Page 80 of Brutal Revenge

Every time she escapes my grasp before she sends me crashing to the mat.

The women around us cheer when she sits across my chest after my tenth failed attempt. She plants her knees wide for balance and pins my hands above my head.

While beaming as if she’s won a taekwondo championship, Azra’s smile is bright and victorious.

I can’t even get annoyed that she’s handing me my ass on a platter.

I’m too impressed.

Won’t stop me from switching tactics, though.

“Okay.” I peer up at her flushed cheeks and dilated eyes. “Now what?”

The vein in her neck works overtime. “What do you mean? I’ve got you pinned.”

“Yeah… but you still need to get away. You can’t escape and keep me pinned at the same time.”

As defiance flares through her eyes, she flops her head to the side. “Wanna bet?”

When she tries to dismount me, I counter. Except this time, I pull her back so her knees hug my thighs instead of my chest.

Despite the tremor of excitement shaking her limbs, she throws her palm into my nose, stinging my eyes with moisture, before she tries to clamber off me.

Again, I counter her move.

Every time she tries to escape, I keep her exactly where she should be—heating my dick with her deliciously fragrant cunt. I’m not endeavoring to show her I’m naturally stronger. I’m trying to do the opposite.

After a sixth unsuccessful attempt to get away from me, Azra huffs, frustrated. “You’re cheating. This isn’t fair.”

“How?” I ask, laughing at the absurdity in her tone. “This is reality.”

Her eyes flash with anger, and for a moment, I want to forget why we’re here.

I can’t, though, because the truth is dangerous. I don’t trust myself to walk away next time. Not with how she looks at me like she knows I’ll never hurt her.

She needs to know how to defend herself—from me more than anyone.

“Try again.”

“It’s pointless.”

“Try. Again.”

She snarls, hating that I’m barking at her before she tries to loosen my grip.

When I counter, she tries to roll us over so she can use gravity to her advantage.

I hold her where I want her by shifting all my weight to my hips.

Grunting, she fights to slip her knee through my monkey grip.

I trap it.

Every failed maneuver increases her frustration.

“Why can’t I get out of this?” Her angry snarl echoes off the quiet gym’s walls. We’re not alone. Our performance enraptures the audience, preventing them from continuing their workout routines.

“Because you’re thinking with this.” I tap her heart. Rolling my hips upward, I shift her breathless pant to a husky moan. “And this.” This time, I tap her temple. “Not with this.”