Page 71 of Brutal Game

A mark.

A brand.

A claim.

Jesus fucking Christ, what was wrong with me?I wanted to own her pussy, I didn’t want to marry her. Coach was right; she’d dug her way into my head. I needed my equilibrium back. Mypowerback. Control back.

But I forgot all about power and control when Aviva turned toward me, fire making her brown eyes turn gold. I expected a deer in headlights look; instead, she raised an eyebrow, daring me.

But of course she wouldn’t look like a deer in headlights.Aviva’s strength, her ability to hold her own in front of me, no matter what I did to her, was one of the things I lo?—

What the fuck?

I stuttered over the word that had appeared in my brain. I loved nothing about her. I wanted her submission and my power back, and I was going to get both.

“Aviva,” I growled.

Aviva raised her chin.

Walking forward, I grabbed her around the wrist.

“Leslie, Lucy, Tovah. Mason. If you’ll excuse us.” To Aviva I said, “We’re leaving.”

“Uh, no you’re not,” Tovah argued. “She’s not going anywhere with you Jack Feldman, I swear to god?—”

“It’s fine, Tovah,” Aviva interrupted, not taking her eyes off me. “I’m fine. I promise.”

“You better be,” Tovah muttered.

I ignored their conversation, grabbing Aviva’s elbow, then dragging her down the tunnel, back to the rink.

“Jack!” she protested.

I drew up short. The fucker had squeezed her elbow; I could still see it. “Did he hurt you?”

Her eyes widened. “Who?”

“Dylan Johnathan.”

“Oh.” She exhaled. “No. He—no. Is that all?”

I thought it would relax me, hearing that she was okay.

It didn’t.

“Come on.” I started dragging her again, this time by her hand.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Teaching you a lesson you won’t forget.”

The ice was dark and empty, like I’d asked. Even without my skates, I moved easily. Aviva didn’t. Although I had my hand on her wrist, she slipped and stumbled, until I had nochoice to scoop her up and carry her across the rink to the single goalie net left. Beside it was my stick. I’d used this stick for a number of checks, assists, wins—even in fights. But I’d never used it the way I planned to tonight.

Depositing her on the ice, I turned her so she was facing the net, ripping the netting and wrapping it around her wrists until she was trapped, a fly in my web. They’d have to replace the net, but I didn’t care.

I unbuttoned her jeans, lowering them and her black panties to her ankles, trapping her even further. Seeing her, bare, helpless to do anything but take what I gave her made my cock go stiff and hard, so quickly it almost hurt.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking,” she started.

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