FIERCED 3: Finale of the Stepbrother Raider Romance Series Read Online Free Page A
Author: Stephanie Brother
FOUR
Rocco
I knew it was her from a thousand yards away. That delectable body leaning out across the balcony. Her naked shoulders and the rising swell of her perfect breasts. I could almost smell the sweet perfume of her warm soft skin in my nostrils again. The skin that merges into mine like cream into coffee.
One second she was sipping champagne alone, all dreamy like she was thinking of another night under the stars. Next instant some asshole emerges from the shadows and steps up beside her. The rage I felt when the man pushed himself on her was indescribable. Or the only word to describe it was murderous. I wanted to make him die a slow agonizing death.
How fucking dare he? The cocksure wimp out little prick. I've never been so infuriated at another dude trying to get in on what's mine. A woman is her own master, able to choose her preferred partner. And fortunately they always choose me. Not that it bothers me too much if they don't, there's always another gorgeous lady ready to take the last one's place. In fact, being seen around with one stunner is pretty much a guarantee that ten more will want to shove her aside and get themselves into her Louboutins.
I'm pretty well known in Venice. There aren't too many women left that I haven't delighted in and the frequent masked balls allow for a degree of decadent behavior even I might usually hold back from. The masquerades allowed people to indulge themselves in the depraved activities of old times and I must say I've fully engaged in as much decadence as I could find.
Although I don't believe in stealing a woman from another man, when the guy is an obvious asshole, I let myself go. Over the years. I've been in every one of these palaces and had way more than my share of fast hard sex in the illicit corners, behind the enveloping drapes, even up in the servants quarters under the roof. I'm happy to engage in illicit encounters with women from all walks of life and in a variety of locations.
I guess that's a long way round of finally admitting to myself that's all changed now that Lisa is mine. I've claimed her with my body and now I've come back to physically take her. No asshole is stepping in on my woman.
So when I saw the guy approach her, I was shocked by the violent reaction in my gut that replaced the equally aggressive stirring in my jocks. My cock was delighted to see her again and was eagerly pressing against the tight black pants I’d swung into for a party (mostly because to show up in my leathers would immediately give away my notorious identity).
Then when I saw him strike her I was like a madman, incensed as a raging bull in the ring. I gunned out the speedboat so its engine roared up and down the Canal, sparking the staid society out of its placid watery meanderings.
No one hits my woman. I know Lisa can be maddening and stubborn as a she-wolf, but no real man ever touches a woman. And he definitely doesn't lay one single wormy fucking finger on my woman. It looked as though the fuckwit was holding her trapped against the wall, the way she was leaning back away from him.
But that girl has balls. She's no one's victim. Man, the way she laid into the warrior guerrilla in Africa, I thought she was going to kill him. Of course out in the desert, she wasn't corseted into a strapless frilly dress and no doubt some Geisha girl shoes designed to prevent her taking more than two steps.
I was out of the boat before it stopped alongside the dock. I leapt onto the prow and sprung to catch the edge of the wall and from there swing myself up over the parapet. That was my first move. My second was to knock the guy out with my fist. He fell to the floor like a maiden's nightgown and I pulled my own maiden into my grasp.
“Did he hurt you?”
“Hallo to you too,” she says, smiling bigger than I've ever seen. Her lips like plump plums pleading to be bitten into.
“I said, did he hurt you.”
“I know you did. It seems to be your usual mode of
Rocco
I knew it was her from a thousand yards away. That delectable body leaning out across the balcony. Her naked shoulders and the rising swell of her perfect breasts. I could almost smell the sweet perfume of her warm soft skin in my nostrils again. The skin that merges into mine like cream into coffee.
One second she was sipping champagne alone, all dreamy like she was thinking of another night under the stars. Next instant some asshole emerges from the shadows and steps up beside her. The rage I felt when the man pushed himself on her was indescribable. Or the only word to describe it was murderous. I wanted to make him die a slow agonizing death.
How fucking dare he? The cocksure wimp out little prick. I've never been so infuriated at another dude trying to get in on what's mine. A woman is her own master, able to choose her preferred partner. And fortunately they always choose me. Not that it bothers me too much if they don't, there's always another gorgeous lady ready to take the last one's place. In fact, being seen around with one stunner is pretty much a guarantee that ten more will want to shove her aside and get themselves into her Louboutins.
I'm pretty well known in Venice. There aren't too many women left that I haven't delighted in and the frequent masked balls allow for a degree of decadent behavior even I might usually hold back from. The masquerades allowed people to indulge themselves in the depraved activities of old times and I must say I've fully engaged in as much decadence as I could find.
Although I don't believe in stealing a woman from another man, when the guy is an obvious asshole, I let myself go. Over the years. I've been in every one of these palaces and had way more than my share of fast hard sex in the illicit corners, behind the enveloping drapes, even up in the servants quarters under the roof. I'm happy to engage in illicit encounters with women from all walks of life and in a variety of locations.
I guess that's a long way round of finally admitting to myself that's all changed now that Lisa is mine. I've claimed her with my body and now I've come back to physically take her. No asshole is stepping in on my woman.
So when I saw the guy approach her, I was shocked by the violent reaction in my gut that replaced the equally aggressive stirring in my jocks. My cock was delighted to see her again and was eagerly pressing against the tight black pants I’d swung into for a party (mostly because to show up in my leathers would immediately give away my notorious identity).
Then when I saw him strike her I was like a madman, incensed as a raging bull in the ring. I gunned out the speedboat so its engine roared up and down the Canal, sparking the staid society out of its placid watery meanderings.
No one hits my woman. I know Lisa can be maddening and stubborn as a she-wolf, but no real man ever touches a woman. And he definitely doesn't lay one single wormy fucking finger on my woman. It looked as though the fuckwit was holding her trapped against the wall, the way she was leaning back away from him.
But that girl has balls. She's no one's victim. Man, the way she laid into the warrior guerrilla in Africa, I thought she was going to kill him. Of course out in the desert, she wasn't corseted into a strapless frilly dress and no doubt some Geisha girl shoes designed to prevent her taking more than two steps.
I was out of the boat before it stopped alongside the dock. I leapt onto the prow and sprung to catch the edge of the wall and from there swing myself up over the parapet. That was my first move. My second was to knock the guy out with my fist. He fell to the floor like a maiden's nightgown and I pulled my own maiden into my grasp.
“Did he hurt you?”
“Hallo to you too,” she says, smiling bigger than I've ever seen. Her lips like plump plums pleading to be bitten into.
“I said, did he hurt you.”
“I know you did. It seems to be your usual mode of
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