Page 17 of Brutal Reign
Her phone hits the bed, and in the next heartbeat her T-shirt is gone, peeled off in one fluid motion. Fuck me. No bra. Just bare skin and perfect tits bouncing free, nipples tight and flushed a deep, dusky pink. My mouth waters, and my cock pulses so hard against my zipper it’s almost painful.
She pushes her jeans down, the denim hugging her thighs before giving way, revealing supple legs I want thrown over my shoulders. In nothing but simple black cotton panties, she turns and stretches, the gentle arch of her spine highlighting the curve of her ass.
Then, with a careless flick of her thumbs, her panties slide down those smooth legs, leaving her completely bare. My eyes lock on her pussy, and it punches the breath from my lungs. It’s pink and perfect, framed by a neat strip of hair.
I can’t hear a word she’s saying to her friend. My brain has short-circuited, every ounce of my focus trained on her naked body. She’s stunning, even more so than I let myself imagine.
I’ve fucked plenty of women, but no one has ever made me feel this kind of savage, possessive hunger. She’s so innocent, so fucking oblivious, with a killer hiding in her closet, desperate to ruin her for anyone else.
“Alright, hun, I’m beat,” Hope says, suppressing a yawn. “I need to shower and get some sleep. See you tomorrow.”
After a few seconds pause, she says goodnight and hangs up.
This is my chance. I need to step out, get the job done, and move on with my life. I’ve never hesitated to kill before. Not until her. But now, standing in her closet with a pistol in one hand and my dick throbbing in my jeans, every cell in my body rebels.
I press my forehead against the closet door, forcing myself to breathe. It’s time to admit the truth. I can’t do it. Not tonight, maybe not ever.
The smart thing would be to get the hell out while she’s in the bathroom, but when I glance through the partially open door, I see Hope stepping into the shower. It must be my lucky fucking day because the curtain is clear plastic, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.
Water streams over her back, tracing the elegant line of her spine, gliding over the soft swell of her ass. Her hair clings in wet, dark ropes down her neck and shoulders, and just like that, I’m glued to the spot.
She drags her soapy hands in slow circles over her arms and across her chest, building a lather that leaves her skin slick and gleaming. When she lifts her leg to wash her calf, I get anotherflash of her pussy. From here, I see a dark triangle blurred by steam, but I know that if I were closer, I’d see her all pink and swollen, begging to be tasted.
Fuck me. There’s no way I’m leaving now.
My self-control snaps. I reach down, unzipping my pants and fisting my cock without shame as I stare, needing release like I need air.
In the corner of the closet sits a laundry hamper. I dig through until I find what I’m looking for—a pair of her underwear, plain pink cotton, but the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. I bring them to my face, inhaling the raw, intoxicating scent of her.
Now that I’ve decided not to kill her, lust floods my veins. I’m not thinking about what I’ll tell my brothers or what comes next. All I can think about is how fucking much I want to join her in that shower.
She turns, water running in rivulets over her stomach and breasts, her hands sliding over her skin. My jaw clenches. I’d give anything to suck her tits into my mouth, biting enough to make her gasp, to make her tremble until she breaks for me.
My hand moves faster, stroking my length with her panties tight in my grip, as I imagine myself behind her under that hot water. She’s so much smaller than me; I could pick her up and pin her to the wall, her slick legs wrapped around my waist. She’d be so fucking tight I’d have to work myself inside, fighting not to lose control.
“Such a good fucking girl,” I’d whisper, my hand locked around her throat, her eyes meeting mine as I claimed her for myself.
Jesus fucking Christ, I mutter, watching her soap every inch while humming to herself like there isn’t a wolf watching her from the shadows. She has no clue she’s stoking this hunger, that every move is an invitation.
She’s lit a fire in me I never thought possible.
I come hard, a thick stream of cum painting her panties. My heart hammers, my cock still twitching as I watch her for a few more seconds. Then, careful to stay silent, I slip from the bedroom, her soiled underwear shoved in my pocket, the memory of her naked and wet forever burned into my brain.
There’s a chill in the air that clings to the back of my neck like guilt. I’ve been walking since I left her building, aimless as a fucking ghost, trying to clear my head and failing miserably. The city’s gone quiet, but my mind hasn’t, stuck on the inevitable truth.
I’m not killing Hope King.
In fact, no one is killing her.
I drop onto a bench facing the water, elbows on my knees. Hope is the only thing I ever walked away from without leaving blood behind. She’s the one piece of my past I didn’t fuck up. I couldn’t protect Kamilla, but I protected her. I allowed her to live, and no matter which way I look at it, she doesn’t deserve to die. We’ve stolen her life, but I have no intention of taking her pulse too.
I pull out my phone and dial.
Roman answers on the third ring, voice thick with sleep. “What the fuck? You couldn’t have waited until the sun was up here?”
“Good morning to you, sunshine,” I say, because needling Roman is one of the few things in life that give me joy. “Miss me yet?”
“Swear to God, unless you’re bleeding out in some ditch, hang the fuck up and call me back in two hours becau?—”
