Page 48 of Brutal Crown

I’m not gentle. I don’t have it in me to be, not when she’s pulling this madness out of me, this need to possess her completely. I want her to feel every thrust, every ounce of my desire, my obsession. I want her to know what it means to be wanted like this, to be taken by someone who’d burn the world down for her.

She’s mine, and I’ll make sure she never forgets it. Every other man who comes after me will be a pale imitation, because I’m carving myself into her soul right now. This is her first time, but it’s also her last with anyone who isn’t me. I’ll make sure of it.

She’s trembling in my arms, her body quaking as I drive into her, harder, deeper, like I can fuse us together, make her a part of me that no one else can touch.

Every thrust is a claim, a vow that she’s mine, that no one will ever have her like this. I’m slamming into her cervix, burying myself so deep it’s like I’m rewriting her, erasing any future where I’m not the one she craves. Her body bucks, wild anduncontrolled, as she comes, and the sight of her unraveling, the sound of her broken gasps, pushes me over the edge.

I bury myself inside her one last time, groaning through gritted teeth as I release. Her name nearly slips from my lips, but I choke it back and sink into the silence instead.

She sags against my chest, still panting. I stay there, breathing hard, burying my face into her hair like I’m trying to inhale something I know I’ll never deserve.

Then I feel it.

Wetness.

But not from the sex. It’s from her quiet tears that bleed onto my chest. There is no sound, just the soft, slow ache of them.

I lift her chin. And fuck me—those tears. They gut me.

I swipe one away with my thumb. I don’t ask why she’s crying. I already know. It’s not regret. It’s not shame.

They’re something more, something that makes me want to pull her closer and push her away all at once. It’s everything she lost the moment she gave herself to me. And everything I’ll never give back.

When her tears stop, I pull out and set her down gently, my hands lingering on her waist longer than they should. Her dress falls around her like a shroud, trying to cover what I’ve done. She gathers her torn panties in one hand, the other wrapped tightly around her ribs like she’s holding herself together.

I can’t look at her like this—small, vulnerable, like I’ve broken something I didn’t mean to. So I don’t. I pull my pants up, shove my dick back inside, and zip up, shutting away the part of me that still wants to hold her.

Then I head for the door, but something drags me back. So I turn and she’s still standing there.

Shattered. Beautiful.Mine.

“You can keep pretending, Lia,” I say, voice low. “Keep playing house with Marco. Next time, even sleep next to him,laugh like he’s enough, and like you two could have even a semblance of a relationship.”

I tilt my head,eyes locking with hers.

“But don’t forgetwho made you come like that. Don’t forget who broke you first. Who your entire body aches for.”

The words are meantto cut through any fantasy she might have about him. Marco can’t touch her like I do. He can’t make her shake, make her scream, make hermine. She’ll feel me every time she closes her eyes, every time she tries to move on. I’ve made sure of it.

I openthe door and walk away, but the image of her from a few minutes ago burns into me. She’s driven me to this madness, pulled this obsession out of me since the moment she stepped into my world.

And now,even as I leave her behind, I know I’m not done. I’ll take her again, whenever I want, because she’s mine. But that ache in my chest, that unfamiliar sting, it follows me, whispering that maybe, just maybe, she’s taken something from me too.

13

LIA

Four days.

It’s been four days since he touched me, since he buried himself so deep inside me, I felt him in my stomach. And not once has he looked at or spoken to me since.

He said he’s always watching me. He said he dreams about me.

Too bad he’s a damn liar.

He’s moved on with his life like nothing ever happened between us, like I’m nothing, while I struggle with the weight of all the conflicting emotions I feel.

I’ve avoided him for the past couple of days. I’ve avoided Marco too. Guilt sticks to my skin like something filthy. I let one brother kiss me in the garden and let the other fuck me in the library. All because of what? A fleeting thrill? Just to provoke the man I know my heart still aches for?