Page 35 of Irish Reign

The words seem to fall out of her mouth by accident, but she doesn’t bother picking them up. “I love you too,” I say, and she’s gone with a smile and a twirl of her plaid uniform skirt.

“Why isn’t Aiofe required to change clothes when she gets home from school?” I ask.

Braiden looks at me levelly. “Don’t change the topic of conversation.”

“I wasn’t aware we were conversing.”

“Eat your dinner.”

“It’s cold.”

“I’ll call Fairfax and ask him to heat it up.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Enough.” He says the one word quietly. As if he’s answering a question.

He’s still wearing his jeans, still wearing his plaid shirt, and I know when he gets close enough, he’ll smell like dust and sweat and sin. I want to sit and stare at him. I want to remember how he moved inside me, losing control in the unfinished basement of his bar. I want to remember how it felt to do one thing right,to distract him when he needed distraction, to help him when he needed help.

But he says, “Still trying to control everything?”

“I’m not?—”

“I’ve warned you too many times. Subs don’t decide when and how they get punished. And make no mistake. You will be punished. Do we have to review the rules?”

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter. “Work ran late tonight. I came down to dinner because I wanted to hear about Aiofe’s first day at school. I didn’t change my clothes because I knew it was almost time for her to go upstairs. Not everything is about you. Not everything is a grand challenge to your precious alpha dominance.”

He waits a moment, as if he’s actually curious to hear what else I have to say. But I know I’ve already pushed him too far.

“I should make you sleep in the guest room tonight,” he finally says.

“Braiden—”

“But I won’t. Because tonight you need this more than you need to learn a lesson.” He pushes back from the table and takes three steps to the doorway. Looking over his shoulder, he says, “Piscín?”

And God help me, I follow him upstairs to our bedroom.

My collar is heavy around my neck. The platinum is cold, until it’s hot. I feel the emerald every time I swallow.

This is the first time Braiden has tied me up in this room. The first time he’s used the toys in this dresser. It’s the first time he’s brought me to the edge here, held me for an eternity here, left me wild and raw and desperate here—but he does it again and again and again.

This house doesn’t have Thornfield’s soundproof walls. It doesn’t have long corridors, perfect for muffling noise. Our newhome doesn’t have a separate cottage for Fairfax—only a suite in the basement, two floors away and not far enough.

I do my best to swallow my moans. To muffle my groans. To scream inside the trembling darkness of my throat, smothering all my sounds. But when Braiden finally opens the clamps on my aching nipples, when he sets aside the pinwheel, when he slaps the riding crop against my clit one last time, I can’t help myself.

I call out his name. I pant about God. I sigh and I cry and I stutter as he brings me to a quick second peak and then a long, drawn-out third. That last one pulses through my entire body, from the roots of my hair to the curl of my toes, an endless wash of release.

He brings me a glass of cold, clear water. He feeds me the darkest chocolate I’ve ever tasted. He holds me close and wipes tears from my cheeks, which doesn’t make sense because I don’t remember crying.

“I can’t do it,” I finally whisper in the shadows that have swarmed since sunset.

“You can do anything.”

“The hearing. Tomorrow. It’ll be a disaster.”

He spreads his fingers across my hip. “It won’t be. You’ll be brilliant,piscín. And then it will all be behind you.” He pulls me into the curve of his body, molding my spine to his chest. “You can do this,mo chailín maith.”

I want to believe him. I want to know he’s right. So I close my eyes. I relax in his arms. And I let him hold me until he falls asleep.

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