Page 48 of Brutal Game

I luxuriated in it, in him. His big body behind mine as he leaned over my back and thrust his fingers in and out of me, rubbing exactly where I needed it. I came, for the first time that night, and even though it was a momentary relief from the endless need, it barely sated me. Instead it stoked the fire.

More.

“More?” Jack asked.

I must have said it out loud. But I nodded.

“Uh huh.”

“Alright. More it is.”

And then his fingers and body disappeared, and there was a wet mouth on me, licking, sucking. I came again, and this time it was both better and worse. Better, because the orgasm was bigger; worse, because when it ended, I needed the next onemore.

More.

More.

More.

I must have said that word so many times. Screamed it, begged it. The mouth wasn’t done. It hummed against me, sucking my clit between its lips and worrying it with its teeth.It, because at the moment, it was just a mouth. I didn’t know if it was Jack’s or not, it could’ve belonged to anyone, and even though part of me hated that, the not knowing, the other part of me reveled in it. Reveled in my orgasms, the freedom in my loss of control, the way the table grew slippery with sweat and my desire, the way my mind receded and my body took over.

More. More. More.

You sure? You sure you want more, princess?

Yes. Please, please. Yes.

Alright, but then you’re going to give me what I want.

And then that mouth was back on me, and someone was lifting my arms, and my top with its high neck was being lifted off of me, too. And I knew, on some level, that was wrong. They couldn’t see, no one could see…

No,I begged.

The mouth broke away.Yes,it growled.

And then the mouth was gone, and there was movement behind me as someone who smelled like ice, spice, and whiskey climbed up on the table behind me, and there was a cock, thick and curved and familiar, pushing inside of me.Something was missing and I wasn’t sure what it was, because it wasn’t only my shirt.

Damn, that’s hot,someone said, and then there were hands on my breasts, pulling and tweaking. I cried out at the cold-heat, the pleasure-pain, the fear-freedom of it all.

Don’t touch her, someone barked.

But you said…

I don’tgive a flyingfuckwhat I said. You don’t touch her. None of you touch her, or I’ll fucking kill you.

The voice was growling, but his hips were still moving, pushing inside of me at some perfect rhythm I couldn’t follow but loved just the same.

Yes, yes, yes, more, more, more.

I’ll give you everything you need, little thief.And then his hands were on my breasts, instead, pulling and tweaking and circling. And this was wrong, there was something wrong with this, that he was touching my bare breasts, that they were bare, that he could feel me, that he could feel?—

A thrust so deep I lost my track of thought and screamed, coming again.

Deep male laughter.

But no more words. I expected to hear them still, and was almost disappointed. They were like a quiet Greek chorus, or maybe they were judges scoring me for my performance. I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t care.

Not as the man behind me with the perfect spice, ice, and whiskey smell and the big hands hammered away at my pussy, hitting the right spot every time and making fireworks, big ones now, explode inside me, and behind my eyelids. I shattered again, again, and again, only for him to remake me into someone else, someone new and unrecognizable. And then that version of me was broken, too, by the next orgasm, and the next.

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