Page 90 of Brutal Game

Yours,his agreed.

Little fury,he’d called me.

And I liked it.

When he pushed my thighs apart, I let him.

When he put his mouth on me, I stroked his hair, encouraging him.

And when he rose up over me, and slid inside me, I welcomed him, my gaze never leaving his as he moved inside me and I moved with him, my arms clutching his back. And when he came, so did I, locked together in something more than the devil’s bargain we’d made.

It wouldn’t last.

But for now, for this perfect moment in time, I wanted it, I wanted him, I wanted to be his, I wanted him to be mine.

If only it could stay that way.

28

Jack

Little fury.

Mylittle fury.

I clutched Aviva in my arms, my nose in her hair, taking her in.

She’d hated being called princess. She’d never told me why. Anger—at her parents’ murderers, atmyself—filled me, but I kept my touch gentle. She didn’t deserve to be gripped too hard, like she hadn’t deserved the ways I’d tortured her over the past weeks. I’d taken out my rage and my fears on her, my frustration at my lack of control when it came to her.

I had no more control than I’d had before. In fact, I felt the threads tying myself to my self control snapping. There was a crazed animal inside of me, scratching at its cage, howling to be let out. To hurt every single fucking person who’d ever hurt her.

Including me.

I didn’t deserve her, but it didn’t fucking matter. I was still keeping her.

I should’ve known what she meant to me. I’d had so much sex in my life, I couldn’t even keep track. When I’d escaped the restrictive confines of my childhood home, I’d fucked everyone and anyone who would have me, men and women, young and old. I hadn’t cared, beyond the release it gave me.

Aviva had been different from the beginning. The first time I’d kissed her, I’d lost. But if this was what losing felt like, I never wanted to win again.

She’d called me a liar. And she was right. I’d been lying to myself this entire time.

Light began to stream through the curtains. We’d fucked and fucked, for hours—sometimes slow and sweet, sometimes sharp and vicious. Every single goddamned second felt better than anything else ever had in my life…except, maybe, getting to hold her like this.

She yawned, soft and satisfied. “You said you’d tell me about—” she hesitated.

I swallowed. “What brokeme.”

She hummed in agreement.

Sighing, I tried not to fall into the past. “My parents are…religious. Devout as hell. My father practically lives at his synagogue—or did. I don’t know anymore, I haven’t spoken to him in years. He never even worked, depending on my mom’s small income to float all eight of us. Community members tossed us enough money that we managed to keep our home, and food on the table, but that was it.”

“Eight?”

“I have five siblings. Well, six, if you include Marcus.”

She digested this, so I continued, playing with a lock of her hair.

“My dad was abusive. Physically, verbally. Rarely to my mother—or at least if he was, he did it behind closed doors.” The room was cold. How similar to him had I become?

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