Page 50 of Her Irish Savage

So whatever the fuck this is between Fiona and me, it’s new. It’s different. It washes my brain in a soothing bath of menthol, slowing everything down, making everything slip into place.

Her neck is still arched like she’s waiting for a vampire to suck her dry. She moans again before she whispers, “Fuck me, Daddy.”

I know exactly what I need to say. What I need to do. I catch her chin between my fingers and force her head up. I shake her once, hard, until she looks me in the eye. I say, very slowly, very clearly, so there can be no misunderstanding, “My little girl doesn’t swear. Because if she does,whenshe does, my little girl is punished.”

I don’t give a fuck about swearing. But I very much care about obedience. I want my rules to be a challenge. To be difficult for my sub to follow.

I think Fiona will test me, then and there. But I can see she isn’t certain. She barely knows me; we’ve only been together for a week. She’s just a little afraid of what will happen, now that she’s awakened the animal inside me.

“Yes, Daddy,” she says, visibly swallowing every foul word she knows. She’s proving she can be wise.

“What was your favorite stuffed animal when you were a kid?” I ask, still holding her chin.

“Bunbun,” she says, clearly confused. “A rabbit.”

“Bunbun,” I repeat. “That’s your safeword. That’s what you’ll say when you need me to stop.”

“I won’t—” She’s already twisting, already shifting her hips toward me, shoving her tits against my chest.

I step away, dropping my grip. “You have it if you need it.”

“I’ll never use it.”

I stare down her defiance. “You’ll be safe.”

She wants to protest further, but she’s already learned better. “Yes, Daddy,” she says, so soft it’s almost a whisper.

“Good girl.”

The rush of blood to her cheeks is like a wildfire. Her eyes go wide and she rocks back on her heels, just enough to let me know she didn’t expect her own reaction. And if that’s enough to surprise her, then she doesn’t know what’s about to hit her.

“On your knees,” I order, snapping my finger to enforce the command.

She drops like I’ve shot her with my Glock. When she gulps for breath, that black lace stretches across her tits. She doesn’t hesitate to go for my belt, sliding it from its loops and draping it around her neck like a towel after a workout. But she hasn’t begun the exercises I have in mind. She looks up at me and says, “Thank you, Daddy.”

I think about sliding the belt through its buckle, about wrapping the leather around my fist and cinching it tight enough for the edges to crease her throat. We’ll get to breath play eventually. But for now, I just need to remind her I’m the one in control.

“Suck my cock.”

I realizecontrolis a lie, the instant she takes me in her mouth.

Sure, I have her calling me Daddy. I’ve got her on her knees. I’m dreaming about holding her feckin’ leash.

But when her lips close around my dick, the menthol bath inmy brain starts to boil. She whines a little as she accepts the size of me. I feel the back of her throat. Her fingers dig into my thighs as she fights her gag reflex. She loosens her jaw and stretches her neck and then she does it—she takes my full length.

She’s good with her tongue. Her lips, too. Her mouth is hot and wet and she knows just how hard to suck.

I’ve been hard since she called me Daddy, but now my bollocks actually ache. I bury one hand in her hair. I slow her down because I mean to last.

“My God,Scáthach,” I groan. “You have no idea how good that feels.”

This time, when she blushes, she whimpers, and the little sound vibrates all the way to the base of my spine. As I catch a stuttering breath, I get a whiff of hot, excited girl.

“You’re amazing, little girl,” I tell her. “You’re doing such a good job.”

Her grip tightens on my thighs. Her tongue swirls down to lick my balls. I see stars, sprayed across the wooden cabinets in the kitchen.

“Stop,” I gasp. And when she doesn’t listen, I tug on her hair, sharp enough that she has to pay attention. “Stop, little girl.”

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