Brutal Obsession (112)

It’s more about the feel anyway.

And right now, all I feel is good.

“You’re drunk,” he says in my ear. “Like that will protect you.”

I snicker. “It was never about protecting myself.”

He cocks his head. He moves his hips, and I groan at the sensation between my legs. His finger still moves, slowly pumping in and out of me.

It makes me wonder if his cum is still there, evidence of our earlier tryst.

“What’s it about, then?”

“Trusting you.” Simple as that. “I hope you’re going to fuck me now.”

“She’s delirious?”

I roll my head to the side, focusing on Steele. My gaze narrows. “You like to watch, O’Brien?”

He leans forward in his seat, steepling his fingers. “Sometimes. Other times I like to participate.”

My eyebrow tics up. Grey grips my chin, directing my face back to him. His fingers tighten just a bit when he leans in, placing an open-mouthed kiss on me. When he pulls back, I sway with him.

He presses down on my chin, opening my mouth wider. My tongue comes out, sweeping along my lower lip. He spits into my mouth, and I make a noise in the back of my throat. Belated shock, but mainly… turned on. By all of it.

“You’re putting on a show,” someone says over Greyson’s shoulder.

Another hockey player.

“She’s mine, and you fuckers need to know it.” He looks back at me. “Aren’t you, baby?”

I swallow, tasting his saliva mix with mine, and nod.

Jacob moves around his friend, leaning against the wall. Another pair of eyes on us. I run my hands up Grey’s front, pushing his shirt up and exposing his chest. I lean forward and kiss his pec. My mouth moves lower, my tongue flicking his nipple, and he grabs me by the throat. He guides my head back up, straightening my spine.

I meet his mouth again, and this time when he squeezes hard enough to cut off my air, his lips are right there. And then his cock is slipping down, nudging my entrance. I’m ready to beg him to fuck me, but the words won’t come.

The oxygen won’t come either.

White spots flicker in my vision, and he releases my throat at the same time he thrusts into me.

I suck in air and grab his shoulders, trying not to slide across the table. He doesn’t seem to give a shit that his friends are watching. He traces his finger down my throat when my head falls back, then kisses it. As if to soothe the marks that are undoubtedly forming on my skin.

Unnecessary but sweet.

“Fuck,” I groan when he brushes my clit. He moves at an indecently slow pace, driving me mad. His finger, too. I’m panting. Putty in his hands. “Please go faster,” I beg.

He smirks.

My gaze lifts, going over his shoulder. Willow’s gone, which is a relief. Most of the dance team girls are. On the couch in the other room, a girl grinds on top of Miles. Erik has another pressed against the wall.

I look at Steele and Jacob, their attention fixated on us. Steele mindlessly palms his hard-on through his jeans.

“I need to get laid,” Jacob says suddenly, rising. His cock is stiff against his pants, too, but he ignores it and leaves the room.

“How about it, Steele?” I whisper, my voice husky. “You need to get laid, too?”

“You’re trouble, Violet,” he answers. “Talking to me when your man is inside you.”

My muscles clench around Grey. I pinch my knees into his hips and let my head fall back again. Grey runs his hands through my hair, scratching my scalp. I wait for him to grip it, to force me one way or another. He doesn’t, though. He just lets me lean back against his hand, all the way down until my back rests on the table.

Then he moves his hands, pushing my shirt up to expose my bra. He pinches my nipples through the fabric, and I arch up into him. I’m floating again. If I close my eyes, I’ll just drift away.

“If anyone touches her, I’ll break your face open,” Grey says to someone. “Got it?”

When I open my eyes, we’re alone. The couples are still in the other room, but the chair Steele sat in is empty.

“You want to come, Vi?”

I blink at Grey and nod.

He pulls out and steps back, taking me with him. My feet touch the floor, and he immediately spins me around. He nudges my legs wider and thrusts inside me from behind. His grip tightens on my throat for a moment, stealing my breath, until the fight comes back into me. I like being manhandled—but I think I like to fight more.

And maybe that’s the only way he’ll let me come.

I claw at his hand, shoving myself backward. He lets me take a gulp of air just as more white spots flicker in my peripheral vision. The room is swimming, alcohol dulling my senses—and my timing. If he really wanted to hurt me, he could. Easily.

He pins me facedown on the table, and I gasp when my face hits the wood. I grip the edge of the table and push back, meeting every fucking thrust. He’s picked up his pace, and our skin slaps together.

“You know what keeps me up at night?” he asks in my ear.

I don’t answer.

“The thought of your cunt pulsing with the need to come. And you, lying in bed, tortured by it but unable to take yourself there.” He groans, and his pace quickens. “Because I think you like to be told what to do. And if I say you can’t fucking touch yourself, you won’t.”