Page 11 of Broken By the Battleship

“They aren’t yours! Don’t send them there.” She lands a surprisingly solid blow to my injured side. I grit my teeth and tighten my hold on her shoulder as I run the soap over her hip. “I need them. Bring them back.” Her tiny fists beat against my chest as her feet slip along the floor. “Let me see them,” she begs.

I drop the soap and cup the tempting triangle between her legs.

She covers her face with her hands and breaks into sobs.

My guts clench and the lust pounding through me fades.

I stare in shock at our reflection in the mirror hanging over the sinks. A massive, red-haired brute with crimson streaking down his side stands with a tiny, curvy female encased in his arms. Nothing but her shapely legs and the top of her head show as he cages her to him. White foam slithers down their bodies as the shower rinses the soap away.

He hugs her to him not to add to her torment, but to take it away. The hand cupping the back of her head and the thumb rubbing the swell of her hip weave within his purr as he seeks to comfort her.

When she pushes against my chest, I snap out of whatever trance she wove around me and snarl as I push her away.

She stumbles and falls onto her ass.

Her grunt of pain shames me, but my head reels from shock at my own actions.

She aims shattered blue orbs up at me.

“I hate you,” she whispers.

Agony akin to the loss of my family spears through me. Her words cut deeper than the blade she sunk into my side. My heart hurts.

I want her.

Chapter 5

Iris

A shiver runs down my spine despite the heat of the water as it pummels me. The coldness in The Battleship’s bright green eyes chills me to the bone.

“You need me, kitten. Any other alpha would have made you watch as they murdered your brothers. You should thank me for letting them live,” he growls.

Not a single ounce of gratitude rises in my chest. I snarl and pull my legs underneath me.

“I’ll never thank you for anything. You’re no better than my father,” I hiss.

He lunges.

I roll.

He snags my ankle and yanks me back underneath him. Terror and heat pulse through my veins as he grinds the gigantic weapon between his legs against my back. He overpowers me with embarrassing ease, but I scratch at the floor and pour every ounce of effort into my escape.

“There’s my little feral kitten. Hissing and scratching, just how I like. Lift your hips and let me take care of you,” he murmurs against the side of my head.

The deep timbre of his voice promises pleasure, but the painful grip of his hands and the crushing weight of his body promises pain.

My hips tilt of their own accord as he rumbles out a purr, but I ball my hands into fists and press my hipbones against the hard floor.

His chuckle arrows straight to my core. My insides clench and slippery wetness coats my folds as the decadent scent of his lust filters in through the soap as it swirls the drain.

Massive digits close over my nape and pin my upper chest to the floor as he parts my knees with his and lifts my hips off the floor with an arm wrapped around my waist.

“Is this how your father took your mother? On all fours and from behind? Is that why you’re comparing me to him?”

His guttural growl distorts his words, but when the meaning sinks in, I realize my mistake.

“You’re not like him. I’m sorry,” I plead.

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