Page 141 of Brutal Game

“Loveyousofuckingmuch,” he growled, the words coming together as he bottomed out inside of me, filling me up with his come like he’d promised.

Finally, he relaxed, pulling out of me and lowering me to the floor. He stared as his come spilled out of my pussy, down my legs, onto the floor.

“Fuck, that’s always so hot,” he groaned, scooping up some come off my leg and feeding it to me.

“You’re so hot,” I teased breathlessly.

“Am I?” his eyes were lazy. “Get on your knees and use your mouth to clean me off, princess. Show me how hot you think I am, so I can fuck you all over again.”

And so I got on my knees, taking him in my mouth, licking off the taste of both of us. He grew hard, filling my mouth, filling me, and I reveled in it, in the submission and the lack of control, letting it consume me as he pulled me off his cock and put me on my hands and knees before shoving back inside me and showing me how much he loved me, loved me with his violence and his tenderness, his full, unbreakable focus, and mostly, with his neverending, relentless, undying obsession.

And I showed him.

Right.

Fucking.

Back.

The next morning,I woke up to an empty bed.

Walking out into the kitchen, I saw a shirtless Jack—surrounded by bottles upon bottles of juice. There was orange juice: pulp, pulpless, some pulp, freshly squeezed, even the blood orange kind. And not just orange juice. I walked around, touching each bottle, reading the labels: mango juice and coconut water, guava and cranberry, a million different versions of apple mixed with something else, regular lemonade and pink lemonade. There were kinds that he must have had to special order from other countries. There was even Fanta.

My eyes wide, I walked around the kitchen island, tracing each bottle, taking it all in.

He came up behind me.

“Why did you do this?” I asked. “Why juice?”

Wrapping his arms around my waist, he put his lips to my ear. “Because you never took the time for yourself to learn what kind of juiceyoulike, and I want that for you. I promised you we’d figure out your favorite, and that’s what I’m doing.”

I turned my head to look at him.

“Are you going to fulfill all your promises to me? Because this is a little extra, even for you.”

“Every single promise that keeps you safe, happy, and mine,” he said, and that was a promise, too.

I forgot about the juice, turning to kiss him, because hismouth was my favorite taste of all. And I made sure he forgot about the juice, too.

Turned out,freshly squeezed orange juice was my favorite—and Jack made sure I had it every morning, for the rest of our lives.

Just like he’d promised.

EPILOGUE (ONE)

Aviva

The arena was packed.

Fans—students, professors, and random townies—sat closely together, cheering for the Kings as they skated across the ice and took on their opponents. They were tied two to two, it was the final period, and as I sat between Tovah and Asher, my eyes were locked on Jack. I wanted this win for him. I wanted it so badly, I’d steal the title for him if it made him happy.

As if Asher heard my thoughts, he snorted. “He’s not going to play better because you’re beaming love rays at him.”

It had taken a lot to get my brother to come to the Frozen Four championship game. Even when I’d told him the truth—or some version of it, he was still hesitant. Coach Jensen’s death—and the truth about what he did coming to light—had helped Asher a bit, but it was his new, better therapist that had pushed him to come to the game.

He was finally getting back on the ice again, thank god. Not yet, not with the Kings. But Jack had convinced him

I looked at my brother: his dark eyes, his big frame, the way his hands clenched as he watched his former teammates move across the ice. There was longing and pain on his face.

---