Page 38 of Brutal Bond

Fuck him.

Fuck him and his ability to know exactly how to touch me.

“It’s mine, little rose,” he repeats as he continues to curl his fingers inside of me. Slowly making me forget why I currently hate him.

He continues to work me; my heart racing, no longer from anger, but from the ache building at my core needing to be relieved.

“Edd…ie,” I pant, both trying to get him to stop and pleading for more.

“All mine. This cunt belongs to me.” His voice is deep and commanding as he releases the tight grip on my wrists. Grabbing my hand, he roughly pulls it toward him and presses my palm to the crotch of his pants. He wraps his hand over mine and slides me over his length. “This belongs to you.”

“What?” I blurt when his words catch me off-guard.

“I didn’t fuck her, Harper.” He continues to expertly slide his fingers in and out of me. “She fucking appalled me. You fucking ruined her for me.”

“I ruined her?” I exclaim as my hips involuntarily rock to meet Eddie’s touch.

“Yes,” He slides his hand under my chin, gripping it firmly and holding my face toward his. His gaze is unwavering as he stares down at me. As he rubs the pad of his thumb over my clit, and I know the ache at my core is a ticking time bomb seconds from explosion. “Because she wasn’t you.”

His words throw me over the edge, and everything spills over. The orgasm tears through my body, pulling all my emotions with it. My back arches from the bed, and I scream through it all as tears fall from my eyes.

“I’m still mad at you.” My words are breathy and heated.

“Be mad.” A smug smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he stands from the bed and quickly sheds his clothes.

“You can be as mad as you fucking want.” He climbs back into bed and pulls me on top of him. Holding me firmly in place with one of his strong arms, he slides himself inside me. Brutally hard, he grips my ass with both hands, working me over his length. “But you can be fucking mad. Fucking furious even. As you ride my fucking cock.”

CHAPTER

TWENTY-EIGHT

EDMUND

Our limbs are strewn haphazardly across the bed—and each other—both of us are exhausted and satiated as the sun begins to peek over the horizon.

My fingers dust along the lightly marred flesh of her outer thigh, repeatedly tracing an imaginary line from her knee to the slight dimple of her ass cheek next to the handprint I left behind.

“What the fuck have you done to me, little rose?” I pose the question more to myself than to her.

She was spot on in Vegas. I don’t do this.

Ever.

I don’t cuddle. I don’t bother with pillow talk.

Fuck, I’ve never stayed in someone’s bed long enough for my head to hit the pillow.

Yet here I am. Post-fuck. Sprawled across this gorgeous woman’s bed with her limbs draped over me. Completely fucking satisfied and still unable to pull my hands from her.

“I’m not the man you want me to be.” I continue to stroke along her skin.

“I know,” she whispers lightly against my chest.

“I’m not good for you.”

“I know.” Her tone is soft and solemn.

“I will never be good for you,” I grip her thigh when she lifts her head to find my gaze, “because there is no good in me.”

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