Róisín turns on me instantly, fire already lit. “You might want to get your house under control,” she snaps. “Your men are starting to think this is a show.”
I crowd her back a step without touching her. “Watch your mouth,” I say quietly.
Her laugh is sharp. Dangerous. “You’ve always been very interested in my mouth, Finn.”
That does it. I grab her wrist and haul her into me, slamming her back against the nearest wall. Not gentle. Not careful. My forearm cages her in, heat and fury crashing together in the narrow space between us.
“You don’t get to speak like that in my house,” I growl.
She tilts her chin up, eyes blazing. “Or what?”
God help me. My hand slides up—fingers closing around her throat. Not squeezing. Never squeezing. Just there. Just enough to remind her how easily I could. Her breath stutters. Not fear. Defiance.
“I hate you,” she says, voice low and vicious.
“Say it again,” I snap.
She bares her teeth. “I hate you.”
Something inside me breaks clean in half. I kiss her. Hard. Mean. All teeth and fury, mouths colliding like we’re trying to punish each other into submission. She gasps into it, nailsdigging into my hair, yanking me closer like she’s decided drowning is preferable to breathing.
I lift her without thinking. She wraps her legs around my waist on instinct, silk hitching, bodies locked together like this is muscle memory instead of madness. The wall bites into her back. My grip tightens reflexively, holding her there like she belongs exactly where she is.
Her mouth breaks from mine just long enough to spit, “You’re a bastard.”
“Aye,” I murmur against her jaw. “And you’re shaking.”
She is. With rage. With heat. With something neither of us has any business touching again. I press my forehead to hers, breathing hard, the room spinning just enough to be dangerous.
"I fucking despise this," I say against her lips, but I'm already yanking her silk dress up around her waist, my hands rough on her thighs. "I despise what you do to me."
She bites my lower lip hard enough to draw blood. "Then stop."
I answer by shoving her panties aside, testing her with my fingers. She's soaked. Ready. The knowledge sends a primal surge through me.
"You don't want me to stop," I growl, working her with my thumb as she writhes against the wall. "You never have."
Her head falls back, exposing the column of her throat. I attack it with my teeth, marking her where everyone will see. Mine. The thought is savage, possessive in a way I have no right to be anymore.
"Hurry up," she demands, hands fumbling at my belt, yanking it open with practiced ease.
I grab both her wrists in one hand, pinning them above her head against the wall. "You don't give orders here."
Her eyes narrow to furious slits, but I can feel her pulse racing beneath my grip. I take my time, letting her feel exactly how much control I have. I unzip my trousers, freeing myself, rock-hard and ready. When I press against her entrance, she gasps, a sound caught between anticipation and fury.
"You were always meant to be mine," I say, voice rough with want. "Your Da knew it when he signed you over. Peace treaty wrapped in white lace."
"Shut up," she hisses, struggling against my grip. "Don't you dare talk about that now."
I thrust into her in one brutal stroke, swallowing her cry with my mouth. The sensation is blinding, perfect—her body gripping mine like a vise. I give her no time to adjust, setting a punishing pace that has her clawing at my back, my shoulders, anywhere she can reach.
"This is what you came for," I rasp against her ear, each word punctuated by the sound of skin against skin. "To remind yourself what it feels like to be owned."
Her eyes flash dangerously. "I belong to no one."
I laugh, dark and low. "Tell that to your cunt, love. It remembers who it answers to."
She slaps me hard across the face.The slap stings, but I feel my mouth curl into a savage smile. Blood rushes in my ears as I capture her hand and slam it back against the wall.
