Lords of Pain (Royals of Forsyth University, #1)

by Angel Lawson

Tristian is insanely good-looking. He’s all blond hair, tan skin, and lean, hard muscle. I know that, out of the three of them, he does best with the girls. Much like Killian and Rath, he’s also enormous. Intimidating not just because of his size, wealth, and popularity, but mostly because of something else. His smile never quite reaches his eyes. They’re ice blue and carry a glint of cool detachment.

Rath is the opposite of Tristian, with his inky-black hair, lip piercings, pale skin, and dark eyes. He’s quieter than the other two, those intense eyes always watching, tracking.

“The biggest value a girl has is her innocence,” Daniel told me that night in his office. His words, his hands, made my stomach twist painfully. “Who you give that gift to, Story, will be the most important decision you make.”

“You could be ours, you know. We could take turns. We don’t mind sharing if it’s with each other.”

It reminds me of the first time I saw her; the night at the restaurant when my dad introduced us all. I knew that he’d intended her for me. He had to have. She was just too perfect, too pure, too sweet and cute. The first time I smiled at her, she squirmed in her seat, red blooming over her pale cheeks, ducking her head to hide a grin. I knew then that she’d be mine. I was wrong.

Anger that the night in the laundry room should have sealed the deal, but all three of us were too drunk and pissed off to do it properly. Anger that she just up and left.

She’s like sand slipping through your fingers. Water through a sieve. You can’t keep what you can never grasp.

“I can get any girl on this campus to suck me off. That’s not what I want. I want to taste you. I want to feel you come apart on my tongue, and then I want you to go to bed thinking of how much you loved it.”

There’s something about this girl, like just seeing her brings out something feral and wild inside. I know I’m not the only one who feels it.

She didn’t seem inclined to attend dinner with the sentient manifestations of Satan’s genitalia. Can’t say I blame her. You’ve got the personalities of an anal itch. Don’t know how I stand it.”

I want to fuck my stepsister. I want to claim her. Own her. I want her to finally be mine.

“Actually, I was talking to Ms. Crane.” He gives her a wink and the old woman sneers back. “Don’t you get fresh with me, you failed abortion.”

There is nothing god-like about Tristian Mercer. If anything, he’s a demon.

“If someone ever tries to bother you, come find one of us. Male or female, we don’t care. You belong to us, Story. No one should ever lay a hand on you, do you understand that?”

“That I would know how to handle being bullied?” I give a dark laugh, hardly able to believe it. “You brought your glorified sexual assault victim to teach your little sisters about…what? Standing up to assholes? Bringing them down? Shaking it off?” I shake my head. “Jesus, Tristian, Shakespeare couldn’t write this kind of irony.”

“Look at me while I’m fucking you.”