Brutal Prince (Brutal Birthright)

at was trying to hold back my own desperate attraction, because it was too intense, too dangerous to indulge. I couldn’t let myself crave this man because it was pointless. I thought I had no power over him.

But now I realize that he needs this as badly as I do. And I start to cum so hard that my whole body is shaking in the frame of his arms. It feels like a waterfall, thundering through me. A fucking Niagara Falls of pleasure, pounding down and down and down. Unstoppable. Uninhibited.

Yet, even after I finish climaxing, I still want more. The orgasm was incredible, but it didn’t completely satisfy. I need more.

Callum lays me down on my back and he climbs on top of me, thrusting into me again. He’s looking directly into my eyes now, his clear blue into my smoky gray.

Usually when I look him in the eye, it’s because I’m furious, trying to stare him down. We’ve never looked at each other quite like this before: open, curious, questioning.

Callum isn’t a robot. He feels things as acutely as I do. Maybe even more, because he’s always trying to shove it down inside.

For the first time, he presses his lips against mine with gentleness. His tongue tasting and exploring.

I kiss him back, my hips still rolling under his. I can feel another climax building, the other half of the one that came before. Why do our bodies fit together so perfectly when everything else about us is completely opposite?

“You’re mine, Aida,” Callum growls in my ear. “I’ll kill anyone who tries to touch you.”

With that, he erupts inside of me. And I’m coming too, a second orgasm even stronger than the first. The strongest I’ve ever felt, in fact. I’m not sure I’ll be alive when it’s over.

16

Callum

Luckily, Aida and I are the first ones back to the house, because the scraps of her dress are scattered across the limo floor, and she doesn’t have anything else to wear except my suit jacket.

She doesn’t give a shit. Ever the free spirit, she just wraps my jacket around her body and runs inside barefoot, giving the chauffeur a jaunty salute on her way by.

I’d like to follow her, but I can feel my phone buzzing in my pocket—my father, calling to chastise me.

“What the fuck were you thinking,” he says the moment I pick up.

“That piece of shit tried to assault my wife.”

“You got in a brawl at your own fundraiser. With Oliver Castle! Do you know how that looks?”

“He’s lucky I didn’t splatter his brains on the concrete.”

“If you did, you’d be in jail right now,” my father seethes. “That wasn’t some frat boy you hit—Henry Castle is one of the richest men in Chicago. He donated fifty thousand to your campaign!”

“He’s not getting a refund,” I say.

“You’re going to have to give him a hell of a lot more than a refund to keep him from torpedoing your run.”

I grind my teeth so hard that my molars feel like they’re about to crack in half.

“What does he want,” I say.

“You’re going to find out tomorrow morning. 8:00 a.m., at Keystone Capital. Don’t be late.”

Fucking hell. Henry Castle is worse than his son—bloated, arrogant, and hyper-demanding. He’s going to want me to grovel and kiss his ring. While I want to castrate him to prevent him from siring any more shithead sons.

“I’ll be there,” I say.

“You lost control tonight,” my father says. “What the fuck is going on with you and that girl?”

“Nothing.”

“She’s supposed to be an asset, not a liability.”