Page 95 of Irish Reign

She moans, clenching tight around my hand.

“What do you need,piscín?”

Another immediate reply: “Your cock in my cunt.”

I curl my fingers inside her. “I could make you come right now. Right here. Like this.”

She closes her eyes. Bites her lip. But she doesn’t tell me what to do.

I see what it costs her. Ifeelher determination in every muscle of her body. She wants to be fucked, but she knows not to ask.

So I tell her: “Or I can give you my cock in your cunt.”

I shift the fabric of her skirt so I have room to maneuver. I pull my hand out of her soft, wet heat. I tease her opening with my cock, just enough to give her warning, and then I drive in, hard and fast and deep.

She cries out at the weight of me.

No. She cries out in pain.

I look down at the place where we’re joined. Her skirt is bunched to the side. I’m staring at the gauze of her top, at the barely-there fabric ghosting across her back.

I’m ready to see the tattoo at the base of her spine. I’ll never say I love it. But I loveher, and Russo’s ink is part of her. It will always be with us.

Except I’m wrong.

The tattoo is gone.

But that’s not right either.

The tattoo has beentransformed.

The medusa head in the center of her mark has been shaped into an intricate Celtic knot, each snake woven into the artwork. The bent legs have turned into shamrocks, three-leaf flowers arching around the knot. The outlines are in black, but the lines are filled with bright green ink.

“Samantha,” I breathe.

I saw her back four nights ago, when we were at the Four Seasons for the Grand Irish Union. She hadn’t covered up the old work then.

“Don’t stop,” she begs.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

That’s a lie. We both know it is.

But she’s my sub. And she’s armed with her safeword. And if she’s giving me this gift, I’m not about to throw it away.

So I close my hands around her hips. I shift my weight, easing part-way out of her body. And then I give her what she asked for, what she needs, what we both need, until we’re panting and grunting and groaning together, eyes closed, bodies merged, my cock in her cunt, exactly the way my queen deserves.

47

SAMANTHA

It was never my plan to keep an archbishop waiting.

Better, though, for him to believe he’s dealing with a nervous bride than that he discover the truth of how I’ve spent the past hour.

Re-doing my hair.

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