Page 19 of Claimed By Rage

I might start asking for the brothers’ dicks if it feels likethis.

Hot. Achy. Needy.So fucking good.

Shame flares inside my heart, but not at what Rage is doing to me. Not at the crowd for watching, or at Ruin for holding me down, or at Rebel for thinking he’s doing me a favor by talking me through it.

The shame comes from how much Ilikethis.

Rebel mouths the hickey on my neck as he slips his hand inside my dress and pinches my nipple between his knuckles. White hot desire pulses through my body. I’ve never experienced anything like this before. The rush of power from having a man so strung out that hehasto have me and the distinct lack of power to stop it coalesce in a bittersweet paradox.

It’s heavy, hot, painful… but exhilarating. I’ve never seen so much red before, and as another drop of saliva slides down my chin and drops onto my chest, I imagine that it’s red, too. As dark as my nail polish, or as bright as the buckles on my new heels.

Maybe all Rage knowsisred, so he paints the world in shades of crimson, claiming it one tainted piece at a time.

If there’s one piece of me he can have, it’s that piece—the anger, overflowing with so much red that ithurts.

I hate the way he makes me feel soraw.

From the way his eyes burn into mine, I know that he feels it, too.The hate.Neither of us can control how we react to each other.

In this moment, he’s a man possessed by a hunger he can’t satisfy on his own.

It’s just as Rebel said—Rageneedsme.

His thrusts are animalistic, the sounds he makes matching the furious way he claims my mouth. I’m forced to breathe through my nose—a new skill I haven’t mastered—and pray that it ends soon.

Because as much as I hate him for doing this to me, I might hate myself for enjoying it, too.

My ex-husband was never like this. Passion was a word that neither of us knew inside our bedroom walls. We’d try—to spice things up, to have a baby, to make things click between us—but the sex was either too slow, or too dry, or too mechanical to get things moving in the right direction.

Nothing about Rage, Rebel, or Ruin isdryormechanical.It’s instinctive, flowing through their veins as a part of who they are.

Animals. Fiends. Monsters.

They’re the opposite of what I’ve been told to look for in a husband. Of the kind of men who protect and serve and secure. Good men of faith and family. The kind you can take home to your mother on the first date.

Then again, maybe I’m not the kind of woman you should take home to meet the family. Not anymore. These men aren’t dating me—they’re devouring me.

There must be a reason for that.

Rage’s eyes spark like embers trying to ignite, and I can taste it. The fire. His cock swells against my tongue, the salt of precum making me tremble. He makes this sound in the back of his throat, a soft moan that no man his size should be capable of, and satisfaction thrums through me like the first hit of a heady drug claiming its next addict.

I did that.

My body satisfies him in a way that others can’t. He chosemefor this, not any of the countless other women in the club eager to sit on his lap and ride him until dawn.

A switch flips inside of me, and I wrap my palms around his muscled thighs and drag him deeper, hollowing out my cheeks andsucking.

My ex would have shut his eyes by now, but Rage’s jaw unhinges as he stares at his Beauty. He buries his fingers in my hair but doesn’t force himself deeper this time, allowing me to work his length my own way. I suck on the tip, flicking my tongue beneath the head. Then I bury him in the pocket of my cheek, testing his size before wrapping my palm around his spit-slicked shaft and stroking.

When he moans, I do the same, pulling him deep again.

Broken Russian phrases fly past his lips and with three short thrusts, he swells to bursting, shooting jets of cum against the roof of my mouth, covering my tongue, filling me so full that I can’t hold it. I pull back, and the floodgates open. Cum coats his cock and slips past my lips, sliding down my chin. I can’t swallow—never have—and my failure stains my skin with his seed.

“Oh, no,” Rage rumbles, catching my chin in his iron grip. “You will swallow, or I will push every last drop inside your pussy.” His cock twitches with anticipation, another bead of cum leaking from the tip.

Ice cold dread pools in my gut, making me shiver. He came inside me last time. It was a huge mistake—one I had to rectify with a trip to the pharmacist the next day.

Having Rage’s cum—or his brothers’—anywhereotherthan my mouth will be a big problem.

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