Princes of Chaos (Royals of Forsyth University, #7)

by Angel Lawson

Pussy so desperate for the Ashby brothers that she’ll do ...

And it might be the best kiss I’ve ever had.

The way our bodies begin working as one, rocking together as we taste each other.

The punch of his small, quiet grunts every time our hips meet. Even the sting of lingering pain, the slip of sweat and blood, is everything I always knew sex should be.

In truth, it’s ...

No one lives in the Palace and emerges without bleeding. Without scars.

The truth is that it makes him look even hotter than before, scuffing up his pretty boy looks in a sexy, dangerous way.

But I’ve been on the receiving end of his kisses, and as hard as I try not to fall for it, they still make my insides melt.

But everyone else wants one thing: a part of me.

Time after time, I do it, because I don’t have a choice.

Never have. I give and fuck and smile, snatching away little parts of myself and hiding them away, becaus...

It’s all taken, ...

But her? She can have my cum. Nothing I can do about that.

I refuse to give her anything else.

After years of being used, there’s a certain thrill in being able to do it to someone else.

A tribute to how this girl has done nothing but add conflict and turmoil in our lives.

The women in here, the ones eyeing me like a piece of meat, I’m for them, not the other way around.

Any other girl in this town would have been all up on me by now. They would have been clawing at me, sucking, licking, moaning. Taking.

“That’s right. You wanted it like this and now I want to watch you when you take my cum.

Know when I fill you up and create with you.

I want to see the very moment you...

I come hard, eyes pinned to hers, feeling—watching—as she falls too.

Anything else that’s left of me has already been taken.

What I’d give to slot my cock between them and coat them in cum.

Another world, one where my spunk didn’t carry the weight of gold.

She looks like the personification of ripe, fertile lust.

I’ve never wanted to fuck a person more than I do at this exact moment, to make a baby in that taut belly, so the whole world knows what I can do.

“It wasn’t like you’re thinking. I didn’t–I wasn’t like Wicker. I didn’t just take what I wanted.”

There just isn’t space for anything else. Not for life. Not for death.

Sex is a complex algebraic equation, and I’ve aced all the exams.

Girls used to go wild for it–being ruthlessly analyzed to the point of utter sexual annihilation.

Verity Sinclaire is femininity personified, and the thought slams into me like a freight train.

“You’d look so fucking good with a baby inside you.”

“Round and glowing, the personification of fertility,”

“Is that what you really want?”

“Do you want my baby inside?”

The strangest thing about all of this is how, sometimes in the middle of the day, when things are tense and stressful, I get a craving.

For Pace’s cock.

With Wicker, sex is always weirdly akin to a fight.

Our bodies have these arguments.

It’s hard and fast, a bit breathtaking, and always leaves me feeling either e...

Never any in ...

That’s how it is with him; one extreme or another, with no chan...

With Lex, it’s this constantly confusing duality between cold, detached procedure and p...

Our bodies don’t argue, and maybe that’s the most t...

How much I want him like that, on an unavoidably f...

The woman inside of me recognizes the man in him...

But ...

He winds his fingers in my hair, using the grip to fuck softly into my mouth....

Pace makes me m...