Vengeance (The Prince's Games Book 1) by Rebecca Grey (electric book reader TXT) 📕

button of his pants comes undone with a simple tug of his fingers. I stare unfeeling as his hand dips into his undershorts and he pulls out his already hard, throbbing cock.

His fingers create a trail down my torso. The blue eyes of his lock onto mine as he wrenches my underwear down. The scrape of his nails against my skin builds the flames inside of my core. I want more. I need more.

"Fuck me like you hate me," I breathe.

"Shouldn't be hard." His body aligns with mine. His hands wrapping around my legs as he lifts me up off the ground. "Because I fucking despise you, Human-trash."

Somewhere deep inside of me I register his words. Somewhere I know what he's saying to me, but as I recede to the place without feelings, I don't mind.

He lowers me onto his dick. No, he doesn't lower me, he prods at my entrance for the slightest second until he finds his home and slams me down onto him. He's plenty impressive, enough so that the movement takes my breath away.

My arms snake around his neck, his hair becoming a tangle between him and I. Jefferson doesn't kiss me. He avoids my mouth entirely, sucking and biting down my neck. His teeth scrape against my skin, spiking my desire as I bounce against every step he takes until we're in the shadows together, unseen.

His arms hold me against him, making my ribs ache. I bite my lip to keep from making noises that would draw attention to us. The last thing I need is to get caught fucking around. Then everyone will think I'm as stupid as the girls bribing information out of the Elves with sexual favors. No, this... this is all for me.

Jefferson's body warms one side of me while the other is laid against the concrete floor. His hands find my hips and he slams into me. The motions become repetitive, making me jump at every thrust. He holds me in place, only smiling when I gasp.

My breasts bounce with the movement, drawing his eyes. His nails, more like claws, scratch down my arms as he pulls the straps of my bra down and flips the cups out of the way. Arousal pebbles my breasts while his hands massage and tug at them.

His eyes catch mine, and in an instant my cheek is stinging as he slaps his hand down on my face. He turns my head away, grinding my face into the floor.

"Don't fucking look at me, Purist."

The slamming pace quickens as he sits up. I keep my head turned to the side, my cheekbone already feeling bruised from the pressure. Even as he grunts, forcing himself all the way inside of me, one hand finds my most sensitive spot between my legs.

Jefferson circles his thumb over my clit in time with the rhythm of his hips. My eyes damn near roll in the back of my head. This is what I've been waiting for, what I've needed, this is the release I've needed for days.

Every swipe and loop he draws with his finger brings me closer to the edge. Pressing into the touch, my back arches, my hands tugging at my breasts.

"Come for me, you filthy fucking whore. Come for me!" Jefferson growls. I don't need his permission, but his words have me coming undone in the very best of ways.

My legs quake around him. My sex clenching around his dick as a fierce orgasm grabs ahold of me. The feeling crests and eventually falls like a wave. When it does, he pulls his hand away.

His cock pumps in and out of me. I pull my arms up over my head, reveling in the feeling of being used. Jefferson holds my hips again, holding me down on him until his breathing changes and the pattern of his thrusting shifts.

I expect him to pull out, to cover me in hot cum from my belly button to my breasts. Instead he leans into me, pushing his dick so far the pleasure starts to border on pain. He releases everything inside of me, muffling his moan against my skin.

As he finishes, he pulls away from me, pulling his pants back up. His eyes find mine in the darkness. "Thanks for the quick fuck."

With his back to me, he leaves me alone, naked, and emptier than I was when I'd run away from the Saints damned tent.

 

Morning always comes, even when you don’t want it to. I’m not sure when the first day I had that thought was, but I remember the realization that no matter how shitty I feel, the world will continue on without me. So I make the most of this pathetic excuse of a life. I hang on to the hope that one day I’ll make it better.

These fucking Oasis Games are supposed to be making my life better. Today doesn’t feel better. My primal need for skin on skin had only slightly been quelled. Jefferson isn’t who I want. Admitting who exactly I do want feels like a crime. Feelings are dangerous and someone is bound to get hurt.

And... I'm the Ghost. I'm not supposed to have feelings. I'm not supposed to care that some Elf may or may not want to spend his time with me. Marcello Torres is a virus. He's infected me with emotions I never asked for. A shiver chases down my spine.

Voices carry from around our fire pit. I can't make out what they're saying, but the hushed whispers are rushed and harsh. Shouts muffled to a low volume hiss to avoid drawing attention. Hedda leans over her boots from the edge of her cot, lacing them up. Her attention is focused on the shoe laces, however her body leans toward the noise.

"Can you tell what they are