Page 26 of Wicked Fury

“Good, baby, cum for me. Cum on my cock.” Her body clenches around me like she’s trying to strangle me, and she comes undone. Causing this fierce clenching that draws an involuntary groan from my lips.

“Goddamn,” I grunt, the strength of her orgasm doubling my own pleasure. Her defiance, her strength. It’s all here unraveling in my arms as I come deep inside her, filling her until I’m fighting my own release for space inside her tight cunt.

A shudder rips through me as I lock eyes with her in the dim aftermath. Her green eyes blaze with a mix of emotions I can’t quite decipher, but there’s no mistaking the raw intensity between us. “You see,” I growl, my voice thick with possession as I continue to move within her, filling her completely and forcing myself further into every part of her, “you’re mine now. There’s no going back.”

She tries to look away, but I cup her chin, forcing her to look at me. “Accept it, angel. You belong to me—in every way.” My words are a promise between her flesh and mine.

“Fuck you, Lincoln,” she hisses, but even her defiance is laced with something else—something akin to surrender.

“Already doing that, angel,” I say, smirking down at her. “And believe me, we’re just getting started.”

I pull back from Iris, my chest heaving and watch with a sense of primal satisfaction as the evidence of our orgasms, sticky white and illicit, slowly escapes her. Her chest rises and falls erratically, those piercing green eyes wide with a tumult of emotions I can’t quite decipher.

“Look at you,” I sneer, voice laced with triumph. My fingers dip into the warmth between her thighs, collecting the liquid proof of my dominance. She flinches, but I’m relentless. Bringing my glistening fingers to her lips, I smirk. “Taste what you do to me.”

She turns her head away, but I’m faster, prying apart her lips. “Lick it up, angel,” I say. There’s a flash of loathing in her eyes, but it’s quickly masked by the rebellion I’ve come to crave.

“Go to hell, Lincoln,” she spits, but it’s too late—I’ve already pushed past her defenses, forcing her to acknowledge the raw, undeniable truth of our connection as I spread my fingers inside her, coating every inch of her sharp, venomous tongue with our cum.

“Already there,” I retort, my voice low and husky. “But you’re coming with me, aren’t you? Every goddamned time.”

I rise above her, every muscle in my body taut with exertion and power. I’m not just a man; I’m a force that she’s reckoned with—and lost. “Sleep now,” I bark, the command rolling easily off my tongue. “I have a game tomorrow, and I won’t have your bullshit wrecking my focus.”

“Fuck your game,” she hisses, but there’s a tremble in her voice, a crack in her armor that tells me she’s near her breaking point.

“Watch your mouth, or I’ll fuck something else,” I threaten, leaning down so close our noses nearly touch. “Remember, angel, with one call, one text, I can tear down the pretty little world you’ve built. All your secrets laid bare.”

Her breathing hitches, and I know I’ve struck a nerve. “You wouldn’t dare. I’ll do the same to you,” she challenges, but it’s a false bravado.

“Try me,” I challenge back, my tone cold and merciless. I’m playing a dangerous game, one where the stakes are high and the rewards…well, they’re addictive.

“Lincoln…” Her voice cracks, and I savor the sound of her unraveling.

“Sleep,” I repeat, my voice softer now, but no less commanding. “We’re far from done here, angel, but even devils need their rest.”

I stand, undoing her from the leather that’s held her in place. I’m not worried about her going anywhere. As much as she fights me with her words, inside I can feel her being corrupted by me just as much as she infects me. I flick off the bedside lamp.

“Goodnight, little sis,” I whisper to the night. “Dream of me.”

She’s mine—body, mind, and all the dark corners of her soul. And I intend to explore every last inch.

Chapter 10

Iris

The roar of the crowd feels almost dull in my ears as I watch my stepbrother moving across the field like he owns it. He probably thinks he does. The stadium lights glint off his emerald and gold helmet, casting shadows that seem almost as dark as the ones lurking within him. I draw a shaky breath, letting it out slowly, trying to still the unease churning in my gut from last night’s revelations. I both hate him and want him all at the same time, and no amount of analytical introspection will help me come to terms with that fact.

I can’t shake the feeling of being trapped. If Lincoln decides to spill my secrets, my meticulously crafted image would shatter like glass on pavement.

“Come on, Blackwood!” someone yells from behind me, but I barely register the words. My mind is occupied with Lincoln’s smirking face, and it’s as if he’s saying without words, “I have you, angel. You’re mine.”

He is power incarnate on the field, every muscle flexing under his fitted jersey as he dodges another tackle. The crowd erupts as he makes a break for it, but all I feel is the weight of his piercing gaze whenever he looks my way, a silent reminder of our twisted game. I don’t do submission. Not even to the likes of Lincoln Blackwood.

Possession of the ball is turned over to the other team, whatever that means. I’m just eavesdropping on the people around me, but it has Lincoln sitting on the benches.

As the St. James quarterback launches the football through the air, time slows down. I see my window to escape, the moment when Lincoln is too preoccupied with the game to notice my absence.

Without a second glance, I rise from my seat, feigning a calmness I’m far from feeling. My heart hammers against my ribcage, as if begging to break free. I keep my head high, my steps measured. A casual observer would think I’m just another co-ed heading for a concession stand break.

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