Page 58 of Irish Brute
She works the buckle with absolute confidence. She slips the leather from its loops quickly, eagerly. I catch the moment she’s about to toss it aside but then she drapes the belt around her neck. She slides the end through the buckle and tightens it to ride on top of her collar.
Eyes up, completely trusting, she hands me the end of the belt.
I pull it tight. I see her trust as I grip the leather, as I cut off her breath.
I give her my shoe to ride. She rocks like it’s a hobby-horse, spreading her knees to gain a better purchase.
She’s back on the edge in seconds. I measure each flex of her hips. I feel each shift of her weight. Her spine arches, her thighs tighten, she fights for the breath I manage, the one I control.
And she freezes when I say, “Stop.”
Her fingers are knotted into tight little fists. Her eyes are squeezed shut. Every muscle in her body is wrapped around bone, she’s holding, holding, holding…
And when I know she won’t tip past the breaking point, I loosen my grip on the belt. She gulps in a huge breath, tears once again sparking in her eyes. She rocks back on her heels, the motion raising the perfect arcs of her tits, and suddenly I can’t take any more of the game.
I kick off my shoes. My toes peel off my socks, and my hands tear at the button of my trousers, at the zipper. I strip them off with my boxers, kicking both away as I catch Samantha’s arms.
We both fall onto the mattress, and I stretch across her toward the nightstand drawer. The string of foil packets arcsacross the front, and I tear one loose, scrambling to free the rubber, to roll it over my pounding erection.
I’ll shatter if I lose her now; I don’t know how I’ll stop if she breaks beneath me. So I snap out, “Eyes on me,” which isn’t needed, because she’s staring at me, she’s reaching for me, she’s guiding me to her hot, wet cunt.
I don’t have to force her to say what I’m doing, because she’s begging for it now. “Please, Master. Fuck me,” she says. “Fill me with your cock. Fuck me hard. Fuck me blind.”
She’s begging, but she’s also telling, saying what she wants me to do. I could stop. Ishouldstop. But her first day in this house, I told her she would plead like this. She’s only following the path I set for her that morning.
She’s tight and she’s ready and I barely have time to reach between us, to brush my fingertips against her clit before she’s coming hard. She squeaks with each new thrust of my cock, a desperate hungry growl between her whispered litany of, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
As her muscles clench around me, I tangle my hands in her long, dark hair. I graze my teeth down the length of her neck, burying my nose against the pulse point above the platinum of her collar.
Her entire body is convulsing beneath me, around me,throughme, and I come like an imploding building, shattering and collapsing and rolling, rolling, rolling with the force.
When I can breathe again, I make myself shift off of her. She whimpers, so I find that tangled lace at her hairline. I whisper against it, telling her I’ll be back.
I take care of the johnny and fill a glass with water, then run the tap till it’s warm. I come back with a flannel and wipe mypiscínclean, holding her close against me until she’s able to drink down the cold water. I head back to the nightstand drawerand find the emergency Dairy Milk there, and I feed her the chocolate, bite by precious bite.
It’s an hour before she’s grounded and more than that before I’m willing to get out of bed. She watches as I pull on a pair of gray joggers and a hoodie I grab from the closet.
I toss her one of my cashmere jumpers, a burgundy one, which makes me think of the bruised petals between her legs. She holds the sweater to her face for a moment before she pulls it over her head. Then she steels herself and staggers to her feet.
She reaches for her knickers at the same time she picks up her trousers.
I make a tsking sound with my tongue, and I point to the skirt.
“You’ve got to be kidding.” She reaches for her collar, which is still locked around her throat.
“House rules,” I say.
“But you said?—”
“The skirt rule is different from your collar.”
I watch, to see what she’ll do. She wants to fight. She wants to throw the skirt on the floor, to grab her trousers and flee to her room.
It’s all there, as clear as if she spoke the words out loud. So I see the exact moment she decides not to fight me. I see her resignation as she pulls on the pink skirt, flowers and all. I see her clear decision not to add her knickers.
So I kiss her neck before I unlock her collar. I tell her she’smo chailín maith.
And I tell her I’m calling Doc Kelleher in the morning. He’ll take her blood and mine. He’ll clear us both and give her a packet of pills, and we’re done with johnnies forever.
