Page 46 of Dukes of Peril

I can’t see him, but I can hear him behind me, panting like a dog, the wet sounds of his fist on his cock as he matches her speed. “Touch her tits,” he says, voice like gravel. When I run my palms up her body, cupping them in my palms, he demands, “Use your mouth.”

I push up on an elbow to mouth at her nipple, tongue tracing a slow circle around the pebbled peak. Her fingers wind into my hair, clutching me close, and I don’t even have to look to know they’re eye fucking each other. I can feel it in the way she’s fucking me, hips sliding back and forth, fingers tightening in my hair. I can hear it in his rough breaths, the shifting sound of fabric.

She’s fucking him through me.

When I fall back, hands clamped over her flexing thighs, she fucks me like it’s some kind of punishment. Eyes intent on Sy behind me, she plants her palms on my chest and bucks hard, making me groan. She doesn’t let up, back and forth, up and down, her hips land unforgivingly against mine, and I stare at her in awe. The flush on her face. The wild heat of her eyes. The bounce of her heavy tits. Usually when my Little Bird is on top, she rides me slow and sweet, always demanding my mouth against hers, my hands roving hungrily over her body. Sometimes I’ll give it to her fast and a touch too brutal, but I know she likes it most when it’s making love–me worshiping her.

I’ve never been outrightfuckedby her before.

When she comes, I feel it right down to my curling toes, her pussy clenching around me as she cries out. Her hips grind down hard against me, and I’m useless to do anything more than plant my heels, rut up into her, grunt like a savage, and come my goddamn brains out. Behind me, a strained, feral sound comes ripping out of my brother, and I know he must be doing the same.

She collapses against my chest, pressing these sweet little sighs into my shoulder as she comes down. “Thanks for that,” she whispers.

“What can I say?” I take back over, tucking her hair back to brush a kiss into her sweaty forehead. “I’m a giver.”

Behind me, Sy snorts, but I hear him cleaning up, his breaths evening out slowly. A minute later, he appears above me, looking a lot less tense, and tips his fist out.

I raise my own to lazily bump his knuckles.

His eyes shift to her, softening, before he reaches down to run a hand over her head. “Night,” he says.

Both of us want to stay in her bed but not until we’re invited. Soon, I think as my brother and I both head downstairs.

Very soon.

I flipup my collar to keep the cool air off my neck as I walk across campus. I woke up in the loft next to a shivering Lavinia this morning, trying my best to warm her with nothing but my own body heat and a thin blanket.

Winter’s coming up on us like a South Side street dog.

I’ve just left Remy at his art studio to get to my own class. Sy and I have discussed if someone needs to stay with him, but my brother says no. He’s got to do this on his own. Thank the fuck. I’m tired of babysitting a grown-ass man. I prefer problems that can be hit, shot, or otherwise maimed, and whatever demon Remy is fighting, it’s not something I can beat into submission. He has to put in the work himself. It won’t be an easy road. His family is fucked. His body and brain are a mess, but he’s got something others don’t.

Us.

Lavinia and Sy are in the science hall. Their schedules align, at least building-wise, and even though he’s not in the class with her, I feel good knowing he’s nearby. I fight the urge to pull out my phone and look for her on the tracker. This need to know where she is all the time, to make sure she’s safe, is overwhelming. It’s fucking ridiculous and I resist it.

I’ve got Lit across campus, although I take my time getting there. My zone of excellence isn’t in academia, but I know it’s part of the deal and I’ve got to do it. The good news is my TA is a cutslut and she won’t mark it if I’m late.

My route takes me near the athletic complex, and the constant vibe on campus is school spirit and football. Huge orange and purple banners hang outside the building promoting the team.Football.What a joke. Helmets and padding? Grow a fucking pair and beat the shit out of the other guy the real way, therightway, bare-knuckled and bleeding.

Even I can’t avoid the news that the team is struggling without their superstar quarterback, Killian Payne. I have to admit, I’m impressed he gave up a career in the NFL for the position of King. When I worked for Daniel, his son always seemed too egotistical to make the sacrifice, but maybe I was wrong about that. Maybe I’m the one that struggles with the idea of leadership.

It’s not my only struggle.

I pull my phone from my pocket and slide my thumb over the screen, clicking the icon to confirm Lavinia’s location—

“Bruin.”

I pause when I hear my name, eyes shifting to the guy in a basic black suit and aviators. He’s older—not a student–and looks like a low-rent cosplay of a secret service agent, so the clothing is a dead giveaway. He’s one of Saul’s goons.

I barely slow my stride. “What’s it to you?”

“Mr. Cartwright would like to see you.”

“I have class.” I guess collegedoescome in handy, because if Saul found out about any of the shit that went down the last couple weeks, I may not make it out of the meeting alive.

His expression doesn’t change, nor does his body language. It radiates, ‘you’re coming with me.’

“He’ll get you an excuse.”

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