Page 82 of Wicked Games

“Be back in this room by seven.” He folds his arms over his chest and pins me with a look. “And make sure you have everything you need because you’re not leaving until I say you can.”

A flash of something ugly hits me right in the chest. He expects me to hang out in his room while he fucks whoever wears that cheap-smelling perfume he was covered in last night in the same damn building?

The ugly feeling in my chest intensifies, and it takes a second to realize it’s jealousy. I’m jealous of whoever Killian is going to be spending his night with. What the fuck? I’ve never been jealous over anyone, but right now, I’m jealous as hell.

“Understood?” he prompts when I don’t respond.

I nod, making sure to keep my expression blank.

Something dark flashes in his eyes, then he heads toward the side of the room, his strides long and sure.

I slip out of my bed and hurry into the bathroom. I turn on the water and then lean against the counter as I wait for it to warm up.

“This is just a game,” I mutter to myself. “You started it. None of it means anything.”

I repeat that a few times until I feel a little more settled and check the water. It’s still chilly, but I step into the shower anyway. It’ll warm up while I’m using it.

Killian is still in the room when I come out of the bathroom. He’s sitting on his bed in a pair of dark jeans and a black shirt. The outfit is simple, boring even, but of course he looks like a fucking book cover model in it, especially with how he’s looking at me.

Killian can smolder like no one else, and I hate how much I love having his eyes on me. I’ve never been self-conscious, mostly because I don’t give a shit what people think of me or if they find me attractive. But there’s something exhilarating about knowing Killian likes what he sees. Maybe it’s the whole forbidden stepbrother thing, or maybe it’s the forced proximity of being roommates that’s making me forget that this whole thing was supposed to be a game. Or maybe I’m just a slut like he says, and he’s the one who happened to unlock my kinks. Who the fuck knows.

“Like what you see?” I ask when I catch him staring at my ass.

His heated gaze meets mine, and it’s so intense I can practically feel it like a physical thing. Without saying a word, he stands, and I swallow involuntarily as he stalks toward me, his steps measured and purposeful.

I stand there, frozen, as he tugs the towel from around my waist and tosses it on my bed. I’m rock hard, and the tip of my cock brushes against his jeans as it springs up. The rasp of denim against my skin makes me draw in a hissing breath. It hurts, but in the best way possible.

“Take my dick out,” he says, his voice a low growl.

My hands are shaking as I undo his jeans and pull the V of his fly open as wide as it can go.

He maintains eye contact as I reach into his briefs and pull him out. He’s hot and hard and already slick with precum, and my own dick pulses as he drags his teeth over his bottom lip. I give him a quick stroke and let go.

The corner of his mouth lifts in a smirk. “You want it?”

I don’t answer. He knows I do.

Before I’m fully aware of what’s happening, Killian spins me around and shoves me onto my bed.

I land on my stomach and let out a littleoofof surprise, then let out another one as Killian lays over me, blanketing me with his bigger body.

The scrape of his clothes against my skin lights me up from the inside. So does the fact that he’s fully clothed and I’m completely naked. The power imbalance should freak me out or make me feel vulnerable, but it just doesn’t.

Killian plants his hands on either side of my arms and digs his knees into the bed so he’s caging in my thighs, keeping me from spreading my legs at all. His lips are next to my ear, and his harsh breaths as he shifts around until his cock slips between my ass cheeks are enough to set my blood on fire.

I clench around him, squeezing his cock as hard as I can. He grunts, the sound low and feral, and closes his mouth against my neck.

My cry is way too loud as he sucks and bites on my neck. He’s not being gentle, and I don’t want him to be. I tilt my head to the side and lean back against him, giving him better access and silently begging for more.

He lets out one of those pleased-sounding rumbles and rolls his hips so he can drag his cock through my crease.

Mindlessly, I reach back with one hand and grab a fistful of his hair. But instead of pulling on it or trying to get him off me, I tug him closer and hold him in place as he ravages my neck with his talented mouth.

He groans against my skin and snaps his hips, his pace furious as he fucks my crease the way I want him to fuck me.

I’m barely aware of the sounds I’m making as my stepbrother uses me like a sex sleeve. Wetness pools in my crease as his precum creates a slick passage for him.

Every punch of his hips is hard enough to rock me on the bed, and the rough rasp of the comforter against my sensitive dick is incredible as the pain and pleasure mix to create something new.

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