Page 63 of Of Saints & Savagery
When I walk into the room, I stop dead in my tracks.
The lights are on, and I can make out the shape of someone under the blankets. It takes me a few seconds to realize it’s more than one someone. The covers are moving up and down, and there’s a big lumpy shape under them, but my brother is lying on his back with his head on the pillows. His gaze meets mine, cool and icy, and he smiles.
“Saint?” I whisper, my voice coming out choked.
My heart shatters into a million pieces as he stares back at me, making no attempt to hide the fact that he went straight from me to someone else.
“Little sister?” he asks with a smirk, tucking one arm behind his head. The other one moves under the covers, and after a second, he pulls her up. Ronique’s head emerges from under the blankets, and she flops down beside him, resting her head on his shoulder.
“Oh, hey, Mercy,” she says, giving me a smug smile and sweeping a strand of hair off her forehead.
Saint can shatter me into a million pieces with a single look.
Veronique Carter will never break me.
I stride over, lift the blanket, and slide on top of Saint.
“What are you doing?” Ronique shrieks, clutching the covers to her chest.
“Showing you how it’s done,” I say. “Saint doesn’t like to lose control, so don’t feel bad if you can’t make him finish.” I reach between us to grab his erection. It’s stiff and still moist, but I ignore that as I rise up onto my knees and pull my panties aside. I position him at my entrance and bear down, sinking onto his length until he’s buried so deep inside me that I wince with pain.
Saint’s eyes fly wide, and he doesn’t react for a second.
“He doesn’t cum unless he wants to,” I say, rising up and slamming back down on him. “And if he does, it pisses him off.”
“You’re—you freak,” Ronique sputters, trying to roll away but getting caught in the blankets.
“Why did you think he was so obsessed with me?” I ask, a harsh laugh escaping me as I slide him in and out of my wet pussy. “Because I’m sweet and innocent?”
“You’re his sister,” Ronique wails.
“Only since I was three,” I say, riding my brother hard. “Not by birth.”
“Sick,” she howls. “You’re both sick!”
“Don’t worry if you can’t take him all yet,” I say. “It took me a while. I had to work up to it with his best friend. Now I can take every inch of him, and it only hurts a little. Just the right amount. But thanks for getting him started for me with your mouth.”
Finally, Saint responds.
He grabs my hips and flips me over, slamming my hands down on the mattress. “You want to tell me who to fuck?” he growls, drawing back before driving into me, plowing me into the mattress. “When you’re fucking both my friends? Now you know a fraction of how it feels to watch you with them. Not so much fun now, is it?”
He punctuates each sentence with a punishing thrust, each one so hard and deep it drags a whimper from my throat, even when I was trying to be brave and strong this time. But it’s his words that bring tears to my eyes.
Ronique finally frees herself and tumbles to the floor on the far side of the bed. I’m relieved she’s out of sight, so I don’t have to think about her.
“I thought you liked to share,” I say, then bite down on my trembling lip as I stare up at my brother.
“You thought I wanted to share my baby sister’s tight little pussy with all my friends?” he asks. “You really are dumb. Look at that, my crybaby little sister is crying again. I’m surprised you have any tears left, with all the blubbering you do. If you want to get fucked like a slut, then act like one. Spread your legs and arch your back and moan and beg for it like you do for Heath. I’ve heard you do it, little sister. Beg for your brother’s cock, stupid girl.”
“Please,” I whisper, the tears spilling down my cheeks as he continues to degrade me as he rams into me with powerful, painful strokes, each one meant for his pleasure alone.
“You want me to stop?” he taunts. “Then make me. I know you can. I’ve seen you fight. So fight me, Mercy. Make me stop.”
I shake my head, silent tears dripping down my cheeks. I don’t want him to stop, becauseshewill be here to comfort him, to finish him off. I have to take it, to prove I’m the one he really wants. To prove I can.
“I’m out of here,” Ronique huffs, dragging on a stretchy little dress that hugs her curves.
Ignoring her, Saint slams into me, brutal and relentless, his fingers clenched around my wrists like shackles. They are shackles. He’s bound me to him, claimed me as his own, since the day his parents brought me home to him. His little sister, his little toy. I was always his. I always belonged to him. Now my body does too, fully and without question. Now we’ve crossed the final line, erased all the boundaries between us. As he powers through me like a tsunami, erasing everything I am except his, I can’t resist. I don’t want to. I want every part of him—the kindness and cruelty, the rage and savagery. I wrap my legs around him and lift my hips to meet his.
