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Every inch of my body heats, and I swear my heartbeat plays a symphony in my ears.
Just from Asher’s words. Fuck. Me. I’m sick, and the only ailment to relieve my sickness is the four dicks searing me with expectation.
My weak heart pounds against my ribs, echoing in my damn ears at that one simple look, begging me to defy his demands.
For him, I am a brat—his little brat, more specifically.
That’s how our relationship has worked so far. He pushes. I pull. Somewhere along the way, we’ve gotten into this tension-filled relationship, and one of us is about to crack.
Crawling in my direction on the hard metal floor, Rad finally stops right before me with desire dilating his pupils, making them as dark as shadows.
He fucking crawled for her
“Now take off your shorts and hand your panties over,” Asher demands,
“Make me,” I grit my teeth, snarling in his direction. If he wants my damn panties, he can come take them off with his fucking teeth.
Having Asher Montgomery on his knees, staring lustful hate vehemently into my eyes, should scare the panties directly off me. Instead, empowerment fills me, and my courage grows. No matter what happens, he will work for this pussy after everything he’s ever said to me.
How many licks does it take for the Asher to get to the center of the kitty cat?
“I can cut your fingers off one by one.” I’m challenging him. Would I cut off his fingers for funsies? Uh, yeah. Just for the simple fact, he’s touching me. Fuck the cops. This is self-defense. He won’t let go and keeps leering at me like I’m his favorite Sunday brunch. I’m no biscuit and gravy meal, pal. So, fuck off.
Holy hotness, Batman.
“I told you, Little Brat. No one touches what’s ours.” He gives me a firm nod, squeezing my wrist with reassurance. “Whoever you need me to beat, I’ll fucking end them.”
Be still my beating heart.
“All right, boys. Because that’s what you are. You’re not fucking men. Men don’t touch things they’re not supposed to. Now, get the fuck out. You’re not welcome here ever again.”
No matter how often I told myself I’d never touch Asher’s psycho ass with a ten-foot pole. Well, call me a liar all you want, but I’m about to get dicked down and hate fucked within an inch of my life.
On a loud cry, filling the space with my raspy moans and begging for more, I come. And I come hard. Harder than fucking hard. Shit. I think I meet Jesus behind the stars dancing in my eyesight.
I don’t know if I’ll survive to tell the tale of our adventures. Death by dick—is what the headlines will say when they tell the story of how Asher Montgomery royally dicked me down and fucked me to death. Dig my grave now because there’s no coming back from this moment.
Lean muscle lines his arms, accented by the thick blue veins protruding from his flesh—has me panting like a pathetic bitch in heat.
If I could stay in a fairytale land with endless orgasms and four men at my disposal, I would.
“Too full,” I say, blowing out a breath. Asher scoffs, walking around the table and into my eyesight. Leaning against the wall, he crosses his arms over his chest and smirks. “You can take it, Little Brat. Spread your legs and let Callum in,” Asher demands with a cock of his head.
“You’re being such a good Little Brat,”
“Hello, boys, my name is River West, and I’m your new band manager. Congratulations,” I say, cocking my head when various emotions cross their pale faces.
