Page 94 of Kingmakers, Year Four

The air smells faintly of sweat, rubber, and metal chains.

My heels sink into the mats. I kick them off.

Ares seizes me by the throat, turning my chin up to look at him. He’s still burning with this wild energy he can’t seem to release.

“You know I don’t give a fuck who your father is,” he says, his eyes staring into mine. “You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes . . .” I say hesitantly.

“Do you feel the same about me?” Ares demands. “You don’t care about my parents, where I came from, what I have waiting for me when I leave this place . . . that doesn’t matter to you?”

I’ve known all along that Ares’ family is poor and he has no ready-made empire to inherit.

I really don’t care. And if my dad cares, if he tried to tell me Ares wasn’t good enough for me, I’d tell him to fuck off. Ares is my equal in every way that matters: intelligence, determination, and strength. That’s what I care about.

“I’ve never met anyone as impressive as you,” I tell Ares, looking in his eyes. “I want you—not your money or your name.”

His eyes blaze and his lips crash down on mine. He kisses me ravenously, crushing me in his arms.

His hands roam over my breasts, pinching my nipples hard. Strong as Ilsa Markov might be, her hands are nowhere near as powerful as Ares’. I flush, remembering how she touched me while Ares watched.

“Did you like watching me with those girls?” I murmur. “That didn’t make you jealous?”

“No,” he growls, his teeth rasping against the side of my neck. “I fucking loved it. I don’t want you restrained, Nix—I want you wild and free and untamed. I want you to have everything you ever desired, and I want to watch you enjoy it . . .”

Heat flares in my belly. My thighs press together under my dress.

I grab Ares’ face in my hands and kiss him wildly, pushing my tongue into his mouth. He seizes the shoulder straps of my dress and yanks them down, baring my breasts. He drops his head to my left breast, sucking the nipple hard while he rubs the other between his thumb and forefinger.

I grab the gymnastics rings hanging over my head and I pull myself up a few inches so Ares can take the dress all the way off my body.

He slides it down my legs, and strips off my underwear too, admiring my naked body as I hang from the rings. I’m showing off for him, and I know he fucking loves it. He runs his hands over my breasts, down the curve of my waist, then cups his palms under my ass.

“I love how strong you are,” he says. “I fucking love watching you in here. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve watched you stretching or running or hitting the heavy bag with my cock fucking throbbing in my shorts.”

He unzips his pants, letting his cock free now. It juts up from his body with just the right amount of curve.

Slowly, I lower down on it, still gripping the rings overhead, my legs wrapping around his waist.

His cock slides into me, thick and pulsing hot.

I let out a long, deep moan.

I’ve pictured this a thousand times. No imagination compares to the intense heat and pressure of that thick, warm cock filling me up. Wet as I am, and with all my body weight bearing down, it still slides in slow, stretching me with every inch.

Ares groans, cords standing out on the side of his neck.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he moans.

He supports me with his hands under my ass. Slowly, he swings me back and forth, his cock pumping in and out, my hands gripping the rings.

Each thrust seems to take forever. Each pounding impact of that battering ram-head against my interior walls rides the edge of pleasure and pain. It’s intensely satisfying, but almost too much.

Pulling myself up with the rings, I slide up and down on his cock, grinding my clit against his flat, hard belly. My thighs squeeze his waist, my heels hooked around the back of his legs. I’m squeezing and clenching, my pussy clamped around every inch of his cock.

“What the fuuuuuck,” Ares groans. “Even your pussy is strong . . .”

I laugh.

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