Page 18 of Irish Reign

I grab her hips and start to pump.

The fact that she came twice in the bedroom means nothing. She’s primed by the heat of her well-spanked arse. She’s riding the terror-thrill of exposure. She’s arching her neck, stiffening her thighs, and when I shift one hand to find her clit, she breaks around me like a crystal cup.

Her fingers spread wide on the windows. She presses her tits against the glass. She pushes her arse against me, and I manageone more stroke before I’m shattering too, plowing deep, pulsing hard, pressing my cheek into her spine.

It takes a few minutes before I’m steady enough to lift my weight from her back. She sways as I slip out of her, a tiny wordless cry escaping her lips. I hitch up my trousers and then I half-guide, half-carry her over to the couch.

I don’t have chocolate. I don’t have arnica gel for the marks I’ve left on her body. I don’t have a fully stocked kitchen with food to restore her after all she’s given me, given us.

But I can cradle her body against mine. I can stroke the hair from her face. I can finger the emerald at her throat and tell her she’s magnificent, she’s my treasure, she’smo chailín maith.

And when I carry her to bed and kiss the lace of scars above her temple, I can whisper, “House rules. Breakfast tomorrow.”

And I can wonder at her knowing smile, at the look of total satisfaction as she falls asleep inside the iron curve of my arm.

It’s not until I’m falling asleep myself that I realize mypiscínhas topped from the bottom again. She manipulated me like the expert attorney she is. She goaded me into enforcing the rules she knows by heart.

I’ll make her pay.

But for now, I can’t regret a single thing she’s done.

7

SAMANTHA

We all eat breakfast together in the second suite on Friday morning—Braiden and Aiofe and me. Fairfax hovers like a new mother as he sets room service dishes on the table. I’m as hungry as a long-haul trucker, and I ache in places where I didn’t even know I had muscles. My ass is so tender I wince every time I shift position on the stiff hotel chair.

“Are you okay?” Aiofe asks, a frown puckering the space between her eyebrows.

“I’m fine,” I assure her.

“You look like you’re sitting on tacks,” she says.

I catch Braiden preening, like he’s done something admirable. “There’s something tacky going on,” I tell Aiofe. “But I’m fine.”

It was easier to keep our sex life private when Aiofe stayed in her own silent world. She looks confused by my reply, but I cut off further questions by asking what she’s going to do for the day.

“I don’t know,” she says. “Watch TV. Maybe take a nap.”

“What if we get out of the hotel? Want to go to the Liberty Bell?” I loved my school visits to the landmark when I was her age.

“No one’s going to the Liberty Bell,” Braiden says.

“How about Independence Hall then?” I ask, as if I don’t understand Braiden’s objection.

“Forget about it,” he says before Aiofe can reply.

“The Franklin Institute?” I challenge him. “Or the art museum? Or maybe we could go to the aquarium.”

“Go to your room,” Braiden tells Aiofe, who is watching us avidly.

“I’m still eating breakfast,” she protests.

“Fairfax!” Braiden calls, even though he’s standing just six feet away.

Fairfax swoops in to collect Aiofe’s plate and her glass of milk. “Come along, sweetheart. Let the grown-ups fight.”

“We aren’t fighting!” I call after them, as Fairfax closes the bedroom door.

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