Claimed - a Portwright Book

Chapter Nine: Declan

I'd underestimated her completely, and the realisation only got me harder every time I thought about it.

Sophie Buckley was not the flighty Princess Sophia the papers made her out to be. She had a backbone the likes of which I'd rarely seen. She flourished with adversity. She thrived against men like Paddy Martin. She held her own against him in a way even Paddy's ex-wives couldn't. I'd never seen a woman like her before.

I thought I'd wanted her before.

I'd been wrong.

This. This was pure want driven by a burning need. I'd claimed her in name from my Family, but I wanted to claim her for my own properly. I wanted there to be no doubt in anyone's mind that Sophie Buckley was mine. I was passed the point of caring that she was underage, that I was too old for her, not good for her, that I'd fuck it up and I'd lose her in worse ways than she wouldn't talk to me.

I needed her.

So, fuck the consequences.

I was claiming what was mine.

...

Thank fuck for a cold shower. It stifled in me everything that needed stifling.

Despite my burning need for her, I couldn't give in now. I give in, then her mother finds out, then I get done on statutory rape, then that leaves Sophie unprotected. And all that was without taking into account the fact that she was a fucking light, she deserved a fuck load more than my darkness. She was stuck with me for life now, but I could do her the service of not ruining her life more than necessary.

Still, I couldn't get the image of her eyes after I'd kissed her out of my head: concern mingling with a blazing fire, a blazing fire I'd created. I'd finally set those coals alight and she fucking flamed. Every time she looked at me for the next week, I saw nothing less than a flickering flame in those beautiful blues.

I knew I needed to keep some distance, but I found myself touching her more often. Nothing weird: just my hand found its way to her arm, back, side, stomach when we talked; I kissed her forehead, temple, cheek absent-mindedly when we parted; I almost always asked for her hand while we walked and was too thankful when she acquiesced, and she always did; I couldn't keep the heat from my eyes as I looked at her or thoughts of exactly what I wanted to do to her out of my head.

Times when I was working were the best and the worst.

I wasn't with her, but the boys saw how Sophie reacted to me and there was a mound of teasing I had to put up with. The Cú's woman being disobedient and difficult was a cause for hilarity in many of them. They knew she wasn't standing for my claim, even if she normally went along with my request for being protected while I was busy, and that made my claim less solid in the eyes of every Martin Boy. Rory included.

I left her with Nate a little more than I wanted to, knowing that the more time I spent with her, the less I could keep my hands off her. She was far too tantalising, too sweet, too sexy, too ready for my touch. I was getting too close, but I couldn't pull away.

Especially after we had a run in with some of Sikola's men over the weekend and I'd spent hours just holding her on her couch after as she shook. She didn't cry. Sophie Buckley was too damned strong to cry. But, she was white as a sheet and could barely talk to me. Finally, she nodded slowly against my chest.

"Cup of tea, I think," she said softly.

"I'll make it, love," I said, kissing her hair and slowly pulling away.

She seemed hesitant to let me go at first, but nodded, followed me, and perched herself on the stool at the breakfast bar while I boiled the kettle. I frowned at her lack of teapot but was sure that was not the time to bring it up. I threw in a tea bag and picked up the kettle when it boiled.