“Fine,” I say. “Makes it easier for me if you’re not fighting back. I don’t mind stomping your ass.”
He just scoffs and keeps walking. I take it as part of the challenge. It’ll feel good to pound on him for a minute, get my frustrations out. I’ve missed too many fights lately, and the crunch of bone is like a siren song echoing in my muscle memory, calling me back.
I run up behind Royal. I may not have professional training, but I’ve figured out a few things on my own. I’ve fought bigger opponents enough to know I’ve got to use his weight and size against him. I go for his legs, catching the back of his knee midstride. He curses and stumbles, but before he can get his balance back, I drop onto my hands, locking my legs with his—one behind his knee, the other in front of his other ankle.
His knees hit the road with a satisfying crack.
Only one of my feet is trapped under his ankle, and I roll free before he can catch it. Then I’m on my feet, dancing back, my fists raised.
“Crazy bitch,” Royal growls, snatching for me.
I duck out of the way and swing, but he’s ready this time, knocking the blow aside. I use the momentum to spin around, coming in with a foot to his lower back. Kidney shot. Royal grunts, but when I make a jab for his face, he grabs my arm and spins me around, pinning me to his chest.
“Stop making a fucking scene,” he snarls, sounding well and truly pissed.
I tense up, making myself as big as possible so I’ll have room to maneuver when I need to struggle. Royal starts to climb to his feet, which is a clumsy move for anyone. I bend my knees and then kick off the ground before he can get to standing, throwing my weight into his shoulders to knock him back.
He stumbles back a step but gains his feet, anyway. My feet are dangling a foot off the ground, and I’m caught in his iron grip, his arm as big as my thigh as he pins me against him. I have way too little practice fighting guys. Merciless probably knows how to fight a guy. She probably trains for it with her martial arts masters. Me, I train using a bag in the basement. I’m good with my fists, and I can land a kick when it counts, but I’m no match for Royal’s strength. Before I can squirm free, he tosses me over his shoulder and heads for the gate.
“Put me down,” I bark, thrashing on his shoulder. I elbow his neck, then twist around to land a series of blows to the back of his head. It feels like a fucking brick. I struggle harder, frustration and anger and helplessness raging inside me. I hate how he overpowers me, how there’s nothing I can do to win against a fucking giant. I hate that he always gets what he wants. I hate that he has a big, loving, protective family and a mansion and a new car the week after his was wrecked, and that no matter how many times he allows me to look inside that world, I’m never truly in because I don’t belong there. I hate that all along, I thought he was opening up to me, but he was just toying with me.
And most of all, I hate that I fell for it. He takes me to the river and fucks me and tells me about his family, but he didn’t tell me about his brother visiting. He only tells me what he wants me to know, the abstract, not what’s real and concrete in front of us. He’ll never tell me what I want to know, because no matter what I do, he won’t let me be a real part of his life.
As if to prove my point, he delivers me to the truck. “Get the fuck inside and drive home,” he snaps. “And don’t come back here. When I want you, I’ll come get you.”
“Fuck you, Royal,” I say, shoving his chest when he sets me down. “You can’t just come over whenever you’re down to fuck, and then chase me off like a stray when I do the same.”
“And you can’t come to my house when I’m with my family and then throw a tantrum outside when I tell you to leave,” he snaps back. “Stop acting like trash.”
“I am trash,” I yell at him, completely losing my shit. “Don’t you remember? You’ve told me that since the day we met, and you’ve never stopped treating me like it, so how else am I supposed to act?”
“Shut the fuck up, Harper,” he growls, yanking the back door of the truck open and stuffing me inside. “It’s over. You lost. You’re not strong enough to take me down, and you never will be. Go home.”
“Fuck you,” I yell. “I’m not giving up that easy.”
I hurl myself back out, but he catches me, tossing me across the seat and jumping up in, blocking the way out. I reach for the other door, but he grabs my knees and pulls me back, and suddenly I’m on my back on the seat, and he’s yanking at my jeans. Tears of fury burn my eyes, and I twist away, but not before I see him yanking at his belt with his other hand. He flips me onto my back again and dives onto me, wrestling my thighs open and plowing into me.
I cry out in fury, pounding at his shoulders as he buries his cock deeper, swearing at me as he grinds himself up to the hilt inside me. We’ve been fucking for over a month, but he’s so big it still hurts like fuck when he doesn’t prep me. The fucked up part is, the pain is starting to turn me on as much as everything else he does.
“Let me up,” I snarl. “You don’t deserve to fuck me after you threw me out on my ass in front of your family.”
“You crazy bitch,” he growls, gripping my hands and linking his fingers through mine, pinning them to the seat as he grinds his pelvic bone against my clit. “Is this what you wanted? Is this why you came over? You need a good pounding to knock some sense into you?”
A shudder of pleasure rocks through me, and I want to deny it, but he can feel how wet I am, so wet it makes me furious.
“So what if it is?” I snap, bucking my hips, not sure if I’m trying to throw him off or push him deeper, push him over the edge, watch him lose control the way I love to do. “Why shouldn’t I be able to come over when I want some, just like you do?”
“I told you what would happen if you came over,” he says, thrusting into me hard and fast, each movement punctuated by his harsh words. “Is that what you wanted? You want me to watch my brothers to wreck this sweet cunt like I do?”
“You’d never,” I swear at him, my knees gripping his hips as I wrench at my hands, trying to free them from his grip. He only fucks me harder, pounding me into the seat like he’s trying to tear me in half. He bares his teeth in a feral snarl, but I don’t drop his gaze. I slam my hips up against his so hard I hope it leaves bruises, meeting each punishing thrust with my own.
Last time, he told me he’d let his brothers run a train on me if I came over. But that was before. Things are different now. Maybe before I came along, he and his brothers did their thing to all the girls. But now he cares. And when he cares, Royal doesn’t share with anyone, not even his brothers. I know him well enough to know that.
And he looks fucking pissed about it. He grabs a handful of my hair, yanking my head back until I cry out, my body arching automatically, my knees spreading wider. He yanks my leg up with his other hand, hooking it around his hips, the force of his movements positively savage as he slams into me so hard I know I’ll have bruises on my hips tomorrow from where we collide, bruises on my leg from where his strong fingers bite into me, crushing my muscle until I cry out.
“That’s right, baby,” he says, his voice coming in quick bursts between the crushing blows of his hips. “Let me hear you use that loud voice now. I know you want to. Let it out. Scream for me, Cherry Pie.”
“I fucking hate you,” I snarl.