through my body. Rattling around inside my skull because even though it was only one simple word, it made no sense. “Mine,” he whispered as he pushed into me.

I’d never called someone mine before, but Aoife was. There was no way in fuck I was letting her go now I knew she’d only ever taken my cock. Shit like that in my world was sacred. Virgins weren’t women you fucked and left behind. You didn’t pull a coyote ugly on them and sneak out of their bed the next day. You put a ring on their finger. You made them your wife, and you put your babies in their bellies.

Nothing, ever again, would be between this woman and me.

When she whimpered, guilt flooded me, and she curled onto her side like she was ashamed. That made me mad, but I didn’t take it out on her. I’d treated her like a common slut, and now it was time to make amends.

“This pussy is mine, isn’t it, Aoife?” I breathed against her mouth as I settled my cock between her spread lips, feeling the molten heat and wanting to sob that bare skin wasn’t touching bare skin. “It is,” she whimpered. “All yours.” “Always mine?” I demanded. “A-Always,” she mewled.

“A man protects his treasure,” he rasped, lifting my hand to his mouth and just about flooring me with his words.

Me: Belong to you now, do I? Finn: You know it, and you fucking love it.

“The air I breathe,” I whispered as those slender fingers gripped me, “belongs to you.” Her lips trembled. “The air I breathe belongs to you,” she repeated, her thumb stroking my Adam’s apple as she said the words.

“I love you, Aoife,” he whispered, his ice-blue eyes not so icy. “I love you, Finn,” I told him, my heart in my own emerald orbs as we looked at one another as though the sun rose and set on no one else but us. His smile wasn’t cocky like I’d anticipated, instead, he whispered, “I’ll spend the rest of my life proving how much I love you, Aoife.”