Page 29 of The Tower (Billionaire Brothers Grimm #1)
Twenty-One
Beautiful & Broken
I thought I’d been fucked before.
I’d really and truly believed that Elysium was real—at least as far as sex was concerned. The way my skin felt. The pure need that crashed through me. That tightening, tingling sensation in my core as my body silently screamed to be filled.
I’d had it all in Elysium. Haptics and toys and fantasy and dirty talk and my prince holding my arms down as he pounded deeper and deeper inside me until all I knew was the sensation of being filled by him and the scent of the grass at my back and the flowers swaying in the breeze.
All I wanted—all I knew— was his touch, so relentless it was almost cruel, at least until he finally drew me over. Then I’d scream his name as the sharp crest of orgasm after orgasm cut through me like a delicious punishment, and yet I begged for more.
I thought he’d taken me to the pinnacle. But I’d had no idea.
It’s different when it’s real.
The scent of his skin, the touch of his hand, the thrust of his cock. It’s all real now. All surrounding me, claiming me. Using me.
Wild sensations twist inside me, not haptics, but him . The way he’s somehow made every nerve ending in my body come alive, so my body screams with sensation as I rock against him, his cock deep inside me.
Liam Grimm. A man I was raised to hate. A man who has promised to help me, but only with the payment of my body. My submission.
Right now, that’s a price I’m more than willing to pay.
My legs are on either side of his hips, and his hands hold my bare ass. He’s controlling the way I rock against him, and my thighs quiver with every movement, the drag of him inside me sending sparks cascading through my veins, as if I’m catching fire from the inside out.
His hands are everywhere—gripping my hips with bruising intensity one moment, then trailing up my sides with surprising tenderness the next. The contradiction mirrors everything about him. Hard and soft. Cruel and kind. Enemy and savior.
I close my eyes, letting this cacophony of sensation carry me away, and when he says my name—Sasha, not Princess— it vibrates through me like a tuning fork struck against stone, somehow feeling even more intimate than his cock inside me.
“Look at me.” His command is soft but unmistakable. My eyes flutter open to find his staring into mine, and that electric blue burns with something far more dangerous than lust. “Don’t hide,” he adds, pushing my curtain of hair away from my face. “I want to see your eyes when you come .”
No one has ever looked at me like this—like they’re searching for something only I can give.
I want to look away, to shield myself from this unexpected vulnerability, but I can’t. His eyes hold me captive more effectively than his hands ever could.
“I don’t …” I start, my voice catching as he shifts beneath me, hitting a spot that makes stars burst behind my eyes. “I don’t know what this is.”
A ghost of a smile crosses his face, there and gone. “Does it need a name?”
His answer sends a flutter through my stomach. No, this moment doesn’t need a name—names are for things you want to keep, to refer back to, to build on. This is ephemeral. Transactional. Nothing more.
At least that’s what I tell myself even as I lean down and press my lips to his, the kiss softer than I intended.
He freezes for half a heartbeat—just long enough for doubt to creep in—before his hand slides into my hair, fingers threading through the strands to cradle the back of my head.
He holds me against him as he kisses me back, not with the bruising force I expected, but with a slow, deliberate, thoroughness that makes my entire body tingle.
“Move,” he whispers, the word a hot caress against my mouth. “Take what you want.”
I don’t know if the words are permission or demand, but I don’t care.
Something loosens inside me, some tight coil of restraint I hadn’t even realized was there.
I begin to rock against him, finding a rhythm that sends lightning through my veins with each stroke.
My head falls back, my body arching as pleasure builds, hot and insistent.
His hands slide up my body —fingers spread wide across my ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts before moving higher to circle my nipples. The sensation connects directly to the heat between my legs, and I gasp, thrown by the overwhelming pleasure cutting through me like waves.
“Don’t stop.” He issues the command as one hand leaves my breast to slide between us and tease my clit. The touch zings through me like electricity, and I cry out, my nails digging into his shoulders.
“Is this what you need?” His voice is lower now, rougher, but his eyes never leave mine as his fingers move in tight, precise circles. “Me teasing your clit? Making you come. Playing with your naughty little pussy?”
“Yes,” I manage, the word barely a breath. “Oh, yes.”
His eyes darken, and his movements grow more insistent. “Tell me,” he demands, his hips rising to meet mine. “I want to hear what you want.”
My cheeks bloom with heat, but at the same time, his demand taps into some hidden well of boldness I didn’t even know I possessed. Something in me that’s been buried beneath years of my father’s control, just waiting to be drawn out.
“Harder,” I whisper.
The corner of his mouth curves up as those amazing fingers press more firmly, moving in tighter circles that make my breath catch. Heat spreads through me like wildfire, and I rock against him, chasing the building pressure.
“Like this?” he asks, and the genuine question in his voice—his desire to give me exactly what I need—nearly undoes me.
“Yes,” I gasp. “And I want—” I falter, still held back by some lingering inhibition.
He leans up, his mouth at my ear, his voice a dark whisper. “Tell me, Princess. I want to hear you say it.”
The nickname slides over me like warm honey, somehow transformed from mockery into endearment. I turn my head, my lips grazing his ear as I find my courage.
“I want you to make me come again,” I whisper, my voice dropping to match his. “Please, Liam.”
I feel him shudder beneath me at the sound of his name, a tremor running through his powerful body. His hand at my hip tightens, and the sharp burst of pain heightens every other sensation.
In one fluid motion, he changes our position, sitting up so that we’re chest to chest, my legs wrapped around his waist, his cock still impossibly deep inside me. The new angle sends sparks through me, and his fingers never stop their relentless rhythm against my clit.
“Look at me,” he demands again, one hand sliding up my back to tangle in my hair. “I want to see you fall apart.”
I couldn’t look away if I tried. His eyes seem to reach inside me, touching places no physical sensation ever could. My body tightens around him, every muscle coiling as the pressure builds.
“Oh, yes. That’s it. You have such a tight little clit. Can you feel me playing with that sweet nub?”
“Yes,” I murmur, barely able to form words.
“Sasha.” My name is like a rough caress. “Let go, Princess. Let me feel you come around my cock.”
The crude words from his perfect mouth push me over that precipice, something breaking free, so that I’m falling, falling, falling as pleasure crashes over me in waves so intense I cry out his name, my nails digging crescents into his shoulders.
He holds me through it, his hips still moving in perfect counterpoint to mine, drawing out each electric ripple of sensation until I’m trembling against him. And just when I think I can’t take anymore, he wraps an arm around my waist and flips us over in one swift, powerful movement.
Now he’s above me, his weight delicious and solid, his eyes wild with a hunger that makes my breath catch.
“Mine,” he growls, the word primal and possessive.
I should rebel against this claim. I’ve spent my life being owned, controlled, possessed. But all I can say is, “Yes.”
With a low groan, he takes my hands, then pins them above my head with a grip that sends another rush of heat through me.
He bends my knees up to my chest then drives his hips forward in a rhythm that feels almost desperate, each thrust punctuated by a sound low in his throat that’s half growl, half moan.
“Sasha,” he gasps, my name sounding like both a prayer and a curse. “Fuck, Sasha.”
I arch beneath him, meeting each powerful thrust, wanting—needing—to give him the same shattering release he’s given me.
“Let go,” I urge, my lips against his throat where I can feel his pulse hammering wildly. “I want to feel you.”
His eyes meet mine. Then, with one final, powerful thrust, he stiffens above me. I feel the hot pulse of his release deep inside and watch in wonder as his face transforms —all the hard edges softened, all the careful calculation stripped away, leaving just the man, beautiful and broken like me.
“Like what you see?” I tease, watching those incredible blue eyes trace a path up and down my body.
We’re both lying on our side, facing each other.
I’d pulled the sheet up to my neck in what I know is an ironic act of modesty, but he’d just tugged it right off again, leaving me fully exposed, my skin tingling with the memory of every way he’d touched me.
The corner of his mouth twitches.
“Oh, no,” I say. “You do not get to force me to lie here naked and then laugh. That is very, very, very bad for the female ego.”
His fingertips trace from my shoulder, along the curve of my breast, then down my side, before coming to rest on my hip.
I sigh. “Nice,” I say. “But you’re not off the hook. What are you thinking that’s so funny?”
“Not funny,” he says. “Ironic, maybe.”
I press my hand against his chest, then make a fist, leaving me holding a clump of chest hair. “Will it be funny when I tug?”
Now the twitch is a full-on laugh. “The princess has grit.”
I give the hair a little tug. “You leave me no choi?—”