Page 85 of Irish Reign

He’s using me like I’m a centerfold he can rip out of a magazine, like I’m a video he can pause. I’m filthy. I’m raw. I’m gloriously, utterly alive.

And when he’s done, when he’s breathing like a stallion, when he’s collapsed on top of me and seared those thick pearly ropes into my body, he whispers against the emerald on my throat, “You’re mine.”

“I am.”

“No one else can do this to you.”

“No one.”

“I’m the only one who can have you.”

“Only you.”

He raises himself on his elbow, high enough to take my right nipple into his mouth. He sucks hard, lancing an arrow to myaching, needy clit. He works me with his tongue, and when I groan, he bites me.

I yelp, and he pushes off the bed. He slaps my flank with his open hand, igniting a whole new constellation of stars inside my head. I close my eyes to hold in the light, but I’m already trying to figure out how to get him to slap me again, how to set my world on fire.

If my eyes were open, he couldn’t take me by surprise. If I were looking, I would know what he was planning. But I’m caught inside my head, lost in a forest of sensations, so I have no warning of what he plans.

My pussy fills with an impossible weight. Before I can protest, before I can scream, my entire body starts to shake, from the savaged place between my thighs to the hollow between my ears where my brain is supposed to be.

It’s a vibrator. I understand that. But I’ve never taken anything that large before. I’ve never felt that constant roar of power. I’m splitting in two, ravaged into separate halves, speared and pinned and suspended.

He fucks me with the toy. He eases it out until it barely flirts with my slick lips. He waits for me to arch my back, to raise my hips from the bed, to plead with every muscle in my body. And then he slips that colossal thing back inside, deep, deep, deeper than I think I can stand. He changes the speed. He changes the angle. He plays me until I’m screaming, until I’m begging, until I’m sobbing and desperate for release.

He’s taken all my words. He’s taken all my power. He’s in absolute control, and all I can do is offer myself up to the wild ride.

I don’t come. He doesn’t let me do that.

Over and over, he brings me to the edge. It’s like he has a secret instruction manual for my body, like there’s a hiddencode inside me that only he can read. He knows when one more second will be too much. When one more breath will destroy me.

The fifth time he pulls away, I turn into an animal. I scream. I snarl. I bite the air, because he doesn’t let me reach his cruel, cruel hands.

And there, in the heart of madness, in the grip of need, an evil creature telegraphs the most secret folds of my soul:Of course he won’t release me. I’m marked. I’m branded. I’m damaged beyond repair.

Once the thought infects my brain, I’m trapped. My legs go limp. My arms sag in their bonds. My body is locked away from me, cut off completely. The only thing I can feel is Russo’s tattoo at the base of my spine, gritty and greasy, like a scorched cinderblock dragging me to the bottom of the sea.

“Piscín?” Braiden asks, but I don’t have words to reply.

“Samantha?” he says, but there’s no point in responding to my name.

“Say it,piscín. Just say red.” That’s what he orders, but I don’t care about colors, red or black or white, everything’s the same.

I hear him at the nightstand. I feel him cut the rope. My hands are free. My feet are free. I can draw my knees together. I can hide. But there’s no reason to bother. Not when I’m destroyed.

That’s why he tied you up, the wicked thing says.He needed you on your back. He needed to hide the mark.

I want it to be wrong. I want Braiden to look at my back, to see my tattoo, to touch it and tell me he loves me. I almost find the strength to say that out loud. I almost tell him: “Turn me over. Fuck me from behind. Fuck me hard.”

But I can’t do it. Not when I’m wearing my collar.

I cannot, will not,must nottop from below. I owe Braiden that. I owe myself that.

Even if that means I’m lost. I’m finished. We’re done.

But Braiden is my Dom. He understands my mind. He understands my body. He knows me better than I know myself.

So without my saying a word, he folds his arm around my belly. He drags me to the edge of the bed. He swings me around, so my feet are on the floor and my chest is pressed into the mattress.

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