Savage Sinners (Elites of Macedon High 3)

“You’ll never control me.”

He kisses me hard, shoving his tongue into my mouth as forcefully as he just did his cock. He slides his fingers into my pussy and pumps liberally, producing the kind of slick arousal that always gives me away. It’s so deeply upsetting to be betrayed by my own body, and I feel him smiling as he fingers me, panting as he keeps our lips sealed as tightly as possible.

Warmth swarms my gut as I arch into his touch. My breasts ache for attention, my nipples hardening already from being neglected this whole time. Desperate for more stimulation, I slide my shirt and bra out of the way, inviting him into my breasts. Weak whimpers erupt from me as I clutch his shoulders to steady myself.

“Not…fair…” I grumble between moans. I tip my head back and whine, “Fuck you.”

I hate myself for showing weakness—and I hate Parker even more for exploiting it. My body heats up with desire as he rubs my g-spot while planting his thumb against my clit. Shock waves rip through my core as he pumps his hand faster, lapping at my exposed nipple as his free hand fondles the other.

The room spins as my orgasm bursts from me. I’m not even ready for it, swept away by its sudden arrival as hot waves wash over my shoulders. I dig my nails into his shoulders while riding the tidal wave, hoping that this will be the last he has command over my reactions.

But I know better than to hope for such a release. He’s too good at what he does, too committed to drawing out of me the very sounds I try to keep quiet. He kisses me again as his fingers slow, drawing my orgasm out so long that my eyes roll back and I convulse.

This is far from love.

It’s just competition.

And Parker is winning this round.

“You’ll regret going against me,” he says heatedly while raising his wet fingers to my lips. “Now, be a good girl and open up.”

My gaze would strike a man dead if it were anyone else. I part my lips and accept his fingers, sucking every last drop of my juice from the digits. When I’m done, he steps back, fixes his cock in his jeans, and wanders toward the curtain.

He pauses near the heavy fabric and says over his shoulder, “Don’t bother going back to the boat.”

Why did I ever think I could rely on Parker Somerville? He’s always been a controlling, selfish prick with ulterior motives. Any moment spent in his presence is always one that leads to his benefit, not mine. No one else has this kind of hold over me, yet nobody could possibly get away with it like him either.

It’s infuriating.

As I fix my clothes, I understand the mess I’ve created. I doubt Parker could hold up his end of the vow, even if he is hurt by the loss of his father. If anything, the loss has made him that much more cutthroat and willing to burn all bridges.

One of those bridges might very well be me.