Chapter 6

“She cleaned the blood from my mouth,
then kissed it like a promise,
as if love was something
that could grow in bruises.“

Aylin’s POV

He stumbled in like a nightmare I hadn’t dared to dream of.

Bleeding. Bruised. Too quiet to be safe. That’s the thing, Nathan is much more dangerous when he’s silent.

I didn’t speak a thing after he muttered those words. I just stood there, the door still cracked open behind him, my hands frozen midair, unsure if they should reach for the first-aid kit or a crucifix; whether to let him in, or push him away.

My chest rose once, twice, too fast. Because even though every inch of me screamed not to let him in, some ruined part of me had already stepped further aside, giving him an unspoken welcome, and watched him walk into my house.

I closed the door behind him.

The lock clicked like a bad decision. Very bad.

He stood in the middle of my living room like a shadow peeled off my spine. Blood bloomed across the fabric of his shirt. His face was a mess. A bleeding bruise spread across his cheekbone, his lip split so raw and wide, I could still taste the iron on my tongue from when he kissed me.

He looked…destroyed, but also not defeated. There was a strange stillness to him, a serenity, almost, like the chaos in his brain had quieted for once. He looked calmer in this state—bruised, bleeding—than I ever did when I was pretending to be happy or okay.

I didn’t ask questions. Because I wasn’t sure I could handle the answers. Worse, I knew he wouldn’t give them to me.

I just moved past him, my steps quiet and restrained. Like muscle memory from an old life I never signed up for. The same way I used to clean up my family’s messes, the whiskey spills, the shattered glasses, the ashtray regrets.

I breathed in, then out, each exhale and inhale controlled.

Then I bent down, rummaging through the cabinet till I found the first-aid kit tucked beneath the sink. My fingers trembled, just slightly, as I reached for it, like even my body knew I was making another mistake.

I soaked a cloth in warm water, watching the steam rise in faint ribbons. Then I walked back to him. Step by calculated step.

“You should sit down,” I murmured, my voice barely above a breath.

He did, without an argument, which scared me more than if he’d protested.

I sat down next to him, on the edge of the couch, cloth in hand, as I reached for his face. I started with the blood around his lips, then the cuts on his jaw, and the one on his cheekbone, trying to get rid of the blood.

My hand moved like it’s done this a hundred times before, but not gently. Because inside me was a scream I couldn’t swallow. How dare he show up like this? How dare he let himself break…and then come ready to break me too?

Nathan didn’t speak a single word; he didn’t even flinch, not the slightest. His eyes were only focused on me, on my eyes, on my face as I attempted to clear some of the mess that he was.

He said no word; he only breathed. In and out. Calm and steady. His eyes were too complex for me to ever read. They were gold in some lights, green in others, the kind of color that never settled, like they were always mid-storm.

But now, they were lighter, like amber, almost. God, you’d think he was happy. It was so damned difficult to read him. He smiled when he was furious. Scowled when something almost made him human. And those eyes, those damned eyes, never told the truth, but always made you believe they did.

When I was done, I set the bloody cloth aside. I removed the kit from my lap. My hands hovered over nothing, unsure of what to do next.

He looked away for the first time since he walked in. His eyes drifted across the room like he was trying to read my last month in the spines of books and the shadows of shelves. As if the couch remembered how I sat when I thought of him, as if the silence would snitch and tell him everything.

A part of me, so small, wanted to ask what he did while he was gone. What he broke. Who did he hate more: me, or himself?

But I didn’t ask.

Instead, my hand moved, almost without permission.

It rose to his face, my fingers brushing his jaw, his bruised, warm skin. He didn’t flinch when I touched him, he never did, but he didn’t look at me either.

So I made him.

My fingers pressed gently, turned his face toward me. His eyes met mine again, unreadable as ever.

God, I hated that I still wanted him. I hated that the ache didn’t go away. That even now, I still felt safer in the chaos he brought than the calm anyone else offered.

I leaned in slowly, like I was moving through water. My breath caught, my throat on fire as I pressed my lips into his.

I kissed him like I was angry, because I fucking was. Slow, but igniting. Almost like I was drowning, like I needed to feel something other than fear, and he was the sharpest thing I could find.

His lips parted against mine, and they pressed deeper, stealing his breath and mine. He didn’t use his hands to hold me; he let me lead this kiss. He let me do it for once. Let me taste the blood I’d just wiped from his mouth. Let me bury the worry in something that felt real, even if it wasn’t right.

It felt like clinging to a wound just to prove it still hurt.

When we broke apart, our noses nearly touching, breath mixing in that fragile space between regret and need, I whispered, “Nathan—”

He blinked and shook his head, instantly shushing me, as if words would crack the moment, as if he couldn’t take that risk.

His fingers curled around my wrist, not forceful this time, just firm enough to say don’t. Then he let go and pulled back, just enough to move, just enough to shift before he lowered himself onto me.

He laid his head on my chest like it was the last place in the world that didn’t hurt. His temple pressed just beneath my collarbone. His lashes grazed my skin. One arm wrapped around my waist like a tether, the other draped heavily over my thigh, his fingers twitching once, then still.

I froze at his closeness. I didn’t breathe for a full minute.

His breath warmed the fabric of my shirt. His body curved against mine like it belonged there, like it had always been there.

I felt his heartbeat slow, beat by beat, syncing with mine.

He didn’t speak. Neither did I.

The silence did the talking for us. It said this was exhaustion. It said this was a surrender. It said this was everything we were too afraid to say out loud.

I stayed still, afraid to ruin it, but also afraid to believe in it.

I didn’t move, not when his grip slackened into trust. Not when his breathing steadied, like sleep was safer here than anywhere else. And not even when my own eyes closed, dragged down by the weight of him on me.

We fell asleep like that.

Wreckage tangled with wreckage.

I should’ve pulled away, should’ve reminded myself what he was…what I was.

But I didn’t.

Because maybe ruin clings to ruin…and calls it home.

⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹

Nathan’s POV

I woke up to the weight of her.

The clean scent hit me first, something faint and feminine. Not perfume. No, it was just her, I knew it too well. Then came the feel of it, of her sweet body beneath mine. My arm slung around her waist like a noose I forgot to untie. My leg thrown over hers like I owned the space between her thighs. My cheek was pressed to the soft swell of her chest. Warmth radiated from her skin to mine like some fucked-up form of grace I didn’t deserve.

Her hand was buried in my hair, her fingers softly tangled with the messy strands.

A breath caught in my throat. My eyes opened, slow and stinging, the light barely trickling through her curtains. We were draped in a thin blanket, barely there. My chest against hers. My hips snug against hers.

I didn’t move at first, because I couldn’t figure out where she ended and I began.

But the regret came fast, so fucking fast.

What the fuck did I do?

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Last night…that wasn’t me. That was a version I keep chained in the basement of my soul, only let loose when the ache gets louder than logic. I came here high on pain and ghosts. I touched her like she was a drug, not a person. I kissed her like she could shut the voices up.

But now?

Now the voices were quiet, and I didn’t want to hear what they’d say about this.

I shifted carefully. My arm peeled off her waist. My leg untangled. Her hand slipped from my hair, dragging lightly through the strands, like even unconscious, she didn’t want to let me go.

I sat up, barely gathering myself together. My body protested, bruises flared, cuts pulled, but I ignored it. Pain, I could handle.

Her? I couldn’t.

I couldn’t look at her and recall what I did. I couldn’t face the part of me that came crawling to her doorstep like a sinner begging for ruin.

I felt her stir next to me. I turned to look at her, watching how her brows tugged together like she was waking from something too heavy to be called a dream. Her lashes fluttered slowly, uncertain at first, then her eyes blinked open.

And fuck—she looked right at me.

She straightened a little, trying to kick herself in quickly.

Her hair was slightly messy, tangled from sleep. Her skin was bare, no makeup, no act, no lipstick-painted lies. For the first time since I met her, she wasn’t composed. She wasn’t polished. She was just…her.

And goddamn if that didn’t hit harder than the fists that put me on the floor last night.

She looked like the part of the story I was never meant to keep.

We’d never slept together, next to each other, not like this.

Yeah, we’d fucked, against walls, windows, counters. On cold floors and overheated breaths. We fucked like we were trying to erase ourselves, but we never stayed the night.

We came together like car crashes and parted like nothing happened.

Until now.

I ran a hand through my hair, sighed low through my teeth, then stood. “I should go.”

She blinked, sitting up further, her eyes watching me with that same unreadable edge.

“Stay for coffee?” She mumbled softly, a polite offer she knew I would refuse, and I wanted to. God, I needed to get out of here.

She pulled herself together, much faster than I did, and pushed the blanket off, standing up in nothing but an oversized t-shirt and barely there shorts.

She stretched as she turned toward the hallway. “I’ll go freshen up,” she muttered, already walking away, without even waiting for me to say yes or no to her offer. Her voice was too casual for what we were.

Before I could think better of it, my phone buzzed. I grumbled under my breath and pulled it out, watching Nikolas’s name flash through the screen. Instead of answering, I held the power button down until the screen turned black. I had no energy for him or anyone else. I had no idea if he knew that last night was a trap, and to be honest, I didn’t care even if he did.

I sat back down on the couch’s edge, and my gaze fell on the floor, to the corner where the blanket bunched and the blood from last night had dried into the fibers. What the hell was I doing here?

I don’t chase after people. I don’t beg…So, why the fuck did I crawl back here?

I didn’t have the answers. None, this time.

Right then, she walked back in, and I forgot how to breathe for a second.

Her hair was now pulled into a messy bun. Her face scrubbed bare, just skin, just her, real and raw and infuriatingly beautiful. Those green eyes were all glass and thorns, rimmed in a touch of sleep. Her lips were fuller than I remembered, like they still held the shape of my own from the night before.

She glanced at me once, then turned toward the kitchen. “I’m making coffee,” she said simply. “You should freshen up, too.”

I stayed silent. Why was she so fucking casual?

I got up to my feet, my eyes flickering to the door that let me in, planning my escape. She turned her head slightly, her eyes scanning mine, and somehow, she read those inner thoughts.

A low sigh pushed out of her fuckable spiteful lips, her voice came out lower, but with a sharp edge in it, a challenge, “So, that’s it?” Her eyebrow raised, this little tease forgot how well I can fuck that attitude out of her, “You come, bleed on my floor, and now you want to run?”

I felt my teeth grind together.

She saw me broken last night, and now I had to prove I wasn’t.

I felt my mask slipping back on, my expression relaxing, “I like mine black,” I said, nodding forward to the coffee beans in her hands before I walked toward the bathroom. I closed the door behind me softly when I wanted to fucking slam it.

I opened the faucet and splashed cold water on my face, over and over again, trying to rinse away the remnants of last night.

I looked up, finally facing myself, but the reflection didn’t flinch. It stared back, unbothered, like it had seen worse. My fingers rose to the cut along my cheek, tracing the torn, rugged edge of it. It would scar. I could already tell.

I exhaled slowly, and my shoulders dropped. Just like that, the version of me that showed up bleeding on her doorstep last night faded, and the real one slipped quietly back in.

When I was fully freshened up, I walked back outside, walking down the hallway of her house, like this was so fucking normal.

The smell of coffee brewing hit my nose the closer I got, then the crack of an egg, the hiss of butter meeting metal.

And then her.

She stood by the stove, barefoot, moving too freely, too calmly, like she hadn’t slept with a broken man on her chest last night, like she didn’t wake up with my blood dried across her shirt.

She cracked another egg and dropped two slices of toast into the toaster, like we were playing house now.

I leaned against the doorframe, my arms folded as I watched her move, “I didn’t know you cooked,” I said, my voice back to its usual freshness, “Is this your way of asking me to marry you?”

She snorted but didn’t turn around, “You wish.”

“I do.”

I pushed off the wall and moved closer. “Imagine it. You, me, a kitchen, a knife block,” My eyes flickered to them and I smiled, “An obvious crime of passion waiting to happen.”

She finally glanced over her shoulder and shot me a glare. “You’re insane.”

I grinned. “Little bit.” I said, “But you look like someone who’d thrive with a little domestic violence in her marriage anyway.”

She rolled her eyes, turned back to the pan, but her lips twitched, liking me, my presence, and my sarcastic, dark words more than she’d ever admit.

I got closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating off her, not from the stove, but from her skin. Her pulse. That tightness in her shoulders that only showed when I was too near.

I didn’t touch her, but I hovered like I would.

“You gonna feed me too,” I said low, “or is this just for show?”

She didn’t respond, just reached for the salt and tossed a pinch over her shoulder toward me, like I was a bad omen she could exorcise.

I chuckled because she was so cute sometimes. “You’re not bad at this,” I said, “You could make someone a very unstable wife.”

“And you’d make a very terrible husband,” she said, flipping the egg, calm as hell.

“Oh, I’d be awful,” I murmured, leaning in just enough to breathe the words against her neck. “But the sex would be biblical.”

She froze, for half a heartbeat, just long enough to betray herself. Then she moved again like nothing touched her.

The toaster popped. The sound alone almost made her jump.

I smiled.

Game on.

I moved without hesitation this time, with slow laziness, and my hand turned the stove off. The other curled around her waist and moved her around so she could face me. She didn’t resist. Of course, she didn’t. She let me move her like she was made for it…made for me.

Her throat bobbed once, her green eyes dragging up my chest, landing on my face like a challenge she wasn’t sure she should accept.

“The eggs were done anyway,” she muttered, like that explained everything.

I nodded, my gaze flicking to her beautiful mouth. “But I am not hungry for eggs.”

I walked her back two slow steps until her hips hit the counter.

My hand slipped under the hem of her shirt, skimming skin that had no business feeling like my salvation.

I leaned in, “You should’ve kicked me out,” I rasped, mouth hovering over hers, so close, but not touching still, “You should’ve slammed the door in my face. Should’ve screamed when I bled all over your floor.”

“But you didn’t.” My fingers dug into her waist, and a low, choked breath escaped her lips, “and now I’m starving.”

My mouth crashed into hers, slowly moving at first, savoringly, but with a hunger that could burn. I kissed her like I was trying to erase every second she spent away from me, like my lips could bruise the silence she left behind.

My hand slid under her shirt, my palm dragging along the bare curve of her waist, then lower, till my thumb grazed the inside of her thigh, very slowly, my touch nothing but filthy.

She inhaled sharply against my lips, but didn’t stop me. She didn’t even pretend not to want me.

“You really should’ve kicked me out,” I whispered into her mouth. “But then again…you always did love the chaos I bring into your life.”

My hand tightened over her hips, shifting them slightly, and her leg wrapped around me like instinct, like muscle memory too stubborn to forget me. Her breath hitched the second my palm flattened against her back, fingers trailing lower like they had a map of her written in lust, and I was just retracing the edges.

A tremor ripped through her chest, like her body remembered what her pride tried to forget. “You’re already shaking, princess,” I murmured against her throat, my teeth grazing the sinful skin just below her jaw. “I haven’t even done anything yet.”

Her fingers curled into the fabric of my shirt like she needed it to stay upright, like if I pulled away now, her body would fall apart at the seams.

My other hand slid beneath her thigh, spreading her open with slow precision, not rough, not rushed. I was studying her, learning her all over again.

Her back arched against my touch, her breath stuttering against my collarbone.

“Look at you,” I whispered, pulling back just enough to see her. She blinked at me, flushed, still half-tangled in last night’s haze, “So fucking beautiful like this,” I said, dragging my thumb along her cheek, then lower, tracing the edge of her jaw like I was sketching sin with my ink-stained fingers. “Face bare, eyes wide with need, lips so soft…like you don’t even realize how dangerous this is. Like you forgot who the hell I am.”

My lips brushed hers again, slowly, cruelly, “But don’t worry, princess. I’ll remind you.”

“I remember it all too well, Nathan.” She whispered, her voice like smoke curling in the dark.

God, the way she looked at me, like I could break her and she’d still crawl closer, made something savage stir in my chest.

My body moved on instinct, no longer slow or gentle; it was violent now. I shifted, pressed harder into her, and slowly rocked my hips against hers, just enough friction to tease, just enough pressure to unmake her.

Her head fell back on a gasp, but I caught it, my mouth slamming onto hers like I was trying to devour the last quiet part of her. Deeper this time. Darker. A kiss soaked in everything I couldn’t say.

I didn’t want her soft. I wanted her wrecked. I wanted her shaking and silent and branded. And I was just getting started.

She tugged at my hair, her fingers buried at the base of my skull, and I let out a sound low in my throat. God, I missed that, her touch, her fury, the fucking ache she left in me when she walked away.

My hand finally slipped beneath the thin band of her panties, my fingers finding her soaked and ready, and I groaned, my forehead pressing into hers, breathless, like she’d knocked the wind from my lungs with nothing but want.

“All this for me?” I whispered, my voice thick, drunk on her. “After one month of silence?” My thumb circled her slowly, cruelly, a rhythm that made her shudder in my hold.

“One month of pretending you didn’t want this? Need this?” Need me?

She tried to move, grind into my palm, pull me closer, my needy girl, but I stilled her with my grip on her hip, fingers digging in just enough to bruise. Just enough to remind her who she let in.

“Tell me to stop,” I breathed, dragging my fingers against her so slowly she whimpered. “Go on. Say it. Tell me to leave and never come back.”

She didn’t. Her breath hitched, and her thighs tightened around me.

“Didn’t think so, princess,” I murmured, smiling, “Your body’s always been more honest than your mouth.”

Her mouth opened, maybe to speak, maybe to moan, but I caught it with mine before she could do either. My lips dragged from her mouth to her jaw, to the underside of her chin, to the spot beneath her ear.

My hands moved with a mind of their own, under her shirt, up her spine, dragging the fabric over her head. I tossed it aside, not caring where it landed. She was flushed and breathless, her chest rising with every half-formed word she didn’t say.

“You missed this,” I whispered, my mouth hovering above her sternum, “Don’t lie, I’ll feel it before you say it.”

“I did.” She arched into me when my tongue found the swell of her breast. Her fingers tangled in my hair, breath stuttering as my teeth grazed the skin just to hear her gasp.

I moved lower, kneeling, dragging her shorts down like I was unwrapping a sin made just for me. I looked up, saw her watching me, wild-eyed and wide open. Her legs trembled slightly as my hands curved around her thighs, guiding her to the edge of the counter.

“You did?” I muttered softly, my breath hot against the inside of her thigh. “What exactly did you miss?” I left slow, soft kisses against her inner thighs, “Me?” Another kiss, higher this time. “My mouth?” I muttered before my lips landed on her most sensitive part, “Or my cock?”

“God, Nathan,” Her only answer was that soft, broken sound, half whimper, half surrender, and the way her hips tilted forward into my mouth like she was offering up her ruin and daring me to take it.

I did.

I devoured her like a dying man would his final sin, slow at first, then starving. My name spilled from her lips again in a gasp, in a plea she didn’t realize she was making. Every shiver of her thighs against my shoulders, every tremble in her breath, all bled into me like ink on soaked paper.

She tasted like desperation, like need, like mine.

My hands gripped her harder, pulled her closer, until her knees threatened to buckle. Her fingers clutched at my hair, her voice caught in her throat, and when her body finally snapped, she did it with a sound I’d etch into memory like a verse too dangerous to write down.

I slowly got up to my feet, my hands touching her everywhere, my chest heaving, my heart pounding in time with hers. Her skin was flushed, her mouth parted, her legs still shaking, and she clutched onto the counter, her knuckles turned white at the edge, trying to hold herself still. Her hair was a mess, her bun half undone. Her pulse was visible in her throat.

She licked her pink lips, a breathy sigh escaping them, her drunken eyes focused only on me.

“You didn’t answer me,” I said, again, persistently, “What did you miss?”

Her throat moved, her chest heaving. God, she looked like a vision,  and the smallest word cracked through her, “You,” She whispered.

I wrapped my fingers around her chin, tilting her face up with a grip that bordered on reverence and ruin. I gazed right into her sultry eyes and made a tsk-tsk sound, “You shouldn’t say that.”

“You start missing me…you start needing me…and this only ends one way,” My thumb brushed the corner of her mouth. “With you in pieces, and me pretending I didn’t love the sound of you breaking.”

She only nodded, fully aware of that horrible fact, her eyes glassy with pleasure…and with words she’d never let herself say aloud. That alone broke the madness in my head. It silenced the noise, and nothing terrifies me more than quiet.

That was the problem, I like it when she breaks beneath me. I don’t know what to do when she sees me, when she agrees with me.

So, I flipped her around, unable to keep looking at her eyes.

She gasped as her palms hit the counter. My hands dragged over her hips, positioning her like a sculpture built to be ruined. I pressed forward, not yet entering, just teasing, just resting the tip against the place I’d already broken open a hundred times before.

She groaned, tried to push back, but I gripped her tighter, my voice a growl against her ear.

“Not yet,” I murmured. “You left me. Remember? You said you wanted something healthier…cleaner.”

My fingers ran along the curve of her waist, her back arched perfectly beneath me. My body trembled, not from restraint, but from the chaos in my blood. From how badly I wanted to forget everything and lose myself inside her again.

“And now,” I whispered, lining myself against her heat, “you’re about to remember exactly what dirty feels like.”

Her loud whimper echoed throughout the whole house when I pushed deep inside her, my eyes almost rolled back because nothing ever felt this good, god, my heart felt like it might burst out. How did I even breathe without her this past month? Right, I didn’t.

Her body arched against mine like everything I’d tried to forget and failed. Every inch of her wrapped around me like a prayer that knew it would never be answered.

I gripped her hips tighter, dragging her back into me, still moving inside her. I leaned closer, my mouth brushing the curve of her ear. “Tell me,” I rasped. “This past month…what did you do without me?”

She whimpered something I couldn’t hear, so I sank in deeper, a slow, punishing rhythm that forced the answer from her throat.

“N-Nothing,” she gasped, “I…I just tried to forget.”

I smiled against her skin. “Did you?”

She paused, barely, and shook her head, “No.”

I reached for her hair, my fingers finding the tie and tugging it loose, letting every golden strand fall like silk unraveling in my hands. Fuck, she was my princess, indeed. Not the fairytale kind. The kind they locked in towers not to protect, but to contain.

“Did you think of me? At night…in your bed…when you couldn’t sleep?”

She whimpered her answer. A soft, wrecked, yes.

My heart lurched, watching the mess I made of her. “When you couldn’t sleep,” My hand slid up her stomach, curled under her ribs, “did your hands wander where mine should’ve been?”

She nodded, not hiding it, not running from it, just bare and burning.

“You’re very bad, princess.” I murmured against her neck, my voice fraying at the edges. “A wicked little thing.”

My nerves were on the verge of snapping as I moved inside her warmth with a brutal rhythm, the sound of her wetness, of skin against skin, echoed into the house, tainting every corner and edge with her and me and our sin. Pleasure coiled tight in my spine, electricity snapping behind my ribs. She clenched around me, and I buried my face in her neck, groaning into her silky skin.

She moaned in response, her arm moving backward, fingers curling around the back of my neck, trying to bring me closer. Even with her back to me, she was reaching. Needing.

“Will you ask me to leave again?” I asked, and she shook her head so fast, “No…” She gasped when my movements turned harder, deeper, “…no, oh my god…I won’t.”

“Tell me,” I growled against her shoulder. “That no one else touched you.”

Her head snapped to the side, eyes blazing as she met mine. “No one.”

That nearly undid me.

Because I didn’t dare to touch anyone else but her.

I slowed my rhythm, dragging the moment out, tension pulling taut. “Are you on birth control?”

For a second, she froze, her eyes met mine, and she shook her head.

I leaned in, kissed the spot behind her ear, and sighed like a man reciting his last prayer. “God, we’re terrible at being responsible adults.”

Her lips twitched, and she smiled. I moved again, more deliberate, cruel in its restraint, and that smile crumbled…what came next was a sound I’d kill to hear again.

“You’re close,” I murmured, knowing her too well. “So, what do I do with you, princess?”

“When you clench around me, you will make me lose all of my control.” Fuck, I was already teetering.

“Nathan,” She whimpered, and her knees buckled. Her head dropped. But she didn’t fall. She flew.

The sound she made shattered something in me. A choked, guttural moan ripped from her throat as her entire body clenched around mine, shaking, spiraling, lost to everything but me.

I followed, like a man on the edge of a cliff who jumped not because he had to, but because he was always meant to fall. The rush hit me in waves. Violent. Raw. Beautiful. I buried my face against her neck, eyes squeezed shut, every nerve flaring like lightning.

The noises in my head went quiet.

For a moment…I was whole.

But only in ruin. Only in her.

Seconds slipped by, and we stayed in the same position, too spent and pleased to move. Then, almost as if the realization of something hit her mid-afterglow and dragged her back to reality by the throat. She tore herself away, spinning on me, fire in her eyes and a tremble in her breath. “What the hell did you do?” She grumbled, her eyes wide as she glared at me.

I smiled as my eyes slid lower, tracing the evidence, watching the drops trailing her inner thighs. After all that time away from me, she’d be mistaken if she thought I wasn’t about to fully claim her again.

“Well, the whole marriage topic got me excited,” I said, ever so lazily, “So, why not put a baby in you?”

Her eyes widened, my infuriating words pushing her to the edge. Without a second thought, she curled her hand into a fist and punched my chest. Harshly. My eyes grew wide. What the fuck?

She raised her hand again, but I caught her wrist mid-air. My grip was firm but not cruel. “Careful, princess,” I murmured, tone dipping low, warning and wicked, “Do that again, and I will bend you over, fuck you till you come all over my cock again.”

She yanked her hand back with a loud, frustrated groan and turned away, muttering curses under her breath as she reached for her shirt and yanked it over her head.

“You know,” I called out, “there are pills for that.”

“Insane,” she hissed. “You’re clinically insane.”

I grinned. “Takes one to know one.”

She was just about to snap again, God, I could feel it, but then her phone rang. She blinked, momentarily stunned, and her eyes moved around, searching the room for it.

It was right beside me. So, I picked it up, reading the name Cynthia flash across the screen. To do her a favor, I pressed answer, switching it to speaker just as she lunged across the kitchen.

“Uh—hey, Cynthia,” she stammered, trying to sound normal as she cast me a glare, her jaw ticking at my obnoxious act.

I only smiled wider, leaned on the counter, and winked, “You’re welcome.”

“Hey, babe, sorry to bother you on your day off,” the Cynthia person chirped, her voice echoing through the room. “But you still haven’t replied to the invitation mail I sent.”

Aylin lunged for her phone. I casually leaned back, holding it just out of her reach. I will kill you. She whispered.

Awww. I mouthed, my lips forming a cute pout.

“Uh yeah, you’re right…I’m so sorry, just been really busy,” she said quickly, pressing a hand to her forehead like she was physically trying to erase the situation.

The blush on her neck crept upward, painting her cheeks like war paint. She was furious. She was humiliated. She was so fucking beautiful.

“Oh, it’s okay,” Cynthia chirped, so oblivious. “So, will you attend the party tomorrow? I need to send the final list to the marketing team by, like, this afternoon.”

Aylin gave up her little battle with me, sighing in defeat. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be there.”

“Awesome,” Cynthia said, followed by the faint sound of her typing in the background, “Will you have a plus one?”

“No,” My princess replied, ever so fast.

“Okay, babe. See ya tomorrow then.”

“See you.”

When the phone went silent, my curiosity kicked in, and I leaned backward, “What party?”

She waved her hand like it was nothing, “Just a corporate gala the airline is hosting,” She muttered, carelessly, “Some type of sponsorship thing. Nothing important.”

She ignored me and looked around the kitchen, clearly trying to reset the universe. Probably wondering how we got from coffee to me buried inches deep in her sweetness.

While she was distracted, I unlocked her phone. I knew the password. I scrolled through, found the recent call, and redialed.

Cynthia answered after two rings.

Aylin noticed what I was doing and froze, then launched toward me, her eyes wide with terror. I stepped back just in time, one arm looping around her waist to hold her off like some crazed kitten.

“Hey, babe—” Cynthia started.

“Hi, Cynthia,” I said, all sugar and knives. “I am speaking on Aylin’s behalf.” The name tasted odd on my tongue. I preferred her as my princess. My little dark, unhinged fairy tale.

“Uhh…” poor Cynthia stammered.

“This is the plus one speaking,” I added, and Aylin groaned, using her little fists to punch me, my hands, my arm, and still trying to reach for the phone and failing, “Stop, stop, give it back!”

“Just wanted to make sure the guest list reflected that,” I said, “Be a doll and revise that, will you?”

“I—I-uh—yeah sure, I’ll note you down, sir,” Cynthia said, clearly confused, “Can I have your name please?”

Aylin looked like she wanted to stab me. And honestly? I’d die smiling. Her face was flushed to the roots, eyes blazing and pure madness, breath short…God, she was beautiful when she was feral. I loved doing this to her.

“It’s Nathan,” I said. I threw a flying kiss at my princess and winked, “Nathan Viarchi.”

“Okay. Got it.”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” I said, then hung up and held the phone out to her like the devil offering Eve a second apple. “Here. All yours.”

She snatched the phone from my hand like she was about to beat me with it.

“Nathan,” she grated out, her voice low and shaking. Her nose is so cute when it flares. “What. The hell. Was that?”

I leaned casually against the counter, arms crossed, my body still sin-smudged with her, “It could be our strategic PR move, introduce me to your colleagues and all, you know, depends on how you spin it.”

She blinked. Once. Twice. Then full-on exploded.

“Do you know how hard I’ve worked to not have you in my professional life?”

“Then you shouldn’t have made the mistake of letting me back into your personal one,” I said. So simple.

She let out a loud groan and spun away, dragging both hands through her hair like she was seconds from pulling it out. “You called yourself my plus one!”

“You’re welcome.” I winked. “I’m really good at galas. I have a great collection of suits, I can pretend to care about small talk, and I know which fork is for stabbing people you hate.”

“You’re insane,” she muttered, turning away and pacing, hand in her hair.

While she was still cursing me under her breath, God, she was poetic when pissed, I wandered over to the sink. I grabbed a cloth and ran one side under cold water before I moved back to her.

She didn’t notice until my hand fisted the hem of her shirt and yanked her gently toward me. She gasped as I guided her into the chair behind her, making her ass fall into it. “Stay in one place, will you?”

She blinked up at me, confused, still halfway through an insult that died on her lips. I lowered myself and sank to my knees, parted her thighs. I moved the wet cloth, cleaning the mess I had made of her.

When I was done, I leaned and pressed a soft kiss into her inner thigh. Her breath caught, and her lashes fluttered. When I lifted my gaze to hers, I winked, “I am so glad I stayed for coffee.”

Her lips almost twitched, but she hid her smile and turned her face away. She crossed her arms over her chest in defense, and when she looked at me again, she asked, “Why do you want to come with me tomorrow?” Her voice was less angry now, demanding the truth, because she knew it.

“Like you mentioned, the airline you work for is throwing this party,” I said, my eyebrow raising, “And your ex-boyfriend just happens to be a pilot who works for that same airline,” My words had her throat bobbing, as if I had caught her red-handed, “So, he will be there for sure.”

I stood up, gazing down at her, “And I just need to remind you who you belong to, princess.”

⊹˚₊‧──────────────────‧₊˚⊹

Author’s note:

Howdy! *waves hand*

So, what are your thoughts on the story so far? About these two crazy people?

Whenever they are in one confined place, they have sex, I can’t control them…

Anyway, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the titles of the chapters will sum up to form a whole poem by the end.

Updates will be weekly most of the times, depending on my schedule.

Don’t forget to vote, and comment 😉

See ya next week 🫶🏻