Zayden moved swiftly, pulling Irish into a tight embrace, his grip firm on her waist. His gaze was sharp, probing—searching for doubt, but finding none.
"Irish…" he rasped, his breath ragged.
She looked up, lips slightly parted, challenging. She knew those words were the final key to ensnaring him completely.
Zayden's face inched closer, erasing the distance between them. Their noses brushed, breaths mingled. One small movement, and all defenses would crumble.
"Uncle… I want you so badly! Believe me, I can be your second home! Give you everything you can't have! A child? Pleasure? I can…" Irish whispered coyly—before their lips crashed together in a kiss filled with pent-up desire and forbidden promises.
"Don't joke about a child, Irish."
Zayden's voice was rough, strained with restraint. He cupped her face, kissing the corner of her lips—a sweet warning laced with unspoken threat.
Irish didn't retreat. Instead, she smiled faintly, full of confidence, then trailed her fingers teasingly down his abdomen. "I'm not joking. You said it yourself—maybe a young woman like me could give you a child."
Her eyes sparkled, radiating sincerity mixed with boldness. "I want to, Uncle."
Zayden shut his eyes briefly, as if battling his own thoughts.
"I don't want to ruin you," he muttered, more to himself than to Irish.
She chuckled softly, challengingly. "Ruin me?" She wrapped her arms around his neck, closing the distance between them. "If you really want to keep me intact, then what are we doing right now?"
Zayden opened his eyes, staring deeply into hers, searching for a reason to stop.
"You're still young, Irish. You deserve better than me," he rasped, his voice thick with emotion.
Irish shook her head slowly, her gaze unwavering. "I know what I want. I don't want any other man. I want you, Zayden."
Her fingers traced his sharp jawline gently.
"I want to carry your child. I want this relationship, even if it has to be secret," she whispered, almost pleading. "Because I really don't want to be apart again. I'll go crazy missing you. You feel the same, don't you? Don't lie, Uncle!"
Zayden stared at her for a long, tense moment. The air between them grew thick, charged with unspoken desire.
Only their ragged breaths filled the narrowing space.
When Irish pressed herself closer, brushing her nose against his lips, Zayden finally surrendered.
His hands gripped her waist, pulling her in sharply. Their lips met again—not just a kiss this time, but an explosion of pent-up longing, raw and unrestrained.
"Irish… do you know what you're saying?" His voice was low, rough with tension. "Having a child isn't a game."
Irish held his gaze, her clear eyes showing no hesitation.
"I know, Zayden. I know this isn't a game. I'm serious."
Zayden exhaled deeply, as if gathering strength. His fingers brushed her cheek, tender yet bittersweet.
"You're still too young. There's so much you haven't experienced," he murmured, almost to himself.
"I don't care," Irish cut in firmly. "I don't need any of that if it means losing you. I'll never be happy without you."
Her words struck Zayden like a storm, shattering his last defenses.
He pulled her into his chest, holding her tightly as if trying to convey all his doubts and fears through that embrace.
"I'm afraid you'll regret this," he whispered against her hair.
Irish lifted her face, looking at him with a small, confident smile.
"I'll never regret it. What I fear is… losing you, Uncle. Not being able to see you again!"
Her hand moved, tracing his jaw before stopping at his lips.
Slowly, feather-light, she kissed him—brief but enough to make his heart pound violently.
Zayden closed his eyes, returning the kiss.
No longer gentle, but hungry—full of longing, regret, and need, a chaotic mix that left them both breathless.
For a moment, all of Zayden's doubts were silenced by the overwhelming rush of emotion.
His body stiffened, his heart hammering wildly. Irish, so close to him, was a temptation he couldn't resist.
His hands, which had been holding her, now roamed lower, unable to suppress the burning desire any longer.
Irish felt the shift, her smile widening. Slowly, her delicate fingers traced lower, teasing the most sensitive part of him, testing the boundaries between them. Zayden held his breath, his gaze locked onto hers—a mix of warning and unspoken hunger.
"Irish," his voice was hoarse, almost threatening. "Don't make me lose control."
She tilted her head slightly, her eyes full of challenge. "I can give you everything you want, Uncle. Everything you've been holding back."
Her hands remained where they were—soft strokes, slow squeezes, sensual massages—leaving Zayden no room for rational thought.
"But you… you're still young," Zayden muttered, fighting to keep his composure, though part of him wondered if he even could.
"I'm old enough to make my own decisions, Uncle."
Their eyes locked. Irish's breath quickened, her eyelids half-lowered, seductive. Her lips glistened, slightly parted, as if daring Zayden to take them.
Zayden leaned in slowly, teetering on the edge of restraint. Irish's touch grew bolder, stroking the hardest, hottest part of him, her movements increasingly teasing.
"Let me satisfy you, give you a child…" Irish whispered, her voice trembling with sinful temptation.
Zayden's grip tightened on her waist, yanking her flush against him until no space remained. He answered her provocation with a rough, deep kiss—pouring out all his longing and frustration.
The kiss was wild, filled with restrained growls, tongues tangling desperately. Irish's hands continued their sinful work beneath, making Zayden groan into her mouth, the atmosphere between them burning hotter, nearly combusting.
Zayden gripped the back of her neck, dominating her lips with heavy breaths, his eyes dark with unrestrained desire.
In one swift motion, he lifted Irish, pinning her onto the plush sofa. Their breaths tangled, their bodies pressed together with barely any space left.
Zayden's frame enveloped her smaller one, trapping her completely beneath him.
Thin layers of clothing were quickly discarded, scattered across the floor.
Without hesitation, Zayden ground against her slowly, deliberately letting Irish feel just how much he wanted her—including the hard evidence of his arousal, fully provoked by her earlier teasing.
The slow, powerful friction made Irish writhe beneath him, gasping his name softly.
"Never tease a man like me… if you're not ready for the consequences," Zayden growled against her ear, his voice rough with lust. He deliberately rubbed himself against her, teasing her until she dug her nails into his shoulders.
Zayden claimed her lips again—this time deeper, more possessive, as if marking her, branding her as his.
Their movements grew shameless, grinding, seeking relief in the sea of desire they'd created. Every soft gasp from Irish only fueled Zayden's hunger, driving him to demand more, even as half of him still fought to hold back.
Zayden knew… Irish had pulled him in too deep. And he no longer wanted an escape.
"Take me, Uncle Zayden!" Irish moaned uncontrollably. "Show me the consequences you promised!"
"Not yet…" Zayden licked his lips with a teasing smirk. "I need to convince myself first."
Irish clenched her fists. Once again, she had failed to make Zayden make love to her. He was so hard to conquer.