Chapter 11

“I didn’t mean to want her this long.
Didn’t plan to stay.
But now I crave her like routine,
with coffee, with breath,
with the parts of me
that shouldn’t know how to feel.“

Aylin’s POV

“How…” My voice barely cleared my throat. “How did you even know I was here?”

His eyes gleamed like mischief and menace were kissing behind them, and he shrugged, “Those are little details we don’t discuss, princess.”

I blinked, stunned into silence. “That’s called stalking.”

“Stalking’s a harsh word.” He stepped forward. One slow, deliberate step. “I prefer…observing.”

My bare foot stepped back without asking for permission.

“Uninvited observing,” I pointed out, my fingers brushing the edge of the table behind me like it could anchor me, like anything could protect me from the way he looked at me…like I was both his favorite meal and a riddle he’d already solved, then unsolved, just to do it again.

He didn’t answer, no, not with words. He shut the door, with one slow push that felt like the start of something catastrophic.

He stepped further in, into my room, my air, as if it was owed to him. I stepped back, back, and back, with every move he made forward, a reflex, or maybe an instinct, letting him in while trying to run away.

His presence devoured the space, his gaze combed through every inch of me like he had every right to, like he owned the oxygen in my lungs and the skin I was wearing.

“You’re insane,” I breathed, retreating another step until the back of my thighs hit the bed.

Goddammit, he didn’t stop, kept moving, till he was breathing my air.

My breath caught at his closeness.

“Why are you running away from me?” His voice dropped, darker than the shadows inside him.

I shook my head, pulse thudding in my ears. “I’m not.”

His lips twitched, and his eyes didn’t leave me, scanning my face like he was etching it into the back of his eyelids, one freckle at a time. Like if he stared hard enough, he could split me open and climb inside.

“Even if you run…” he said, “I’ll catch you.”

He leaned in, just enough to make my lungs forget how to function. His breath grazed my cheek, warm and wrong, “You know that, right?”

His eyes locked on mine, hazel and wild, all storm, all ruin. There was a demon behind them, one that didn’t want to hurt me, not really, just wanted to keep me, bruised, bare, and begging.

God, who was I deceiving? He’d hurt me. He’d kill me if it came to it, and then he’d whisper poetry and call my death a masterpiece.

“Actually, I’d like it if you run.” A grin crawled onto his lips, so feral, “Nothing makes me harder than the chase. Makes taking you all the sweeter.”

My heart skipped. No, not skipped, tripped, flat on its face.

I hated how my stomach flipped, how my legs didn’t move, how the pulse in my neck was screaming run, and I didn’t.

“So, tell me now,” He didn’t touch me, not yet, but his eyes did, unwrapping me like I was his personally-made gift, “Are you going to run…” His voice dipped, low and sharp, “Or are you going to crawl?”

He tilted his head, watching every tremble I tried to suppress. “Because I’ll ruin you either way, princess, but one of them makes you beg first.”

A shiver tore through me. I hated it, hated how he knew exactly which wires to pull in me, the ones I’d buried beneath layers and years, years of logic and distance and lies.

“I’m not crawling for you,” I whispered, even though it didn’t sound like defiance, god help me, it sounded like foreplay, like a challenge.

He smiled, slow and amused, all knives and fire, “No?” he murmured, stepping even closer, his fingers lifting, finally, it brushed over my waist, over my shirt, then he moved his hand up, gently touching me, till it reached my neck, right where my pulse was throbbing, “Funny. Your racing pulse says otherwise.”

I clenched my jaw.

“Nathan—”

“God,” he exhaled, his voice cracking with hunger. “Say my name again, just like that.”

I hated him.

I hated how his voice made my spine curl, how his words wrapped around my thighs, and I hated how badly I wanted to lean in instead of away.

“What if I said no?” A part of me, the logical, sane one, wanted to make sure, to check his limits, that if he had any.

“You and I both know that you won’t,” He replied, so confident. “So don’t start that game, princess. You already know how it ends, with you bent down and screaming my name,” He added, his calmness infuriating. I wanted to hit him and kiss him. I wanted to slap that arrogance off his face and taste it off his tongue.

His hand slid from my neck and curled around my jaw, thumb brushing my bottom lip, like he was aligning the shot before he pulled the trigger.

“You’re mine,” he murmured. “Remember?”

“No,” I swallowed hard, hating it when he says that, because yeah, I can enjoy the insanity of this as much as I can, but I can’t fully surrender to him, he’d kill me, “I said it before, and I will say it again, don’t think you own me.”

“I don’t think,” he said, our chests were almost touching, the air between us was no longer breathable. “I know.”

“I own the sound your body makes when I’m inside it. I own the panic behind your ribs when I walk in,” So, he knows, “I own the part of you that aches when I leave.”

I froze.

“You’re sick,” I whispered. I am sick, I am sick, I swear, it’s me, for liking all of this, for feeling the pleasure twist at the pit of my stomach, and spill between my thighs, for wanting him to break me like I was built for it, to ruin me, take me, and burn me.

He leaned in, his lips brushing the corner of mine, but not kissing me yet, like he enjoyed the ache more than the reward. “Sick for you, baby. That’s the worst kind.”

He sucked in a deep breath, like he was breathing me all, “You wearing this uniform again…” he murmured, voice cracking. “Brings back blissful fucking memories.”

He didn’t wait for permission, because Nathan never did.

His lips took the reward, and he kissed me like he was starving, like he’d been dying of thirst, and I was the poison he chose to drown in.

It wasn’t soft. He is rarely soft, if ever. It’s always taking with him, claiming.

His mouth bruised mine, his teeth scraping, tongue demanding entry he knew I’d give without resistance.

I gasped into him, and he devoured it, owned even my oxygen like it belonged to him, like I did.

I didn’t realize his hand was under my skirt until it was too late. Rough fingers climbed my thigh, slow at first, like he was retracing a path carved into memory, like he was reminding me that he’d been here before, and I’d begged for it.

“Fuck,” he muttered against my mouth, and I whimpered. I hated that I did, but his palm slid higher, bolder, knuckles grazing lace. Jesus fucking christ…

“I can feel how warm you are,” he breathed, lips brushing my jaw now, dragging to my ear. “How ready you are for me.”

“Nathan—” I tried, but my voice cracked.

He smiled against my skin. That cruel, beautiful kind of smile that meant I was already undone.

“Still want to say no?” He kissed the base of my neck, then bit down, enough to make me flinch, enough to leave a mark. “Tell me to stop, princess,” he said, his voice a sin-stained whisper.

His fingers slid beneath the edge of my panties, grazing slick heat that made my knees tremble. “Say the word, and I’ll let you go.”

He was bluffing, we both knew it, because even if I said it, if I whispered stop, he’d still hear more.

He grinned against my skin, and his mouth moved to my jaw, dragging slow, drugging kisses, testing me, and pushing me to the edge.

His fingers didn’t move any deeper. Just hovered, right at the edge of where I wanted him, circling lazily, slowly.

“Tell me again how you don’t want this,” He murmured, and I couldn’t breathe. The air between us was too thick with tension, with him, with every filthy promise written across his fingertips.

His mouth found mine again, not hungry this time, no, it was cruel. He kissed me slowly, taunting, like he was feeding off my restraint.

His thumb brushed my clit, just once, a whisper of pressure, barely enough, but it made my hips jerk, a soft, pathetic whimper slipping from my mouth into his. God, he was the devil.

“You’re soaking,” he growled against my lips. “And I haven’t even touched you properly.”

“Nathan,” I wanted to scream for him to stop, so why couldn’t I? How did he brainwash me into this?

He pulled back, lips glistening with mine, his eyes burning like hellfire, “You keep saying my name like that and expect me not to take it as permission?”

His fingers moved, another stroke, another circle, just enough to tease, but never enough to satisfy.

“I could make you come right now,” he whispered, voice thick and low. “Right here, standing up, with my hand still under your fucking skirt, without even slipping a finger in.”

He kissed my neck again, slower this time, letting his teeth scrape over my pulse before he sank them in my shoulder and bit me, so hard, punishing me for the audacity of doubt, and his fingers, god, his fingers moved at the same time, with more pressure, more heat.

Pleasure and pain tangled so tightly I couldn’t tell which was which. I moaned, broken and breathless, and his grin widened against my throat.

He fucking liked it when I squirmed.

“But you don’t deserve that yet, do you?” he said, lips brushing beneath my ear as he slowed down, “You want to say no, remember?”

“Sometimes,” he said, kissing the bite like a reward, “I think you forget who you’re playing with.”

And God, he was right, with Nathan, one sentence was enough to set him off, and turn worship into war.

I wished to have enough power, enough control to stop him, to ruin him. I wanted to unravel that cocky smirk, make it falter, just once. I wanted to grab him by the jaw and spit his own rules back into his mouth, to twist his game until he lost control of me.

But I also wanted to keep losing like this, to let him touch me, taint me, take me. To be beneath his hands, breath snagged, spine arched, nails digging into anything to keep myself from flying apart.

When he’s near, I don’t think. I don’t remember. I don’t calculate or control. I unravel, but I don’t drown. No, I float, weightless, thoughtless, blameless, and I crave that more than I crave safety.

I like it, god help me, I like the way my mind goes quiet around him, like my past stops clawing at me, like the world stops spinning, and there’s only this, only him.

In that suspended moment, I don’t want to be strong. I don’t want to fight. I want to fall, and let him catch me with bloody, sinful hands.

So, instead of running for the hills, I brought my arms up, wrapped them around his neck. My fingers threaded through his hair, tugging and twisting just like he was doing to me.

His groan cracked right into my mouth, “Now that’s my good girl,” he growled, his voice soaked in approval and lust and ownership.

And then he moved, his fingers shoved my panties aside, touching me like no one ever did before, rough, harsh, and without build up and no fucking warning as he slipped two fingers inside me.

I don’t know if I moaned or gasped or sobbed. My nails dug into his scalp, scratching, and my head dropped onto his shoulder, my breath shattering against his skin.

His fingers didn’t wait, they drove in, like he was trying to carve his name inside me, curling, stretching, and filling. His palm ground against my clit with every thrust, sending heat ricocheting through my spine.

“Fuck, listen to that,” he rasped in my ear. “That wet little sound you’re making just for me.”

I whimpered something, broken and barely human, and I knew he was smiling, he knew he won. The bastard.

“You feel that?” he whispered, moving his fingers like he knew where to hit, which part of me ticks, god, he knew my body too well. My eyelids glided open, flickering to the basket behind him, on the table. No, not just my body, he knew all of me, all too well. It was scary, “That’s mine. This messy, desperate—”

His words stopped when a knock shattered the moment, fucking hell. Usually, he wouldn’t care, he’d continue, but now, he wanted to torture me, this infuriating psycho. He withdrew his hand and pulled back from me, right when I was twitching, seconds from falling apart, just microseconds away from an orgasm.

Fuck him. It was almost like the bastard had been waiting for the interruption.

Air punched from my lungs, my whole body clenched with betrayal and need.

He smirked, like my frustration fed him, like it was his favorite part. “Well, would you look at that,” he said, maddeningly calm, “Food’s here.”

He brought his hand up between us, the same hand that had just been inside me, fingers slick, glistening with my arousal.

Dear lord, he dragged one finger to his mouth and he licked it, right in front of me, slow and obscene, and so damn possessive I almost fainted, almost came right there without him touching me.

He sucked it in, tasted me, fucking hummed like I was a dessert.

“Christ, you taste so fucking good,” he muttered, like he was reviewing a fucking wine. “Almost makes me want to cancel the order outside, I already have my favorite course in here.”

Then he winked before he turned around, just like that, and strolled to the door like he hadn’t just finger-fucked me into oblivion and left me aching and empty.

This fucking asshole, I want to bash his head into a wall.

The waiter was at the door, about to push the cart in, but Nathan stopped him, because of course he didn’t want anyone seeing me like this, flushed, disheveled, and drenched in him. Words were exchanged. He was probably paying him, this bastard, and then the door closed.

He pushed the cart inside, “Why don’t you go and change,” Nathan said, ever so casually, his eyes flickering all over me, pausing at the hem of my skirt, “…into something more comfortable,” He added, his lips twitching in delight, “So we can eat, I am starving.”

My nostrils flared. I could feel my face flush with rage and humiliation. I glared at him, at how he toys with me like he pleases.

I looked around me, but there were no weapons in sight, nothing but pillows, so I picked up one and hurled it at his stupid, beautiful face. He ducked at the right moment, and he laughed, that real, boyish kind of laugh that cracked from his chest like he hadn’t tasted joy in years and just found it in my fury.

A harsh breath pushed off my chest, fingers curling into fists at my side.

His eyes dragged over my furious, rageful self, and his lips pulled up into a genuine smile, not a sneer, not sarcastic or mocking. His teeth grazed his lower lip like he was already fantasizing about how else he could push me.

His eyes lit up, bright and unhinged, “You are so fucking adorable,” he said, “I could just eat you up.”

It didn’t sound sexual as much as it was heartfelt, like he was genuinely overwhelmed by whatever this was between us, like the storm inside him cracked open just to let this one terrifying affection leak through.

My throat bobbed as my eyes flickered all over him, to his black tee and black trousers, all wrapped up in darkness, but it didn’t cover him, no, it belonged to him, so fitting for his personality and grey heart. Scratch that, grey meant there was light, it would imply balance. But no, this man’s heart was pure black. It bled ink, not blood.

He turned away, humming soft tones under his breath, unwrapping our food, casually busy prepping it for us, and I kept looking because god help me, he was so handsome, in ways I didn’t dare to dream of before.

He wasn’t Chase-handsome, no, Chase looked like prince charming. This man looked like the monster, the villain who’d kill prince charming, gut him, paint the walls in his blood, and steal his kingdom with a grin.

I blinked and shook myself back in. Focus, Aylin, focus. I crossed the room, pulled open my suitcase, and grabbed the only comfy clothes I packed, an oversized tee and loose shorts. My fingers clenched tight over the fabric and I moved to the bathroom, as fast as I could, closing the door and locking it, needing to be away from him for a minute or two.

I peeled off my clothes slowly, my fingers clumsy, my skin still flushed and tingling. When I reached for my tee, my eyes caught something in the mirror, and they widened.

The bite.

His bite.

It sat high on my shoulder, angry and red, the edges faintly purple. There was no hiding it, no denying who put it there.

I ran my fingers over the mark. It stung, faintly, and I hated how I liked the pain. This psycho man. I can’t with him.

I pulled on the tee quickly, shaking the thought loose, and stepped into my shorts. I washed my face, tried to freshen up before I unlocked the door, and stepped out.

The room had shifted slightly, the balcony door was wide open now, letting in the sound of Rome, low hums and distant footsteps. The late night breeze enveloped the room and caressed my skin.

Nathan had moved everything, the small dining table was now outside, perfectly set for two.

Plates arranged, candles lit. Candles, for fuck’s sake.

He stood with his back to me, leaning one hand against the railing, the city lights catching the sharp lines of his jaw, the ink-black silhouette of him looking like something painted by a madman.

I gulped down and reached for the basket, picking up the silk scrunchie and wrapping it over my hair into a bun. My skin was burning, itching already.

I stepped outside. “It’s a beautiful view from here,” he said without turning. His voice was low, almost soft.

“It is,” I murmured, keeping my distance.

He turned around, looking at me, his eyes drinking me in, “But I bet it’d look better with you bent over the rail.”

I exhaled sharply, nearly ran back inside, and locked myself in the bathroom, but I didn’t. I sat down without a word, my eyes cut toward him, narrowed just enough to say fuck you without opening my mouth.

He smirked, delighted. I tried to ignore him and focused on the food. It smelled incredible, warm, fresh, impossibly decadent.

My stomach growled in protest, and I looked down at the table. I blinked in shock. There was more food than I’d ordered. Far more. Too much for one person. A truffle risotto, some spinach ravioli, a plate of cacio e pepe, a side of grilled vegetables drizzled in olive oil, and what looked like veal saltimbocca. There was also wine, blood-red already waiting in two glasses.

I didn’t even order wine.

I didn’t order half this shit.

He had. He ordered all of this, before he even came to my room, which meant he’d planned this. Of course, he did, he sent the basket, knew the hotel I was in, even which room. This creepy stalker.

I kept ignoring him, and I chewed slowly, trying to enjoy the food; maybe if I chewed long enough, I could pretend I was alone, that I was safe.

Midway through the plate, I felt it, his unwavering gaze. I lifted my eyes because he was silent, which was so not like him. He wasn’t eating, just sitting back, sipping his wine, staring at me with a look I couldn’t decode.

He licked his lips, just enough for my pulse to skip. I swallowed hard, my fingers tightening around the fork. “You won’t eat?” I asked, trying to sound bored and detached.

Instead of answering, he leaned forward. His hand slid across the table and closed around my hand, the one holding the fork. He guided it toward him, so smooth and controlled. Then he took the bite, my bite, my half-eaten ravioli, his mouth closed around it.

He chewed slowly, hummed in satisfaction, his eyes never leaving mine as he released my hand.

I swallowed hard and reached for my wine glass, my throat parched, “I think I heard you speak Italian with the waiter,” I commented, “Didn’t know you spoke the language.”

He nodded, lazily. “Enough to save my day.”

My brows pinched. This cryptic bastard. “How did you learn it?”

He shrugged and took a sip of his glass, “Like I said,” His lips curved, “those are minor little details we don’t discuss.”

Of course. So he wants to tear me open, inch by inch, turn me inside out until there’s nothing left of me, but won’t let me glimpse a single loose thread in his armor.

In his fucking dreams.

I pushed, just a little more.

“Sometimes when you talk, your accent slips,” I said. “It’s British, mostly, but sometimes a word or two comes out…more American.” I shouldn’t have admitted it, but I liked it, loved it when it usually happens, the way it makes him sound effortlessly sexy. “How come?”

His eyes stayed on mine, “I spent most of my life bouncing between the two,” he said. “England. States. Back and forth. Sometimes it shows.”

His tone was nonchalant, but something in his eyes twitched, so minor, a flicker, almost nothing.

I took another bite and allowed the conversation to flow, “Do you have any siblings?” I asked. I knew nothing about him, for god’s sake, while he knows even my favorite scrunchie color and the brand of my lip balm.

He nodded.

“How many?”

“Two.”

So, I will have to extract the words from his mouth, one by one.

I chewed slowly, watching him from across the candlelight. “Younger?”

He shook his head, “Older, much older.” His eyebrow raised and his lips twitched, just slightly. “I am the handsome mistake that came at the end.”

My mouth curved before I could stop it. There he was. That tone and that bite, that self-aware, arrogant menace I recognized. His silence was terrifying. But this version of him? This was the one I could almost handle.

I tilted my head. “How old are you anyway?” I just realized that I had no idea.

He smiled, not kindly, more wolfish, predatory, “Older than you.”

“I figured that,” I said, annoyed at myself for playing into his game. “But, by how many years?”

He had that kind of face that made it impossible to guess, youthful, but not soft. Sharp. Hard, like he hadn’t aged so much as he’d survived something.

“Enough for you to call me daddy,” He said with a wink, back to being a pain in my ass.

I blinked, then glared.

“There it is,” I muttered, stabbing at my food, “the inevitable downfall of our normal conversation.”

He smiled, unbothered, drinking from his glass, “You’re the one who asked,” he said, tone infuriatingly calm. “Next time, stick to the safe questions. Like my favorite color, or what I’d like to eat for dessert.”

“I don’t care about either.”

“Sure you do,” he said, eyes darkening. “Because the answer to both…is you.”

I groaned.

He grinned.

God, he was impossible.

He keeps winning.

I grabbed the napkin and wiped my mouth, my stomach full and my patience thoroughly depleted. Then I picked up my wine glass, curled my legs beneath me, and sank into the oversized willow chair.

I traced the rim of the glass with my fingertips, avoiding his eyes.

“You’re not gonna ask me the same questions?” I muttered, casual, careless, an opening he wasn’t supposed to take but did.

He leaned forward, so ready.

I looked up as he set his glass down, folded his hands, and smiled like a devil, “I don’t need to.”

And then, god help me, he started speaking.

“Aylin Harrington. Twenty-three years old. Born in Portland, Oregon. Moved to LA at eleven. Only child. Parents divorced three years ago. Mother’s a hotshot lawyer. Father inherited a good business from his parents,  mismanaged it into the ground, went bankrupt, became an alcoholic, and is currently in rehab.” Holy fuck.

My blood ran cold.

He didn’t blink, didn’t pause.

“Studied Hospitality Management at Cal State Long Beach. Graduated top fifteen percent. Worked part-time at the Ritz-Carlton near LAX. Switched to commercial airlines two years ago. Turned down Delta and accepted a contract with…well, you know the rest,” He scoffed at that part.

My spine locked. My fingers froze around the stem of my glass.

He smiled wider, “Five-foot-six,” he continued softly. “Green eyes. Natural blonde, but you dye these couple of strands here—” He lifted a hand, pointing loosely toward the left side of my head. “Because a few grays started showing early.”

His brow quirked. “Gray hairs. On that pretty little head. So young. What kind of trauma does that?”

I stared at him, heart stammering in my chest like it wanted out.

He just sat there, so calm, so smug, like he’d skinned me alive and was admiring the craftsmanship.

Something wild inside me snapped, “You creep!” I shot out, bewildered. I breathed hard, setting my glass down with a little too much force. “Do you hear yourself?”

He tilted his head, amused. “Loud and clear.”

“How the fuck do you know all that?” I demanded, voice rising with every word. I was angry, fuck, rageful, I wanted to claw at his face with my nails.

“I paid attention,” he cut in smoothly, “which is more than anyone else in your life has ever done.”

That shut me up, only for a second.

My heart thundered, too loud, too fast. I felt exposed, weak, stripped to bone. He knew about Mom and Dad, he knew almost everything. How deep did he dig? How far did he crawl inside my life to collect all that?

“You had no right—”

“I never ask for permission, Aylin,” he said, “I take. I learn. I collect every inch of what’s mine. You should know that by now.”

Something broke in me, and my jaw clenched. My heart thundered, and I was past making sense. I was pushed back into that place, into that past that I never fully remembered.

I was under the water, cold, endless, choking water. I was in that pool, drowning yet again, two hands around my neck, squeezing, tight, and pushing me under, under, under—

My breath ripped in my chest, and I moved so fast. The table rattled, the wine glasses toppled and hit the floor, but I didn’t care.

I lunged at him.

My fingers closed around the neck of his black tee, yanking him toward me. My fists slammed against his chest, my nails scraping at the skin underneath like I could claw him out the same way he clawed his way in.

His eyes widened, just for a second, caught off guard, but I didn’t stop.

“You fucking bastard!” I spat, my voice raw, breath jagged, hands trembling with something too sharp to be called grief.

He blinked once. Then his brow rose, his lips curving, unfazed and unbothered. So very Nathan-like.

“Whoa,” he drawled, dark and amused. “That sweet mouth saying filthy words? Makes my dick hard, princess. You know that.”

My fingers tightened and my teeth clenched, “You wanna play the game? Fine. We can burn each other all fucking night. We can fuck around like you want, but,” My breath hitched, fury choking in my throat.

“But you don’t get to dig through my personal life like that. You don’t get to do that when I never gave you permission.” His expression shifted, just a flicker. “I’m not your little project. I’m not your case study. You don’t get to…get to own me like that.”

He stilled.

Finally, finally, something shifted in his face.

But he wasn’t looking at my eyes anymore, no, his gaze had fallen down, tracing the tear slipping down my cheek without permission.

His brows drew together, just slightly, like he didn’t understand.

Of course, he didn’t.

He knew anger.

He knew lust.

But this?

This hurt?

It wasn’t part of our game.

⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹

Nathan’s POV

The glass shattered, her voice cracked, and my brain…froze.

She lunged at me like a wild thing, so fucking aggressive and adorable.

Her fist slammed into my chest. Her nails dug in, and fuck if I didn’t feel it, not just on my skin, but in my blood.

I just stared at her, because holy fuck, she was glorious like this. Unhinged and feral. Eyes gleaming with something so violent and messy, I wanted to bottle it and drink it.

My cock twitched. Yeah. Of course it did.

Her chest heaved, her lips trembled, and I wanted to bite them.

“You fucking bastard,” she screamed, her voice shredded, her breath jagged.

I could’ve moaned her name right there and then.

But then…then she kept going, and it wasn’t the rage that got me, it was the crack in it.

The break, like something was splintering beneath all that fire.

I blinked, and for the first time, I noticed how she was trembling, not with fury, but with something else, like a memory was chasing her, wrapping over her, and taking her away from me.

Her eyes, god, her eyes were wet.

That’s when I saw it, a tear, just one, sliding down her cheek, cutting through all that rage.

Just one tear, and everything shifted.

My grin slipped, not because I wanted it to, but because something in my chest twitched in the wrong direction.

The tear didn’t settle well, didn’t fit in my world.

It didn’t belong on her face.

I didn’t understand it, just like I didn’t understand that grey heart emoji she’d sent me. That tear, I didn’t like it, didn’t know what to do with it.

It made my skin itch, made something cold settle behind my ribs.

I stood up to my feet, I moved without thinking, my hands wrapping over her arms, my fingers brushing softly across her skin. I pulled her with me, slowly, like I might scare her or shatter her, and then I steadied her on two feet.

Gentle.

Fuck, why was I being gentle again?

One hand slipped to her lower back, keeping her up, while I raised the other and touched her face. My thumb caught the tear before it could fall farther.

And I just…looked at it, at the way it clung to my skin, at the way it burned.

I looked back at her face to see that she had slightly calmed down; no more tears came down, just that one.

“Aylin,” I murmured, just her name, not teasing, or mocking, or anything.

She swallowed hard. Her eyes flicked away from mine like she’d only just realized how she’d exploded, how much she’d shown. She looked like she wanted to run. I felt her shift, the subtle tension in her spine, the beginning of retreat.

So, I pulled her closer. She let out a harsh breath and then looked up at me and her eyes narrowed, fire still alive in the ash.

“Anything you want to tell me?” I asked.

She shook her head, her jaw working, “Anything you’d like to say?” She shot back, waiting for an apology for prying into her life.

I shook my head, “No.”

Her jaw ticked, “Apologize.”

“I don’t do that.”

Her nostrils flared so adorably, and for a second, I thought she might hit me again. God, I almost wanted her to.

“A sorry, Nathan. That’s all, one syllable,” She said, eyes burning. “That too much for your ego?”

“I didn’t do anything wrong, so why would I?”

“You’re just the most infuriating, cocky human on the face of the earth, aren’t you?”

I smiled slowly. “Princess, if you’re trying to get into my pants with compliments like that, no need. I’m already dying to have you.”

“God, I wish you’d die.”

I grinned wider. “Baby, I’d die for you, but who the fuck would make you come so blissfully if I wasn’t around?”

She didn’t even hesitate. “I’ll find someone else. It’s not that hard.”

My jaw ticked. I nearly blacked out for a second.

“You’re lucky I’m trying to fucking play nice right now,” I muttered darkly. “So lucky.”

“You don’t know how to play nice.” She said back, and I needed her on her knees, spread open and dominated so she’d stop talking to me in that fucking tone.

“I can pretend,” I said, my fingers slipped from her arm, and I caught her hand. I brought it up and brushed a soft kiss over her knuckles, “For you.”

Her brows pinched, confusion written all over her face, so I carried on.

“Tell me your favorite color.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Your favorite color,” I repeated. “Isn’t that what normal, nice people ask each other? Like you did a few minutes ago with the siblings and age and all that aggressively boring nonsense.”

She stared, so I leaned in a little and lowered my voice to a murmur.

“Your favorite color, Aylin?” I said her name again. I said it like a tether, like a balm. I watched her closely, her eyes weren’t as stormy anymore, the darkness was clearing out, she was sobering up. My princess was back.

Mission distract her: accomplished.

“Let’s pretend we’re normal for sixty seconds,” I said. “Before I fuck you against these rails.”

She hesitated. “I don’t…know. I guess pink.”

“Pink?” I asked.

She mumbled something under her breath like she was embarrassed and looked away, the faintest blush blooming on her face.

Fuck me, that blush was going on the list of my favorite things.

“Yours?” she asked, softly.

“Green,” I said it without missing a beat.

I locked my gaze with hers. “It used to be red,” I added. “I liked blood. A lot. Still do. But your eyes are a better drug, so, yeah, green.”

She rolled her eyes, “Pretend to be normal, you said?”

I chuckled. “Okay, Aylin,” I said, again, because her name steadied her, and I liked the way it tasted, “What’s normal in your dictionary?”

She shrugged, “I don’t know,” She mumbled as she thought it through, “Go on a date, maybe?”

“Done.” I didn’t even blink.

She froze. “What?”

“This Saturday. You. Me. Here in Rome. A date.”

She swallowed hard. Didn’t expect that, did you, little princess?

“What else?” I asked.

Her eyebrow raised, “Having normal sex?” she offered, half a dare.

My eyebrows pulled closer, “What’s that?”

“You know…on an actual bed. A bit soft. Gentle. Not against rails and walls or the floor or on top of counters?”

I frowned. “Sounds boring,” I said flatly.

“Sounds healthy.”

“Sounds like foreplay before the actual sex, where I ruin your ability to sit properly for the next forty-eight hours.”

She groaned. “You’re exhausting.”

“Thanks,” I smiled, “What else?”

She gave me a flat look. “That wasn’t a compliment.”

“It is for me.”

She exhaled, long-suffering. “Okay…other normal things?”

“Hit me.”

“Brunch.” She said.

I stared at her blankly, “Pass.”

She rolled her eyes. “Okay. Road trips?”

“Road trip,” I repeated after her, the image of her pressed into the back seat of my car midway, panting and writhing for me sounded so fucking delicious, “Okay, but only if I get to pick the playlist.”

“That’s fair.”

“And the snacks,” I added, meaning her. She is my sweetest snack.

“Also fair.”

“And the body count limit.”

She paused. “What?”

“What?”

“Nathan.”

“Kidding,” I said with a smile that said I absolutely wasn’t. God, when she says my name in that cute whining voice, “Mostly.”

She sighed again, but her lips were twitching. I was winning.

“Movie night?” she tried.

“Sure,” I said. “As long as it ends with you riding me during the credits.”

“You have no concept of chill, do you?”

“I’m chill,” I defended myself, “I am in control, dangerous, composed under pressure, I am so chill it should be illegal in some countries.”

She sighed, “That’s not what that means.”

“It is in my dictionary. Right next to your definition of normal sex,” I made a disgusted bored face.

She laughed, quietly, but it was there.

Victory.

“Anything else?” I asked, tilting my head.

She shook her head, amused, and a little more relaxed. The lengths I had to go to shake her from that state. Phew.

“Okay, great,” I said. “Now it’s my turn.”

She tensed, instantly suspicious. That breath she exhaled? The one laced with dread? Beautiful.

She was clearly bracing herself for some filthy, depraved request.

So when I said what I said next, she blinked, once, like I’d smacked her on the face.

“Be my girlfriend.”

She wants fucking normal and nice, I’ll give her that.

Her eyes widened, and she stared at me, with no words, just pure, undiluted shock.

“You’re not funny,” she said finally.

“Wasn’t trying to be.”

“You’re not serious.”

“I am.”

“Yes, or yes, princess?” I added.

“No,” she mumbled, but it sounded like a reflex, like she didn’t even believe it herself.

I raised a brow, “Wrong answer.”

Her arms crossed over her chest, so defensive and adorable. “Didn’t know we were doing multiple choice.

“Oh, we are,” I said, voice dropping, a slow smile crawling across my face. “Your options are: yes…and yes while sitting on my lap.”

“Deranged,” She grumbled under her breath, always using colorful words with me. I’ll punish her for that right after I change her definition of what normal sex means.

“Absolutely. But I’m your deranged, if you just sign the fucking paperwork.”

“Nathan—”

I stepped closer, crowding her space. “Just say yes, let me have it, and let me ruin normal for you in the most domestic way possible.”

Her lips parted, and she blinked again. I could see the internal struggle, the back-and-forth, the war between fuck no and what if.

“You don’t do relationships,” she said, quietly, as if to remind me.

“I don’t,” I replied. “But instead of you being anyone else’s girlfriend, I’d rather you be mine. So, let’s try it.”

Her brows lifted. “Is that your version of romantic?”

“Baby,” I said, brushing a thumb along her jaw, “that is my romantic. I didn’t even threaten anyone in that sentence. See? Character growth.”

She hesitated still, as if she had a choice. It’s okay, it’s okay, let my adorable princess think she can make this decision, as if I haven’t already made it for her.

“I’ll think about it.” She said, never fully giving in.

God, she was so fucking cute. She didn’t know that no matter how long she thought about it, she was already mine.

I grinned, “I can work with that.”

⊹˚₊‧────────────────────‧₊˚⊹

Author’s note:

Double update? Again? Am I the best or what?
now I see where Nathan gets his cockiness from xD

Anyways, I need your answers.
How much sex scenes is too much sex? Lol, these two want to have sex every time they are in a room, and I don’t want every chapter to have smut, so tell me how much sex is too much?

Don’t forget to vote and leave your opinions.
I love your little comments, they make me laugh a lot xD

See ya soon *grey heart emoji*