Page 88 of Don't You Pucking Dare

I shove Brody onto my unmade bed, unable to decipher if I want to fuck him like I originally thought or if I want to torture him. His body bounces once on the mattress as I straddle him. The lighter from my desk catches on the first try.

"Did you know?" My voice sounds strange in my ears, like someone else is speaking. The flame trembles with my hand, reflecting in his dark eyes. I press the lighter to his neck, but he doesn’t flinch. "Is that why you're keeping me around?"

His hands slide up my thighs, fingers digging into flesh. Even now, with a flame near his face, he's getting hard beneath me. Typical Brody—threat and arousal are the same thing to him.

"Duchess," he growls, low and dangerous. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about—" The certainty in his confusion makes me hesitate. That split second is all he needs. He knocks the lighter from my grip and flips our position, pinning me to the mattress.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," I say, but doubt creeps in.

"I don't." His weight holds me down, those fresh bruises stark on his face. "I did my job, got my stripes, and now I'm sworn in."

"You are?" I ask, now knowing he’s officially a Reaper.

He leans in close, his breath hot against my skin. "What's going on, Duchess?"

I try shoving him off, but it's like pushing against a wall. "I need to sign some paperwork apparently." Let him connect the dots.

"Paperwork for what?" he asks.

"What do you think?" I search his face for any sign of deception.

"Something with Blackridge. Your mom. I don't fucking know."

The rawness in his voice chips away at my suspicion. Maybe... maybe I can trust this. Trust him. The words spill out before I can stop them. "Rick Kemper left me a trust fund."

His eyes widen, genuine surprise darkening them. "Duchess, this is news to me."

"So, no one's after me for that money?" I ask.

He shakes his head, then shrugs. One hand comes up to grip my chin. "Not that I'm aware of, but you're under my protection, Duchess. No one can touch you. They’ll have to get through me first. Do you understand?"

Relief floods through me, making my limbs heavy. "So, you didn't know?"

"Baby," he mutters, fingers trailing up my legs with dangerous intent. "If this was a game, I wouldn't have dropped everything to get over here because you needed me..." His touch leaves fire in its wake. "And I wouldn't keep coming back for more of this."

His fingers press between my legs, making my stomach flutter.

Fuck it.

I bring his mouth to mine, hot and demanding. His tongue slides against mine as I wrap my legs around his waist, rocking against him. Need pulses through me, drowning out everything else.

When I pull his shirt over his head, his sharp intake of breath stops me. Purple and black bruises mottle his ribs, spreading across his abs like spilled ink.

"What did they do to you?" I sit up, stomach twisting. "Brody..." My fingers hover over the worst of the bruising, barely touching. Each mark is a story he won't tell me.

He watches me trace the edges of the bruises, something unreadable in his expression.

I mutter, "I don't like seeing you like this."

"What? I thought you liked it?" His mouth quirks up.

My eyes snap to his. "I don't. I'll kill whoever did this to you." The intensity of my own words brings anger to my chest.

He grabs my chin, his other hand working at his pants. "Be mine, Duchess. Officially."

"Officially?" My heart stutters, watching him pull out his dick. I look back into his eyes. After everything—the torture, the games, the violence—this is what he wants? I’m shocked to say the least.

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