Page 35 of The Irish Arrangement

I would never tire of the pleasure of shooting my cum deep inside her, knowing she was mine. That she’d never been anyone else’s. Cara belonged to me, and I couldn’t get her out of my mind.

Not while I met with the Boyles who were acting like punks at my gym again. Not while I tortured a rat who thought he could help himself to a little more of the money we’d stolen.

And not while I tried to sleep at my place in the city, alone and turned on by her memory. Restless and full of the need to sink into her again and again.

And she thought I’d give that up? To surrender her to some sense of independence away from me?

No fucking way.

She’d come alive under my touch. She shivered and trembled for me as she broke apart with her orgasm. Even though she’d gotten to me, driving me with an urgent rush to come with her, I suspected that she needed my heavy hand. That she counted on my dominance to get off.

Like an experienced whore, not the naïve innocent who’d recently lost her virginity, she took everything I gave her. She didn’t protest when I doled out the pain. Not once did she cower from my touch.

Instead, she seemed to beg for more.

“I can’t fucking wait,” I grumbled to myself as I got into my car.

The others could deal with cleaning up the rat I'd gutted. I had other plans on my mind now.

And they included pushing my wife. I’d give her more. I’d fuck her harder and try her limits.

Each time. Every time. I refused to give her little pussy a rest until she was pregnant.

Still, as I drove home, I wondered why. Why would she have ever agreed to marry me?

It no longer mattered, but I felt duped not knowing her reasoning. I didn’t have the patience or free time to get to know her. I lacked that diplomatic charm that Ian had. My brother was at ease speaking with others, but I preferred to let my fists talk for me.

“She hates me.”

I did hear her right when she muttered that bit.

“So, why?”

Shane Murray had to hold something over her to get her to marry me instead of Saoirse. As I wracked my brain on the drive to the estate home, I couldn’t figure out what.

The man was broke. He had money, or rather, he lived a lifestyle that suggested he was loaded, but he had no power. He had no chance of ever paying us back, and now that the thought of his debt was on my mind, I decided to alter our agreement.

That fucker should pay. He’d shirked on paying us back for years, and even though I’d taken his daughter in marriage, it felt like he’d changed the agreement too. I told him that his debts would be wiped clean, but that was because I thought I’d be taking Saoirse.

If Nora—and therefore Cara—was related to the Boyles, then Murray had essentially fucked me over.

“Not on my watch,” I growled.

Reaching for my phone, I called Ian and let it go on speaker as I drove.

“Put pressure on him.”

Ian didn’t question me, but he seemed reluctant to just jump and go like he usually did.

“He’s lying. Or hiding something. I know it,” I told him.

“But what does it matter? You’ve got Cara.”

I shook my head. I did. But at what cost? I couldn’t escape the nagging suspicion that there was a lot more at play here, and I might not enjoy the details of who was plotting against me and my family.

“All right.” He sighed. “I’ll send him the message about the debt still being owed. I mean, maybe offer him a discount or something…”

“Whatever.” I didn’t care.

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