Page 71 of Her Irish Savage

Well, fuck. At least she isn’t flogging herself over the doctor’s visit any longer.

Most of the time when I’m with Fiona, I forget she’s barely half my age. She’s smarter and more driven and she’s seen more of the world than most other women I’ve met.

But her embarrassment about the clam makes me remember how young she is. How vulnerable. There are things she’s never faced before, things she’s never done—like accepting the fact that her body isn’t perfect. It can fail her. She can get hurt. She can get sick.

I hate the fact that it was easier for her to accept Madden Kelly beating her bloody than it’s been for her to face the rest of what he did. But I know how fast she heals.

All I have to do is give her time.

I push myself to the far side of the bed and come to my feet. “Put on some clothes,” I say. I want to order her to raid her own feckin’ closet, to leave my things alone. But I figure it’ll take another few days to get us past this setback. “I’ll make us breakfast.”

I’m almost out the door before she says anything, and when she speaks, it’s nearly too soft for me to hear. “Don’t go.”

I freeze, my hands braced on the doorjamb. When I catch my breath, I can smell her on my fingers.

“Please,” she says. “Can we try again?”

I turn slowly.

She’s sitting on the edge of the bed, one knee up so she can face me. Her hair is still damp, standing out like she’s rubbed it against a balloon. My shorts were already too big on her, and now they’re twisted, the fly stretching open to show her hip. Her tits are bare.

“Is that really what you want?” I force myself to ask.

She nods. “Yes, please.” And she cements it: “Daddy.”

She stands as I cross back to the bed. This time, when she goes for the button on my jeans, I let her. Her fingers shake, just a little, but she gets the zipper down without much fuss.

Holding my gaze like we’re having a silent conversation, she reaches inside my fly. I expect her fingers to be cool when she closes them around my cock, but I’m wrong. Her hand is hot. Ready. She finds the slick of precum left over from before, and she works it around my head with her thumb.

I groan as a shudder rises from my bollocks to the base of my skull. She smiles at that, the corners of her mouth turning up in a wicked little grin. “Does that feel good, Daddy?”

“It feels amazing, little girl.”

I let her pull my jeans over my hips, along with my boxer briefs. Her eyes flash wide as she remembers the size of me.

“You’re wearing too many clothes, little girl,” I say. She stands in front of me obediently, letting me slip my hands beneath the elastic around her waist. She shivers as I palm her arse.

I kneel as I slide the boxer briefs down her legs. With my shoulders, I force her back to sitting on the edge of the bed. I slip one hand under her leg, easing her knees apart. She shivers and her hands curl into fists by her sides.

I know this is hard for her. I know she’s embarrassed, that she somehow thinks the gorgeous flower of her pussy is permanently stained. I can’t think of any way to prove how wrong she is, other than drinking as deep as I can.

“Patrick!” she gasps as I bury my face. I pause then, because my body has already memorized our code. My name isn’t the same as a safeword. It’s not an absolute command.

But it’s notDaddy, either. I need to give her time to remember I’m not like the others. I’m the one man in the world she never needs to fear. When she’s with me, she can be the woman’s she’s always meant to be.

After forever, she moves. She flexes her knees. She tilts her hips so her cunt opens beneath my lips.

“Good girl,” I whisper, just before I fuck her with my tongue.

She comes on my mouth, chanting to God and finally calling me Daddy again. She’s still pulsing when I slip my thumb into her. I pump my fist against her slowly, steadily, all the while telling her she’s beautiful, she’s precious, she’s mine.

She whines as she breaks the second time, and her hands scramble to find my hair. She tugs, just a little, whimpering, “Please, Daddy.” And when I don’t rise from my knees: “Haven’t I been a good girl?”

I can’t resist her. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to resist her again. I pull her with me as I climb onto the bed. I want this first time, bare flesh to bare flesh, to last for hours. As I rest the tip of my naked cock against her soaked, trembling folds, I set my thumb against her mouth.

She hesitates. She still doesn’t believe me. She can’t accept she’s clean.

“Go on, little girl,” I urge her. “Have a taste.”

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