Page 44 of Irish Brute
And then he plows. His cock is hard and hot and heavy, riding the fold he’s made.
It’s filthy being penned like this. I’m helpless. He’s using me. I’m utterly under his control—exactly the way I asked for. Exactly the way he said I would be, when we were locked inside the safe room.
He pumps faster. He holds me closer. His fingers turn to steel.
“Oh, sweet Chr—” he starts to say, but the last word melts into a groan. He comes hard, lashing thick hot ropes onto my chest, my chin, my open, greedy lips.
He plants one hand by my head, deep in the sweet green vines beneath me. He uses the other to milk himself dry, grunting with each vicious pull.
I strain beneath him because I want to be the one giving him that pleasure. “Please,” I beg. “Untie me. Let me touch you. Please.”
But he doesn’t reach for his belt. Instead, he drags his thumb through the slick on my chest. He paints my nipples, left, then right, before he finds my desperate mouth.
I suck on his thumb, softly at first, but then with the greed of a starving woman. When it’s clean, I say, “Some punishment that was.”
“That wasn’t yer punishment, lass.” His accent has gone thick. “That was just a warmin’ up. A way fer me t’ keep my mind on what I truly owe ya.Thisis how yer punished.”
His hands are rough as he strips off my pants. At his barked command, I raise my hips, giving him better access. He takes my panties, too, wasting only a minute to breathe deeply over the soaked strip of cloth.
“Knees bent,” he orders. “Legs spread. Close ’em, and we’re done for th’ day.”
I plant my heels in the bed of springy honeysuckle. But even with the threat of Braiden cutting short this game, I can’t make my knees splay wide.
I’ll be too open. Too vulnerable. I want to follow the rules, I truly do, but the danger screaming inside my skull makes my breath come short with the very opposite of pleasure.
“Eyes on me,” Braiden says.
I didn’t know they were closed. I force myself to look at him, at his steady blue eyes, at his sensitive lips. I watch the bob ofhis throat as he swallows and I’m rewarded with a tiny nod of approval.
“Yer with me, lass,” he says. “Here. Now. So show me yer gorgeous cunt.”
I hate the word, hate how it’s used against women. And Braiden knows that—I can tell by the way his eyes narrow.
This is a test.
It’s not supposed to be easy. It’s punishment.
I’m not with any of the boys I dated in my past. There’s no room for Don Antonio inside my head. I’m with Braiden Kelly, the man who—however improbably—I’ve married.
I spread my knees.
“Mo chailín maith,” Braiden breathes, rocking back on his heels.
And those are the last words he says for a very long time. Because once I let him see me, he leans forward to kiss the soft skin of my inner thigh. He takes his time, nuzzling, exploring, moving higher bit by bit.
I’m shaking by the time he gets to my pussy. My entire body trembles, like I’m melting from the inside out. My fingers open and close on empty air.
I need to touch him. Need to hold him. Need to press his face closer to get the pressure I know will spin me free.
The lips of his mouth work the lips between my thighs. His tongue finds my clit, and I bite back a squeal. He sucks hard on that ready button, and I feel the pull all the way to my fingernails. Again, and the top of my head starts to float. One last time, and I explode beneath him.
I hear myself shouting, calling Braiden’s name. I shift my hips to keep the perfect seal with his mouth. I grip his belt between my leashed wrists. I come and I come and I come, until my throat is parched and my legs—still splayed, still following the rules—have lost all their strength.
But Braiden doesn’t let up, even then. His face stays buried in the mess between my legs. His lips go hard again; they’re pushing me toward a new cliff. The tip of his tongue finds my clit, lighting a fuse that spools inside me.
I feel it sizzle from my core, up my spine, to my brain. This time the explosion is even deeper, further inside my body. I’ve lost Braiden’s name, but I chant, “Oh God, oh God, oh God.” I arch off the honeysuckle, pushing to keep the connection.
Still, I remember not to bring my knees together. And Braiden refuses to set me free. He doesn’t back off. He doesn’t give my tender, sensitive parts even a moment to recover.
