Page 56 of Irish Brute
“Get out of your head,” I say. “Stop figuring out a dozen whys and wherefores for everything I say.”
“I don’t— I can’t?—”
“If I hear those words one more time, I’m flushing your collar and throwing you out of here for good.”
She can’t keep her gaze from going to the door. There’s safety on the other side. Safety and solitude for the rest of her days in this house.
But she swallows. She licks her lips. She takes a deep breath and meets my gaze and says, “Yes…sir.”
And that’s when I know I can keep her.
I tug on her hair again, pulling her close enough that I see her pupils dilate and contract with her pulse. “Your eyes stay on me,” I say. “And you say out loud, exactly what I’m doing.”
“I c—” But she stops herself. She discovers how easy it is when all she has to say is, “Yes, sir.”
I tighten my grip on her hair, yanking to crane her neck. “What am I doing,piscín?”
“What does that mean?”
I curl my fingers closer to her nape, tightening the angle, forcing her chin to jut toward mine. “Did I give you permission to ask a question?”
“No, sir,” she says, her tone sullen.
I tug again and repeat, “What am I doing?”
“You’re pulling my hair,” she says. And then she remembers to add, “Sir.”
I shift my grip to her chin, finding the hinge of her jaw. “And what am I doing now,piscín?”
“Holding my jaw,” she says. “Sir.”
I slide down her throat, until my wrist presses against her emerald. “And now,piscín?”
“Touching my collar, sir.”
I make her take off her bra. I pinch her nipples. I fill my hands with the weight of her breasts. I stroke her sides, so lightly that goosebumps bloom up and down her entire body. I suck on the lobe of her ear, and I bite it when she moans.
“Take off your knickers,” I tell her.
“Yes, sir,” she says. She breathes hard as she slips them over her hips. She kicks them toward the rest of her clothes, and I catch a whiff of hot, excited girl.
“Sit on the bed,” I say.
“Yes, sir.”
“Lean all the way back.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Heels on the edge.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Spread your knees.”
She’s shown me her cunt before. I already know the secret color, the pink that’s deeper than the skirt she’ll wear, the lips that are darker than the ones that barely murmur, “Yes, sir.”
“Eyes on me,” I remind her, and I wait for her to find my face. I lean over far enough to plant my thumb on her lower lip. I wait for her to suck me into the hot dark heat of her mouth. I shift my weight to accommodate my cock, which is far too heavy against my zip.
