Page 35 of Irish Brute

“The money will go into an account for your use.”

“My name is on that mortgage!”

“Do you honestly think that’s a problem for me?”

He must have a herd of lawyers on retainer. He can buy off whatever legal officials he needs. Forge my signature. Worst case, he can force me to sign the necessary paperwork—I have no delusions that a spanking is the worst tool in his physical arsenal.

“Braiden…” I say, unsure of how I want to finish that statement.

“Samantha,” he answers levelly.

Not bothering to swallow my exasperated shriek, I shove away my bowl of uneaten oatmeal. I’m halfway out of the room when Braiden repeats my name, with much more force.

“What?” I ask, whirling back.

Aiofe is craning her neck, staring at me like I’ve sprouted wings and a unicorn horn. Braiden’s face is calm. Stern. Unsmiling.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

“My office.”Where I can lock the door, I think. Where I can have some semblance of control over my life.

He reaches beneath his stack of newspapers and picks up a slim silver laptop.Myslim silver laptop, I assume, because he says, “You won’t get much done without this.”

“You took my goddamn computer?” My voice shakes with disbelief, my shock amplified by the slow, steady throb of my ass, reminding me that Braiden takes whatever he wants.

Aiofe’s eyes are the size of the plates on the table, but I don’t give a fuck.

Braiden says, “You don’t need it today.”

“I may be your wife, but I’m an attorney, too. I have work to do.”

“You’re on your honeymoon.”

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter under my breath, but Aiofe must hear, because she clutches the tiny gold cross around her neck. To Braiden, I say with bitter sarcasm, “What honeymoon plans do we have today, my beloved?”

“Youare going to relax. I never should have let you start to work yesterday. You overdid things, when you should have been settling into our new life together. Read one of the books in the hallway—they’re all first editions. Or take a long, hot bath. That can be good for aches and pains.”

I glare at Braiden. I know what he’s doing—showing me who’s in charge. I’m supposed to understand that he controlseverything about my life, far more than a single spanking can convey.

Especially a spanking when he learned how I excited I became. When he felt how wet he made me. When I had the option to make him stop at any time, just by uttering a single syllable.

I manage not to shift my feet as I ask, “And you? How areyoucelebrating our wedding?”

“I’m going upstairs,” he says. “To my office. Where Madden and Patrick will report by noon, confirming the pushback on Russo.”

Pushback. Six women about to be killed, and Braiden looks like a panther lounging in the winter sun.

But I glance at Aiofe. Maybe he chooses the word to spare her.

The silence has stretched out longer than I intended. Aiofe is eyeing me with grave concern.

“I’m going to work on Monday,” I warn Braiden.

“Of course.”

“In Dover. At my office.”

“I understand.”