Page 89 of Don't You Pucking Dare

His eyes lock onto mine, dead serious. "Yes, officially. Be my fucking girlfriend. If you say no—"

The words hit me like a bow striking perfect pitch. This man who used and tortured me, who fucks me awake, who showed me that he’ll walk through my darkness—he's become everything. He matches my violence with tenderness, my fury with understanding. Every time I've pushed him away, he's come back stronger. Where others saw broken pieces, he sawpossibility. He doesn't try to fix me. He hands me the matches and watches me burn.

"Of course, I'll be your girlfriend, Brody."

His mouth crashes into mine, hungry and possessive. This kiss is different—no more games, no more pretending. His hands tangle in my hair as I arch into him, claiming what's been mine all along.

He rips off my pants, hungry to get back to my lips. He aims his dick and slides right in, keeping eye contact with me. I moan, giving him space between my legs. He dives really deep, watching me squirm from the fullness.

"This pussy is mine and only mine," he groans, working his dick harder into me. He presses his fingers against my clit. "Mine to fuck whenever I please. Eat whenever I please. Do whatever the fuck I want with it."

I nod as he starts building my orgasm. "Now that I’m your girlfriend," I squeak. "This pussy is only yours."

"That’s fucking right," he says, pounding into me. His fingers start moving faster. He grips my neck. "I’ll fucking kill you if you––"

I grin, loving what he’s saying. I grind him. I’m only his now. He grunts in pleasure, not needing to finish his sentence.

I sit up, asking him to release my neck by grabbing his wrist. I curl my finger at him, asking him to come closer.

He slides in and out slowly as he leans down. I smell the mint on his breath as I whisper, "I’ll fucking kill you if you play me, Brody."

He pulls out, turns me around so fast that I get dizzy and smacks my ass. "Only I make the threats."

I smile, lifting my ass in the air for him. I want him to fuck me from the back. His dick slides into my wet throbbing pussy, and this angle feels so much better. I can squeeze his cock by clenching.

"Fuck, Duchess," he says. "I fucking love when you do that."

I clench his dick, and then he smacks my ass again, ramming into me harder. He grips my ass, using the leverage to slide me up and down his dick.

"That’s it, baby. Fuck, that pussy feels so fucking good."

He pounds into me and fills me with come.

For the first time since I met him, it feels like this could be a normal relationship.

Chapter 37

Brody wakes me up in the best way possible, his weight pressing me into the mattress before my eyes even open. His dick sliding in and out of me, causing me to arch my back. The sun's barely crawling through the window. My body responds before my brain catches up.

"Good morning, baby. I have to leave for practice soon." His voice is rough against my neck.

He keeps his rhythm steady, deliberate, like he's got all the time in the world even though we both know he doesn't. When he finishes, he presses a kiss to my inner thigh. "See you later today."

Before he leaves he grabs my cheeks. "No more fucking games, Duchess."

I smile, nodding. I grab his cock. "No more games."

He kisses my lips and then puts his clothes on.

The door clicks shut behind him.

Kiah rolls over in her bed, eyes still closed but grinning. "That was really hot, girl." She burrows deeper into her blankets, probably back in whatever dream she was having. I laugh, too awake now to even try sleeping.

I drag myself out of bed, muscles pleasantly sore, and dig through my closet for something that screams 'responsible adult who deserves three million dollars.' I settle on a black pencil skirt and blazer I bought for orchestra performances. My reflection looks like someone playing dress-up.

The bank meeting looms over me. What happens if I don't sign? Does the money just sit there? Knowing my mom, she'd find some way to get her hands on it. That's probably why she's suddenly decided I exist again.

The Uber drops me off in front of the bank fifteen minutes early. October wind whips down the street as I stand there like an idiot, staring at the brass handles of the locked doors. My shoes pinch—I bought them used from a consignment shop. Ten minutes until they open.

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