Page 20 of The Irish Arrangement

She arched back, and I grabbed both of her hands in one of mine. Shoving her hands back to the door, I followed through and thrust my dick into her.

Every hard inch. All the way into her tight, slick pussy. She choked me, squeezing me in so hard that I growled at the intensity of pressure.

She either hadn’t done this in a while or?—

A virgin.

Fuck. I hadn’t counted on that. I should have. She had to be at least fifteen years younger than me, but I hadn’t anticipated this gift.

“Fuck.”

She cried out, sobbing instantly at the intrusion.

I didn’t stop. It felt too fucking good. Like heaven. A rare treasure. I hammered her cunt, pulling out and driving back in so fast that her head hung low until she hit it against the door.

Soon, her cries turned to gasps. And with every torturous glide back and forth as I stretched her, I felt the tension of her inner walls clamping down on me. Slick with her juices, I stared as my dick sank into her over and over. Until my balls tightened. My spine zinged with pressure. And I came.

I continued fucking her as hard as I could, flooding her womb with my hot cum. Jerking from the force of losing my load in her, I punched my hips toward hers.

Her pussy fluttered, still reacting with waves of her own orgasm as I pinned her to the door. Exhausted from the burn and buildup of wanting to fuck her, I leaned against the entrance until my knees weren’t as shaky, until I could straighten and pull out of her tight sheath.

She winced, her head turned sideways and pressed against the door. Her eyes remained closed, and I watched as my cum dribbled down her thighs.

I reached over and flicked the lock on the door she rested upon. The sound jarred her, and she opened her eyes.

Without stepping back, I reached low to thrust two of my fingers into her, shoving my cum back inside.

“Don’t even think about running,” I warned.

Then I turned, heading to bed without another glance at the thoroughly fucked woman who was no longer a virgin.

My wife.

8

CARA

When I woke up to my first day as a married woman, the first thing I noticed was the complete, utter silence. It cloaked me, pressing me down into the bed I'd found in one of the many guest rooms here.

Declan left me at the door, and this was the first room I found that seemed prepared for a guest.

Guest? I was no guest. For the next six months, I would be a resident here.

This wasn’t anything like being at home, at the only residence I knew at Mom’s farm.

No sounds of animals woke me up. No urgency filled me with the rush to feed the sheep and horses. Not a single beep nor chirp of the birds and other wildlife out in the open land.

It was… unsettling. Like I was the last person alive on Earth.

As I opened my eyes and took stock of the tenderness between my legs, I realized that meant this foreign pain signified that my mother would be one day closer to getting her life-changing surgery. In exchange for losing my virginity and marrying Declan, she was that much nearer the chance to have a semi-normal life.

He raped me. Thinking it felt like a crime, but I had to succumb to accepting it as my new reality. I was married. And my husband had raped me.

I blinked, zoning out at the ceiling as the tenderness lingered with a dull throb.

Declan had raped me. He'd accused me of trying to run away right after our damn wedding, and he took his anger out by slamming into me so hard, and holding on to my hips with such a forceful grip, that bruises would no doubt line my skin for days.

I lay there, rubbing my eyes and waiting for a reason to get up.

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