Page 7 of Vicious Little Games

That’s when shit gets crazy.

The demented redhead spins around with a wild, manic look in her pale green eyes, making me think she’s about to claw my eyeballs out of my skull.

Before I can blink or retreat, her fingernails dig into my scalp. I immediately return the favor, jerking on the remains of her bun. Our faces are less than an inch apart, both of us gasping for air, trying to rip each other’s hair out when I ask her, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

A second later, our heads collide again.

This time it’s not a headbutt that stuns me. It’s our lips crashing together, and we’re...kissing? Biting? It’s hard to tell what’s happening at first until Cass shoves her tongue into my mouth like she’s trying to choke me with it.

I give as good as I get, wanting to shove my tongue even deeper into her mouth. The clash of our tongues sliding over each other feels so damn good. Cass must think the same thing. With a low moan, her legs stop trying to kick me and wrap around my waist. Her fists tighten in my hair, but she’s no longer trying to drown me.

My hands immediately stop trying to rip out her hair and lower to grab her perfect, bare, round ass cheeks, squeezing them, pressing her lower body closer to mine while still treading water. Cass doesn’t need any further encouragement from me to grind against the hard bulge in the front of my soggy jeans. She nearly drowns me again during her enthusiastic pursuit of impaling herself on my dick. Her bikini bottoms are thin enough that I swear the fly of my jeans is penetrating her far enough to pop her cherry if she still had one.

It's fucking amazing.

My cock enjoys the warmth and friction from her pussy for all of about sixty seconds before I remember the warning Dante gave me less than five minutes ago. Even if I would heal from whatever damage he caused me, I’m not angry enough at my mother to ruin her marriage when he retaliates against me for screwing his daughter.

Not to mention the fact that Cass is most likely fucking one of the guards. Possibly more than one, as if she doesn’t care about the fate that awaits them when Dante catches them. And he will catch on, eventually.

Ripping my mouth away from hers, I say between gasps of breath, “You'll just jump on any dick, won’t you, cocktease?” She blinks as if waking up from a dream. Or nightmare. “How often do you think about my cock? Every time you fuck a guard with a tiny pencil dick?”

Cass’s hands and legs instantly peel away from mine, putting five feet between us before I get a face full of water.

“You fucking wish,” she says as she swims back to the ladder and climbs out, swaying her spectacular ass that’s in a thong, a fucking thong, as if it’s just another ordinary day in her spoiled rich girl life. Like we didn’t just try to kill each other and then make out in broad daylight. Hell, if I’d had on boardshorts, they would’ve been shoved off the first second and I would have been inside her pussy the next. Foreplay and protection didn’t even occur to me until, well, now.

What the hell was I thinking messing with that crazy bitch?

What the fuck was Cass thinking? She was definitely into it, humping me like a dog in heat.

Whatever it was, both of us are obviously over it now.

It’s impossible to forget about the man hanging in the basement, and all he did was steal from Dante. No pussy is worth the trouble just to be one of her many fuck boys. Cass is obviously not picky about who she humps if she's screwing some guards. Is it some sort of game for her to see how many men she’ll lure to their deaths like some psycho siren?

I’m not sure if I pity the men or envy them. Maybe a little of both.

I decide to make it my life’s mission to not only find out how many guards Cass is screwing, but who they are. I want to know their names and to see their faces.

I don't even know why I care. I won’t go to Dante and have their blood on my hands. I just...I don't like the thought of Cass with any of those assholes who are also paid killers.

2

Cass

Ihaven’t seen Cole in months, nearly a year. He’s been absent almost as long as my sister Madison, who ran away last summer before shit hit the fan with the Russians. I had forgotten how much I hate my stepbrother’s cocky smirk, his infuriating taunts, and his big, stupid dick.

Yes, I truly hate his dick more than the rest of the annoying bastard. I hate that his monster cock was the first one I ever saw in real life, and that he’s right, it’s the one I’ll always compare to others. I hate that Cole’s dick is twice the size of most men and is only on par with the bats guys swing around in baseball fields or pornos.

Mostly, I hate how good it felt writhing on his long, hard length in the pool. I nearly got off humping him through our wet clothes.

One second, I was so pissed at him for figuring out my dirty little secret that I wanted to literally kill him to shut him up, and the next, our tongues were colliding, and I nearly drowned him in an attempt to not murder him, but to get him inside of me.

I feel like a complete idiot.

As if it wasn’t bad enough to get caught watching him screwing some random girl on the island, now there’s this disaster to deal with. Cole will never stop tormenting me about the ferocity with which I kissed him or how hard I grinded on him.

The only saving grace is that he was obviously just as eager to fuck me. I knew he was thinking about it from the second he waltzed over to the side of the pool and stared down at me like a starving man eyeing an all-you-can-eat buffet.

I’m used to men constantly looking at me that way. At least behind my father’s back. I wasn’t prepared for Cole to actually put his hands on me. He didn’t just touch me. No, he attacked me. The asshole shoved me under the water, pinned me to the pool wall, and even pulled my damn hair.

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