Page 45 of Depraved (American Street Kings 1)

His grip on my hair only grew tighter, his body moving closer to mine. But I was determined to fight him, to prove to him I wasn’t one of his fucking club minions, and he sure as fuck wasn’t my king.

I started thrashing against him, pushing and punching at him. Unshed tears stung my eyes, desperation starting to weep from my body. I wanted to get away from him. I wanted to get away from all of them.

I lost control. It was too much.

With every ounce of strength I had in me, I launched my fists at his face. But I was too weak, too small for the likes of him. I grabbed at his shirt, wanting to tear it to shreds. “You. Don’t. Own. Me!”

The words burned my tongue, but then his lips incinerated mine, kissing me. He forced me closer, his hand at the back of my neck pulling me to him. Hard, demanding, and merciless, Granite kissed me in a way that compelled me to allow it.

My arms flailed as a last lame-ass attempt to fight him, but his kiss weakened me. With every second his warm lips remained on mine, my strength dissipated. His kiss wasn’t anything like I imagined it would be. Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined it being this powerful, as if steeped in desire and passion, igniting a fire that raged between us.

He tightened his hold around me, crushing my body against his, his big frame enveloping me. The earthy scent of him was intoxicating while the taste of his mouth against mine wrecked me. The bristles of his beard felt hard and rough against my skin, but it didn’t stop me from hungrily pushing back, wanting more. His tongue didn’t ask. It didn’t beg or coax. It demanded. It claimed what he wanted, and there was nothing left in me to fight with. His kiss took it all, and my body betrayed me with a primal desire that lived in us all. It wanted more and more with every passing second, instantly addicted to the rush of tasting him, feeling him, as if he had only become real the second our lips touched.

My mind scattered into a million directions at once while my body was set aflame. All it took to disarm me, to ruin and possess me, was one simple yet demanding kiss from the devil himself.

15

Granite

She needed to shut up.

She needed to stop fighting.

And I needed to tongue-fuck her mouth in order to accomplish that.

No matter how hard she tried to deny it, she knew she was mine even before I took her. I owned her since the first time our eyes met. She had been my obsession for years, and the taste of her on my tongue solidified it.

Crushing her tiny body against mine felt good. It felt fucking right. And by the way her fight left her while my tongue claimed every corner of her mouth, I knew she felt the same. There was no denying it. The entire fucking world disappeared the second I crashed my lips against hers. In that moment, there was nothing but her and me, and the chaos of our kiss. Our tongues battled with desperation to have more, to taste more of each other, and my thoughts rushed to the part where I could finally claim her body and corrupt her innocence.

I knew my ballerina girl was still a virgin. I made fucking sure of it. Every guy in town was too scared to touch her because of me—because I had staked my claim over her years ago without her even knowing. I had to. The thought of another man touching her, fucking her, it drove me mad. There wasn’t a chance in hell I’d have let some random guy take what was mine. That jock could be glad I spared his life and left his dick intact.

I pulled her closer, pressing her hard against me. My cock ached and begged to break through the barrier of her virginity. I wanted the crimson of her innocence to coat my dick while I fucked her, marking my ownership on her goddamn soul. This was so much more than just being horny. This was more than fucking for a ten-second orgasm. This was about finally taking what I’d deemed mine for so long. This was about sating my obsession after all those nights longing to be buried between her legs.

My tongue lapped against hers, her sweet taste exploding in my mouth, the ripples of lust traveling down my spine and crashing against my aching cock. After years of wondering what she tasted like, I finally knew it was better than I ever could have imagined. Decadent and sweet, her lips instantly became my new addiction. At that moment, I knew nothing would ever be able to compare, and I wanted to savor it forever.

I slipped my hand down her back, cupping her ass, pushing her body harder against mine as I gave a thrust, desperate to relieve the ache. She moaned, the sound making me want to turn into a motherfucking savage and devour her.

Images of her naked body, spreading those legs like the perfect ballerina she was, had my body in knots—painfully craving to feel her from the inside.

She reached up, grabbing my hair while she pulled me down, forcing me to kiss her harder. Permission. That was what she gave me by kissing me back with equal vigor. Permission to take her. Permission to make her mine.

God, I was losing myself. I was losing myself to the lust, to the need, to the years of desiring her, yet unable to claim her. But, finally, she was here with me. Even if she didn’t want to be, I didn’t give a shit. The selfish prick in me didn’t give a flying fuck. Feeling her, tasting her, having her this close was fucking with both my head and my cock.

The longer I claimed her soft lips, the more I allowed myself to be consumed by it. My hands roughed up her body, underneath her shirt, desperate to explore. But as I flattened my palm against her belly, she pushed back.

I was so fucking lost in the moment I never saw it coming…not until I felt the burn against my cheek.

Alyx looked up at me, her eyes wide in shock while she held her hand in the other. I bet her palm stung just as much as my cheek did.

She retreated, taking a slow step back. “You had no right to do that.”

I rubbed my cheek. “Yet you kissed me back.”

“You caught me off guard.”

“Did I?”

“Yes.” She moved back some more. “If you think I’m one of those women who gets turned on by being kidnapped, you’re fucking wrong. I’m not the Stockholm Syndrome type.”

---