Page 56 of Brutal Game

He’d humiliated me, stolen my privacy, was witness to my tears, and then the asshole didn’t even let me leave. And now he was cuddling me in sleep?!

I slapped at his hands. They squeezed my stomach and breast tight, and I gasped despite myself.

“Good morning, princess,” he crooned in a sleepy voice. “Do you like to play rough in the mornings? If so, I’m game.”

He pushed his hips against me, and I could tell he was growing hard, could feel it between my ass cheeks. An unwelcome tingle crept over my skin.

“I also brought you hot chocolate last night. I thought the sugar might…help the crash, but I didn’t want to wake you. I can get you more,” he said, nuzzling me.

It was almost cute that he thought that would win him brownie points.Almost.

“Since when do you make hot cocoa for yourcumdumpster?” I spat. I needed to get the hell out of here. I wasn’t safe here, my sleeping brain had tricked me. This was the quiet before the storm. Jack was either:

Fucking with my head by being sweet so that it would hurt more when he was cruel again later.

Completely unaware or uncaring of my feelings, and liked having a human pillow in his bed with him; an emotional support woman post heartrending fuck.

Or both. Both was accurate.

“You are my cumdumpster. You’re also my princess. My little liar, my little spy, my little thief. You’re all those things. But you know the common thread here?” This time, he pinched my nipple—hard—and didn’t release it. I cried out,surprised by the action, the sharp pain, and the resulting pleasure.

“Mine,” he finished, releasing my nipple. An ache started in the tortured bud, spreading to my whole body. “You’re all those things, but mostly, you’re mine.”

“You keep saying that,” I countered, doing my best to ignore the desire he’d stirred up. “But it doesn’t mean what you think it means,” I quoted.

“The Princess Bride?” he laughed into my ear. “Fitting, I guess.”

“How do you knowThe Princess Bride?” I asked, curious despite myself. It was super old, after all.

His voice sounded…sad. “It was my mom’s favorite movie.”

Oh,shit.“Was?”

He sighed. “Could still be, for all I know. I haven’t spoken to her since I left for college over four years ago.” He changed the topic. “How doyouknow the movie?”

“It was my great-aunt’s favorite.”

“Was?” he mirrored.

“Was. She died my freshman year. Left us the house, at least, but not much else because there wasn’t much else.”

“Poor princess,” he said, sounding genuine, nuzzling me again. His empathy scared me more than his cruelty.

“Alright, story time is over,” I said. “I only belong to myself. And if I everdobelong to someone else, they’ll treat me a hell of a lot better than you do.”

He froze behind me. “I deserve that.”

I froze, too. “Does that mean the bullying and torture will stop?”

“What will you give me, if it does?”

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