Page 55 of Irish Brute

I drop my blazer on the floor, next to his jacket. I pull my top over my head, not bothering with the buttons. I step out of my pumps and shimmy out of my tailored pants.

My black bra matches my panties. Both garments are simple. Plain. Intended to serve a practical purpose, not to seduce. I cross my arms over my chest, feeling like I’m already naked.

A twitch starts in Braiden’s cheek. The fingers of his right hand open and close, like he’s barely restraining himself from ripping off my underwear.

I know what I’m supposed to do. I understand the game we’re playing. But I don’t make a move for the double hooks behind me.

I want him to punish me.

The thought sizzles between my thighs, spearing something deep inside me. I want Braiden Kelly to test my limits. I want him to measure out every ounce of sensation my nerves can bear.

I don’t know when I became this woman. I’ve never hungered for this with any other man.

No other man I’ve been with would have a clue how to dothis.

I’m arguing the case in the silence of my own brain. It’s wrong to want this. Wrong to feel the shudder-thrill that makes my breath come short even though Braiden hasn’t touched me yet.

Maybe I should throw myself on the mercy of the court. Maybe I should argue I’m not guilty by reason of insanity. Maybe?—

His fist closes around my hair and he yanks my head back, hard enough that involuntary tears spring to my eyes.

He brings his lips dangerously close to mine. “Let’s go, lass. Because nothin’ yer thinkin’ will save ya now.”

As if he wants to prove his point, he closes his fist in the front of my panties. He yanks me toward him, hard enough to make me stumble. He rams three fingers between my legs, hooking upward and stealing my breath.

And my brain shatters into wordless panic.

22

BRAIDEN

Christ.

I’ve lost her.

The woman who let me spank her arse purple. The one who let me plow between her tits and spray her face with spunk. The one who trusted me enough to come till she collapsed.

This past month I’ve spent more time than I should admit dreaming of this night, of our finally making our wedding vows real, of all the ways I’ll fuck her.

I had the collar made just for her. The emerald. The lock. I’ve had them for two weeks, and Valentine’s Day seemed ideal timing.

But penetration—even just my fingers—terrifies her.

I slip my hand out of her cunt. I don’t need a fancy law degree to understand why she’s panicking. Whatever she knows about me, however she’s justified living in this house, she understands that I’m Captain of the Fishtown Boys. A mobster like AntonioFucking Russo. And we both know exactly what that animal did to his own wife.

I’m going to choke Russo on his own cock before our war is through. He deserves it, for breakingmo chailín maiththe way he has.

But I’ll get that revenge another day.

Tonight, I have to protect my sub.

“Eyes on me,” I snap.

She’s startled enough to obey. But immediately, she starts to think again, starts to work through what just happened. Her fingertips go to her collar, but she’s staring at something a million miles away.

“Stop thinking,” I say.

She blinks, like she’s never heard the English language before.