Chapter 9

“She got on her knees
and I forgot every god
I’d ever cursed,
because she prayed
with her mouth open.“

Nathan’s POV

I woke up hard.

Not metaphorically, not emotionally.

Just…physically.

Painfully.

The kind that screamed of bloodlust and bad decisions, and maybe the consequence of holding her too close all night long after mutilating someone who dared to touch what wasn’t his.

She was still curled into me, almost like she hadn’t moved at all, like a goddamn bruise I wanted to press harder and harder, until it bloomed purple, until she whimpered, until she bled, just like she made me bleed over the past month.

Her soft breath fanned warm over my chest, her lips barely parted, one leg thrown over mine, her hand resting right over my ribcage like she could feel a pulse there and still believe it was human, like she trusted me not to crush her while she slept.

Foolish, foolish girl.

Didn’t she know better?

Didn’t she know I’m the worst kind of safe, the kind that holds you close just to feel how easy it would be to drop you?

God, she really doesn’t know, doesn’t know that, yeah, I’d destroy anyone who laid a hand on her, but I’d destroy her, too.

I’d keep pushing her, testing her, toying with her heart like it was a lighter in my pocket, and I’d set her on fire just to see how she screams when she burns.

Because that’s what I do.

I’d pull her back from the edge, only to shove her again, harder this time, just to write about how fucking beautifully she shatters.

Because that’s who I am; my brain, a tortured poet that only writes about wreckage. But believe me, that’s how masterpieces are made, and I am sure she’d be mine, my muse.

She shifted against me, and I felt the smallest stir, the twitch of her leg over mine, and a very low sigh against my chest as she slowly woke up from her slumber, maybe because she felt it; the way my dick got harder at the thought of her ruin, and the way my pulse kicked up with adrenaline as I imagined the look on her face when she finally broke for me.

Her lashes fluttered open, and her breath caught for a split second, as if shocked at where she found herself. Here. Right next to me. Her hazy eyes flickered up from my chest and fell into my own.

God, why did she look so soft in the morning, so bare and fragile? Like something made to be protected…or broken, making the fantasy of crushing her all the more easier.

Because who wouldn’t want to ruin something that beautiful?

“Morning,” She mumbled, her voice so low, so uncertain, but before she could say anything else, her whole body tensed when she shifted, and I knew she felt it. The press of my cock against her stomach, so needy and insistent, all goddamn nerve endings and no shame.

Her eyes snapped open fully, sobering up rather quickly. Her chest rose, her pupils dilated, and I could feel her pulse hammering against me, such a beautiful fucking symphony.

“Morning,” I murmured, my voice wrecked.

Her throat worked, her fingers twitching against my chest before she fully removed her hand, severing the connection, “Is that…?”

“Biological reaction,” I muttered. “Entirely involuntary.”

She kept silent.

I kept looking at her. My eyes traced every inch of her, my shirt swallowing her whole, slipping down one shoulder. Those gym shorts threatening to expose my favorite parts of her. That face, still sleepy, still dangerous, still so fucking beautiful.

She looked away from me, a faint red climbing her cheeks.

But I wasn’t looking away. My hand snuck under the blanket, found her thigh, and squeezed, “Wanna offer something to fix that, princess?”

Her eyes widened, “No,” Her voice barely made it out, wrapped in fear and something else, “Don’t think about it even.”

“Too late,” I whispered, leaning closer, the movement caused friction, and I almost fucking groaned, “My imagination’s already three scenes ahead. You. Two knees on the floor. Mouth opened. My hands in your hair. That desperate little moan you make when you can’t take all of me in.”

“Nathan,” she hissed, her eyes wide, her voice just barely louder, but her skin was giving her away. Crimson red spread across her chest. Her throat. Her face.

Beautiful.

My cock twitched in approval, of course it did, my needy little bastard had no self-control.

She pulled away, forcefully tearing herself from my body. She sat at the far edge of the bed, putting space between us as if that could save her from me.

Her eyes flicked toward the nightstand, reading the digits flickering on the clock, and a soft, annoyed sigh pushed from her chest. She pressed a hand to her forehead. “I should go,” she muttered, already dragging herself to her feet.

She winced the second her injured ankle hit the floor. Good, let the pain remind her who wrapped her ankle last night, but even with the ache, she still moved, this stubborn little creature.

“Go where?”

“I’m already late for work,” she grumbled in annoyance, glancing down at her outfit, or lack thereof. My shirt. My shorts. Her thighs. All wrapped up like a goddamn offering. “And I need to go home and change.”

I got to my feet slowly and stalked toward her, “Can’t you take the day off?” I asked, eyes locked on her ankle like it might give me a reason to keep her locked in here.

She shook her head, her golden locks flying softly, “No, no, I can’t, not this abruptly,” She mumbled. Then she looked down, shifting weight to her foot, and testing it. “It feels better, actually,” she murmured. “Much better than last night.”

She glanced up, green eyes met mine, “Must’ve been the compression wrap,” She added, her tone ever so grateful, “Thank you.”

I didn’t want her grateful.

I wanted her wet. Breathless. Wrecked. Spread open and ruined.

The fuck did I do all that last night if she was just going to smile at me like I was a nurse?

“My phone’s still in your car,” she added. “Can you get it, please?”

Please. She shouldn’t be using that word when we’re not naked. Oh great. Now I’m even harder.

“You don’t really think I’m letting you leave looking like that, do you?” I muttered, one brow arching.

She glanced down at herself, at my clothes hugging her sinful body, “I’ll wear my dress, then,” she said, like that solved anything. “I just need to get home, change fast, and get to the airport before I miss my flight.”

I nearly groaned. That fucking dress. No way. “I’ll drop you off,” I grated out.

When the fuck did I become her assigned chauffeur? Probably around the same time I let her sleep on my chest and didn’t touch her.

This is not right. I needed it fixed, needed to reset the balance, as soon as fucking possible.

She flashed me that look, the same soft, thank-you, grateful look, and I wanted to fucking scream, or bend her over the nearest surface and remind her why she should never look at me like that again.

“I’ll go freshen up, and we can go then?” she asked. I nodded, silently, because if I opened my mouth, I wasn’t sure if I’d say yes or drag her into the wall.

She muttered another soft “thank you” and scurried into my bathroom.

Once she disappeared, I left the room, went to the guest bathroom, and splashed cold water on my face to kick myself back in, trying to wash away this haze. I looked in the mirror and glared at myself, then down, “Sorry, little guy,” I muttered to my needy boy, who was throbbing in quiet protest since sunrise. I’ll have to leave him hanging for a bit more.

I dried off, yanked on a hoodie, grabbed my phone and keys. I was halfway to calling her name when a low knock echoed through my house. I paused and checked the time; it was seven thirty in the morning, so who would be knocking on my door now?

I moved closer, one hand on the knob, the other slipping into my pocket for the knife, you know, just in case. After last night, I wasn’t taking chances.

The second I opened the door, my fingers stilled. My brows pulled together when my gaze landed on the last person I expected to see here, on my one and only friend, “Christian?” I said, being shocked was an understatement, “What the hell are you doing here?”

His lips lifted into a crooked little smile, and he stepped forward, “Well, you’ve been off the bloody grid for too long,” he said, eyebrow arching. “Didn’t answer your messages, didn’t take calls. Figured this was the only way left to reach you.”

I stared at him, still processing.

Then he stepped in, and we did that stiff, familiar thing we do. You know, the half-hug, the shoulder clap, the“we’re too emotionally stunted for this, but I’d still kill for you” embrace.

But I held on a second longer than usual.

So did he.

Because no matter what kind of bastard I become, Christian’s always been the one person who knows where the body’s buried, mostly because he helped dig the grave.

Sure, he’s had his rebellious moments, made me seriously consider killing him once or twice. But I’m a sentimental bastard at heart, too soft to finish this job.

“Jesus,” I muttered, pulling back, still trying to recover from his sudden presence, “You could’ve given me a bit of a warning. I nearly stabbed you out of instinct.”

He chuckled and stepped inside. “Would’ve made my morning a hell of a lot more interesting.”

He opened his mouth to say something else, but he didn’t get the chance, not when soft steps echoed so close, followed by a softer voice, as a very unaware Aylin emerged from my room, “Nathan, I’m read—”

She stopped, halting when she saw him.

He stopped, too.

And so did time, apparently.

His brows drew together, confusion came first, disbelief second. First, because there was a girl in my apartment, who had slept over, which never fucking happened before, and he knew that. Second, because she looked so familiar to him, that twitch in his eye, that narrowing of his stare, like he was trying to place her face somewhere.

His eyes flicked back to me, and a single brow arched, amused and judgmental, asking me what the hell is this, Nathan?

I didn’t answer him, and my gaze landed on her, watching how she pulled herself together, recovering from the shock of our intruder, “Uh…hi.” She muttered, a little breathless, a little shy, and she smiled ever so politely.

Before more words could be exchanged, I moved to her, grabbed her arm, maybe a bit tighter than necessary as I pulled her closer.

“I need to drop her off,” I said, already dragging her toward the door, “I’ll be back.”

Christian didn’t reply.

He just wandered further inside like he owned the place, slumping onto my couch with the kind of slow, calculated ease that said, I’m not leaving until we talk.

“I’ll be here,” he said simply, tossing his arm over the back of the sofa. A hundred unsaid things layered in five goddamn words.

Aylin was silent first as I dragged her to my car. I opened her door, and she slid in carefully, though her slight limp caught my eye.

When I joined her in the car and roared the engine, she couldn’t help but ask, “Who’s that?” Her brows drew closer, “I feel like I’ve seen him before.”

I didn’t answer her, kept silent, and focused on the road ahead, my brain working; a hunch told me that Nikolas was somehow behind Christian’s sudden visit. I don’t know why, but it felt like it. Why would he do that, though?

“Wait, hold on, I’ve definitely seen him before…” She added, busy in her mind as she came to that conclusion, “Isn’t he…Lilly’s ex-boyfriend?”

I stayed silent, not in the mood to indulge in this conversation.

“Well, isn’t he?” she pressed. “How come you know him?”

I finally glanced at her. “You know how I get when you ask too many questions, Aylin,” I said, my voice calm, but laced with warning. “Either bored, or angry, and sometimes violent.”

Then I smiled, “And right now, I feel all three.“

Her jaw tightened at my tone, and she went quiet, turning her face to the window with a low, annoyed huff.

Fucking huff.

Note to self: Next time I fuck her, make sure she learns to never huff at me again.

We pulled up to her place not long after, and I still didn’t say a word. Just got out, grabbed her things, and walked her to the door of her apartment. She didn’t mutter a single word either, just limped along beside me.

Inside her place, the air smelled like her, clean, familiar, a faint hint of jasmine and lavender, and something quieter underneath.

I couldn’t help but glance down at her ankle again, even wrapped, it was still a bit swollen, still tender, but I didn’t voice my worry out loud. My gaze flickered up slowly, watching how my shirt was drowning her, and my slippers flopped around her feet like they were hanging on for dear life, too big for her small little self.

She looked ridiculous, and so fucking adorable, like a painting vandalised with my name.

She shifted awkwardly, caught me looking, and offered some self-conscious gesture of fixing her hair, tugging the hem of my shirt lower.

“I’ll wash them,” she muttered, “and bring them back to you.”

I moved closer and I wanted to say don’t…don’t wash them, keep them drenched in you, soft and warm and addictively wrong. I wanted to breathe in the scent of her all week like a fucking junkie going clean against his will.

One step forward, and I was already in her space, too close, too much. On instinct, the smart part of her, the one that remembered the danger I was, backed away.

She looked away, busying her eyes with anything that wasn’t me, like she wanted to kick me out but didn’t know how. I followed her lost gaze and caught the mess of envelopes on the counter, some torn open, some still sealed. But there was one on top that caught my attention the most. It looked handwritten, personal.

My eyes narrowed, but before I could get a proper look, she moved, too fast, and blocked my view like it was instinct.

“So,” she said, falsely casual, “I’ll see you after a week?”

I stared at her.

Why not tonight? Why not fucking tomorrow?

“A week?” I asked, my voice low and flat.

She gave a little shrug, “Yeah. Uhm…my period’ll be done by then. So we could…you know.”

Just like that, reality cracked across my ribs like a fucking baseball bat.

Right.

That’s all this is.

Her words reminded me, what kind of agreement we had over here, just sex, just physical, flesh and friction. I mean, why would we meet if not to fuck her brains out?

I didn’t answer right away; I didn’t trust what might crawl out of my mouth if I did.

She shifted again on her feet, a bit nervous, still trying to play it cool, still not realising she just re-lit the fuse inside me.

What the fuck was I doing over here? Why didn’t I send her home limping last night with my fingerprints bruised into her thighs? Why didn’t I split her open on my cock like she expected?

I hated myself for how fucking domesticated I must’ve looked, healing her, babying her, holding her.

That was the exact moment I realised I’d let her take the wheel, let her bleed into my spaces, and cloud my fucking judgment.

No, that can’t happen. I can feel it, my control, slipping, so fucking fast.

No, no, I was taking the wheel back, right fucking now.

This game? We play it my fucking way.

I took a step backward, my expression losing any ounce of emotion, neutral, casual, cold. “I’ve got a lot of work. Might be travelling next week,” I said, my voice too smooth, even I almost believed it.

I shrugged. “Maybe after that.” I slipped my hand into my pocket like she didn’t matter, none of this mattered, “I’ll call you.”

Her expression shifted, barely, but I caught it. That flicker in her eyes, that soft drop, that one beat of disappointment she didn’t manage to bury. Good. Thank fucking god. She needed to feel it, to want me, too.

“Oh,” she said quietly, then nodded. “Okay.”

“See you then,” she added, her fingers still twisting the hem of my shirt, like she wasn’t ready to take it off.

I nodded and turned around, ready to get the fuck out of here before I explode.

One step toward the door, then another, and fucking another. I was close, but then it hit me, like a fucking rupture, how I’ve sentenced myself to two weeks without her, without her mouth, her scent, her sounds, her fucking pulse beneath my teeth.

Withdrawal will hit me again, just like it did over the past month. I could already taste it, bitter, hollow, and screaming.

I stopped, fucking snapped, and turned around so fast the air changed. She had just turned her back, was heading further into the flat when I moved.

Three strides and I was on her.

One hand wrapped around her arm, the other around her neck, none of my touches were soft, or slow, or gentle, no, gone was the man from last night who held her like she could break. I yanked her back, her body slammed into mine like it knew where it fucking belonged.

And I crushed my mouth against hers.

Not just a kiss, a fucking devouring. I didn’t taste her, I took her. Lips, tongue, teeth. Fuck, I kissed her like I hated her, like I blamed her for every second of restraint I’d shown since the moment I met her.

My grip on her neck tightened, my fingers wrapping around the silky skin like I wanted to take all of her oxygen, and she gasped into my mouth, that sharp, shaky noise that made my cock twitch so hard I could’ve come in my fucking pants like a teenager.

Her fingers clawed at my hoodie, like she wanted to push me away, or drag me closer, or maybe both. She didn’t even know; she didn’t need to, because I knew for both of us.

My other hand slid under the shirt, my shirt, and dragged upward, my fingers skating over her bare waist, gripping like I was trying to carve ownership into her skin, not soft, nor sweet, like I wanted to claw her open from the inside out and live there.

Fucking hell. I’ve never felt like this before. I’ve had sex, of course, too much, probably, my fair share of different women, and different bodies. It’s always been a release, much like smoking, and like bleeding someone dry in an alleyway. Something to get it out, and repress.

But this? This wasn’t release; this was a reckoning.

I didn’t want to fuck her. I wanted to dig into her. To bury myself beneath her ribcage and crawl into her bloodstream and never leave. I wanted to feel her around me, under me, inside out until she couldn’t tell where her pain ended and I began.

And that terrified me, because the line between wanting to fuck her and wanting to slit her throat, cut her open just to see what color her soul bled, that line was thin, so thin I could barely breathe.

I was scared of which version of me would win, the monster that wanted to ruin her? Or the one that wanted to worship the ruin?

My other hand moved up and palmed her breast through the shirt, thumb brushing over her nipple, already hard and begging for me. I swallowed her gasp, her beautiful moan. I bit her lip hard, hard enough that I wanted to taste blood, wanted it to mix with her breath and mine like a communion.

I dragged her backward until she hit the wall. She was pinned, trapped, and fucking mine.

I broke the kiss just long enough to speak against her swollen lips.

“Thought I could leave you like this,” I growled, my voice wrecked, “But I can’t. Not without ruining you a little more.”

I grabbed her thigh, lifted it, pressed my knee between hers until her breath hitched and her eyes fluttered like she might black out from want.

My mouth was still on hers, bruising, marking, and tasting what I hadn’t taken the night before. What I should’ve, but didn’t, because some deluded part of me thought maybe she needed care instead of ruin.

That ends now.

I yanked my lips from hers, breathing hard, dragging my gaze over her like I wanted to peel her open and pour all my hate into the cracks she made in me.

“You think you can crawl into my bed, sleep on my chest, wear my shirt, and then tell me I’ll see you in a fucking week?”

Her lips were swollen, red, a small cut from where I’ve bitten. They were parted, but no answer came, just that trembling breath that always gave her away.

“You think you can smile at other men, let them touch you, make me lose my goddamn mind, and walk away with your pussy intact?”

Her eyes widened, but not in fear, in recognition. She knew this version of me, and God, she fucking loved it.

I pressed her harder into the wall, knee between her thighs, fingers digging into her neck like I could imprint my name into her skin.

“Nathan,” she gasped, breathless, broken, her chest rising like she was offering me the last of her air.

I always loved my name, not because it meant anything, but because it was given to me by someone whom I never met. But when she moans it like that? When she says it like it’s a prayer and a surrender all wrapped in one trembling breath?

I feel like I could fucking unravel.

“You have no idea,” I said, “how badly I wanted to bend you over last night. How close I was to reminding you who owns you.”

I dragged my hand down her side, over the curve of her waist, gripping her hip like I wanted to leave bruises, and I did.

“But I didn’t.” My voice was lower now, deadly quiet. “Because you were hurting, and I let softness fuck me sideways.”

I moved my mouth to her ear, my teeth grazing the shell. “Big fucking mistake.”

My hand dropped lower, between her leg, just pressing hard enough for her knees to stutter.

“I’m not going to fuck you today,” I whispered. “Not yet. Not until I know you can take it. But that mouth?”

My hand came up, cupped her jaw, thumb dragging across her bottom lip.

“That mouth doesn’t have an excuse.”

Her breath stuttered at the insinuation.

“You want to fix what you did last night, princess?” I asked, my eyes burning into hers.

She gave the faintest nod, maybe yes, maybe please.

I almost forced her to her knees. I wanted to shove her down hard enough to hear bone crack, wanted her to feel how far she’d pushed me, how far I’d fall just to break her better, but then I looked down, and I caught the subtle shift in her ankle, the way her balance faltered, the pain still there, hiding beneath adrenaline.

Something cracked in me, not anger, but worse. Mercy.

My jaw clenched. I tasted blood from how hard I was biting back the command and the urge to annihilate. So instead, my voice dropped to a rasp.

“Get down,” I said. “On your knees.”

She blinked, unsure. I leaned in closer, thumb now pressing against her lip with pressure.

“You want me in a better mood?” I murmured. “Then earn it.”

Her breath caught. Her pupils blew wide, and then, slowly, she began to drop. My fucking good girl, she can deny it all she wants, but she needed me just as much.

Her knees met the floor like they knew the path, like her body had memorized how to fall for me.

She looked up, her green eyes glassy, cheeks flushed, bruised lips parted, nervous, obedient, and so fucking needy.

I didn’t move at first. I wanted to see how far she’d go on her own.

Her hands came up, trembling just slightly, and settled on my thighs. Her touch was soft, like she thought I deserved reverence.

She leaned in, fingers curling around the waistband of my pants, and tugged them down, then my boxers, exposing me. My cock was thick, flushed, angry, and already leaking.

She leaned closer, her breath ghosting over my skin, and pressed a kiss right to the head, so soft, delicate, and I swear to fucking God, I almost came from that. From her gentleness, from her fucking stupidity. She wrapped her fingers around the base, then edged in, lips parting, warm and obedient, taking just the head into her mouth.

My head dropped back, and my eyes rolled. I nearly fucking blacked out from the heat of her.

Her tongue flicked over the skin, slow and teasing. She sucked lightly, licked around the ridge, every move a fucking detonation at the base of my spine.

She was too soft, too gentle, too slow. If she kept going like that, I’d either melt or kill her.

A low groan ripped from my chest, and then I snapped. I grabbed a fistful of her golden hair and yanked her down, hard, without warning, and with no mercy. Her eyes shot wide as I slammed myself into her throat, forcing past the point of comfort, past the point of air.

She gagged around me, hands flying to my thighs, nails biting in, scratching. Her whole body bucked, fighting to breathe, but I didn’t let her. I held her there, cock buried down her throat, her mouth stretched so wide around me I thought I might lose my mind from the sight. I fucked her beautiful mouth, over and over again, without mercy.

I thrust again, and again, I used her mouth like she was built for it, like she was designed to kneel and take and break.

Her sultry eyes watered from the pressure, and tears spilled slowly down her cheeks. Her lips red, her mouth full, her chin soaked.

And it was fucking art.

I looked down at her, gagging on me, throat clenching, face ruined, and I swear I wanted to write sonnets about the way she shattered. Lines and fucking lines. Poems made of spit, verses scrawled in bruises, and rhymes built from the sound of her breath cracking around me.

God, she was my favourite kind of suffering.

I gave her a short break, once. She gasped, coughing, spit trailing down her lips, painting her chin. Her throat was raw, and her mouth so fucking red. My favorite color.

I reached down and cupped her cheek, gentle now, a cruel contradiction to the way I’d just fucked her face. Her skin was flushed, slick, trembling under my palm.

She looked up, eyes rimmed with tears, lips swollen, and fuck, my heart ached. I didn’t know why; It squeezed so tight in my chest it felt like something inside me was trying to crawl out and beg her to never leave me.

So I tightened my grip instead, and I growled, “Again.”

And she obeyed, because deep down, she liked it, liked the way I stole her air, liked that I could turn her mouth into an altar and worship myself on her knees.

She took me deeper this time, fighting to control it, fighting for me.

“Good girl,” I hissed, thrusting into her mouth again, slow and deep. “That’s it. Just like that.”

Her throat clenched. She moaned around me, a sound that fucking vibrated through my cock and short-circuited every rational thought I had left.

“Look at you,” I grated out, voice dripping filth. “On your knees, drooling down your chin, gagging on me like it’s what you were made for.”

She whimpered, and I chuckled, low, cruel, and breathless.

“You’re so fucking desperate, aren’t you? Bet I could talk you into coming without even touching you. Just whisper in your ear about how I’d ruin that soaked pretty mess between your legs…how I’d bend you over, spank you for every huff, every bratty word you said last night…”

Her body trembled.

“I gave you softness yesterday,” I grated out, “Held you. Took care of you. Let you sleep on my chest like some fucking boyfriend.“

My tone dropped lower, so fucking lethal, “I don’t give. I take. Remember that.”

Her hands gripped my thighs like she needed the weight of my words to hold her steady.

“This?” I growled, thrusting harder. “This is nothing. This is foreplay.”

She whimpered again, louder, and needier.

“Once you can take it,” I fisted her hair tighter, dragging her mouth all the way down until her nose brushed my skin. “I’m going to fuck the attitude out of you. Make you come until you sob. Until you forget your own name and beg to remember mine.“

She moaned, whimpered, cried, a desperate, broken sound, and that was it.

My control shattered.

I gripped her hair, held her in place, and fucked her mouth like I owned it, brutal, deep, merciless, until the only thing that existed was the wet heat of her submission and the sound of her breath breaking for me.

When I came, I spilled so deep down her throat, and she swallowed all of it, every drop, and every sin. She didn’t flinch for once, didn’t even blink.

I stood there, breath ragged, hands still tangled in her hair, staring down at the wreck I made, red lips, glassy eyes, tear-streaked cheeks. She looked like an angel I dragged down by the throat and kept just holy enough to fall again.

I reached down, wrapped both hands around her arms, and pulled her up, a little bit more carefully, my eyes falling back to her ankle. She wobbled against me, dizzy, wrecked, and I caught her. I held her still like I hadn’t just used her mouth like a weapon.

My thumb brushed over her lower lip; her breath was still catching, and mine wasn’t far behind.

Her mouth…Jesus. Smeared. Swollen. Bruised. Mine.

“You looked too fucking precious on your knees like that,” I murmured, my voice barely human.

My hand cradled her cheek, and she leaned into it, sighing in contentment, like I hadn’t just tested every limit of that mouth.

“Don’t ever get near another man again,” I said, a very big warning she should never cross. “Don’t look at them. Don’t smile at them. Don’t let them near you like that fucker did yesterday.”

My jaw clenched. “If someone else touches you,” I breathed, “I’ll kill them.”

I leaned and pressed my lips to her temple, then down to her cheek, gently.

“And then I’ll fuck you on their blood.” I kissed her lips, once. Softly. “And if I can’t kill them fast enough,” I whispered, “I’ll kill you. So no one else ever gets the chance again.”

I leaned back, just a little, looking at her, wrecked and trembling.

“Don’t think I am messing around,” I said, eyes on fire. “I’m not. I’m sick in the fucking head, princess. You know that. You’ve seen it. You felt it.”

“You signed yourself to the devil the day you let me fuck you on that plane,” I said, shaking my head with finality, “You can’t escape me, I won’t let you again, so don’t even try.”

She blinked, chest rising and falling like she was trying to breathe me in, and then, if possible, she leaned further into my touch, her lips twitched, in comfort, in happiness. God, she was just as sick in the head as me. My beautiful, precious princess. She looked at me, like she was looking into the eye of the storm, and finally understood it belonged to her.

“I don’t want to escape,” she whispered. “I never did.”

She brought her hand to my face, it rested on the side, her fingers brushed lightly over the still-fresh scar on my cheek, “I only left because,” Her green eyes looked at mine, fuck red, green is becoming my favorite color, “…because I wanted to see if you’d come after me,” Her lips lifted into a very small smile, “And you did.”

Oh, she is the fucking devil.

I raised an eyebrow, “Playing with fire now, are we?”

Her lips twitched again, her face softening, and she shrugged, “I’ve spent my whole life going after people who didn’t want me.” She shook her head, that flare of ache that passed her eyes made me want to kill Chase again, and again, and fucking again. “I just never want to do that, again.”

I grasped her hand, pulling it from my face and to my cock, “See,” My eyebrow raised, my dick getting hard again by her mere presence, “Is that proof enough that I fucking want you.”

Her eyes flickered down, her face flushing, but her smile, a wicked little thing, widened. She bit her lip, all nervous and adorable, and I threw my head back, groaning because I wanted her again, all of her.

She leaned in and pecked my lips, “I really should get ready and go, I am so late,” She whispered.

I grunted and nodded, “Okay,” I grumbled, realizing that I needed to let her go. Maybe if I can get her fired, she can stay with me, every second of every day. The thought was too appealing.

⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹

When I walked back into my house, I paused at the threshold of the living room and stared at Christian, utterly unamused. He was sprawled on my couch like he fucking paid rent, legs stretched out, phone in one hand, and a mug of my coffee in the other like he was the king of this sad little castle.

And there, right next to him, was…my notebook.

Open.

I swear to fucking God.

“Seriously?” I grated out, already calculating which angle I’d have to stab him from to hit something important.

The people in my life had no concept of boundaries. Probably because I never actually set any, just killed the ones who crossed them.

His eyes flicked up, from me to the notebook, the one almost filled to the brim with chaos, bleeding ink, and the kind of thoughts that should never see daylight.

“What?” he asked, all fake innocence and bullshit charm. “It was already open when I sat down.”

Liar. Professional-grade bastard. See, this is why I wanted to kill him so often.

“You always let me read what you write anyway. Why are you twitchy now?”

His fingers moved like he was about to reach for it again, and I moved faster, snatched the damn thing like it was a detonator.

Where the fuck was I supposed to hide this now?

His brow lifted, and that smug little twitch hit the corner of his mouth.

“Sit,” he said, like he hadn’t just trampled over my last nerve. “I’ll get you a coffee.”

He stood and walked to the kitchen like this was his fucking house and added, “We need to talk.”

My fingers clenched around the notebook, and I finally dropped into the armchair, sulking and scowling. I hated people. Why can’t they fucking leave me alone in peace?

He came back far too quickly, handed me a cup like he wasn’t low-key trespassing, and sat across from me like we were about to have a civilised therapy session instead of me planning his funeral.

“So,” he started.

I took a slow sip, leaned back into the couch like I didn’t want to strangle him with the throw pillow right beside me.

“So?” I echoed, raising an eyebrow.

He smirked. “Is she why you haven’t come home yet?”

“Who said England was my home?” I muttered, sipping again, the coffee tasted bitter, thankfully. The caffeine started scraping the edge off my more homicidal urges.

“It’s ours,” he shrugged. “We practically grew up there.”

“Doesn’t make it home,” I pointed out.

He leaned forward, like he was invested. “So what…you’re staying here permanently?” The way he said it, like the air in this country, offended him.

I shrugged, “I haven’t decided yet.”

He cocked his head, “What’s your plan, really?” he asked, being a nosy bitch, “You said you are only staying for the surgery and then after that for your treatments, but you look quite okay to me now,” His eyes flickered all over me, “More than okay, even.”

He wasn’t wrong. Right before the surgery, I looked like a walking corpse; I had lost weight, I was pale, my body was writing its own eulogy in real time.

But now, I’d clawed my way back.

I worked out. Ate clean. On some days, I rebelled, of course, still smoked, still drank, still kissed death on the mouth twice a week, but at least now I was the one choosing when.

“Thanks,” I smiled. “I just had my dick sucked. That must be why I’m glowing.”

Christian glared at me like I’d insulted his mother. He huffed loudly and sat back with a look of defeat.

You see this. This was the kind of shit I lived for. To push. To prod. To watch the people who cared about me wish they didn’t. I didn’t like comfort. I liked combustion. I thrive in chaos only.

“So, Christian,” I asked, tilting my head, my voice syrup-smooth and full of knives, “Why are you really here?”

“To check on you.”

“No, no, really,” I added, “Why are you here?”

His eyebrow raised, “I told you.”

I tilted my head, my tone so smooth it was practically silk-wrapped venom. “So, Nikolas didn’t call you, then? Didn’t ask you to come and babysit me?”

His jaw ticked. I saw it, that perfect, controlled crack in his expression. And fuck, it was satisfying.

I threw him a wink, and instead of answering my question, his eyes moved; they landed on my cheek, mainly on the fresh scar engraved over there. “What happened?”

I shrugged and did just like he did. Instead of answering, I pushed his fucking buttons, “Did you know that Lilly is moving to France?”

His fingers tightened around the mug. Awesome. “Her and Chase,” I added, twisting the knife, “They’re relocating there together. You should see them, they’re so happy, still in the honeymoon phase,” I took a slow sip from my cup, felt the satisfaction hit my bloodstream like nicotine.

“They make such a cute couple.”

He didn’t say anything, but the pressure in his grip said enough, his knuckles had gone white.

I leaned in, my eyes glinting with that special brand of psychosis I reserve for people I love.

“We should give them a visit,” I murmured, raising my cup in mock cheer. “Since you’re here and all.”

I winked again, but before he could say a word, not that he would, the bell rang. I chuckled, I just had to, the timing was just too poetic. “Oh well, who could that be?” I asked in mockery and didn’t make the slightest movement to get up.

I looked over at Christian and sipped my coffee like it was champagne. “You’re already acting like this is your house. Go answer it.”

He shot me a glare before he got up, muttering something under his breath, and moved to the door. I tuned him out the second I heard their voices in the hallway. I didn’t care. I sipped on my coffee and went through my phone.

I opened that damn Instagram thing I’d watched Aylin scroll through the night before. I searched her name, and there she was. Her profile public, and a supid glowing ring around her story.

I tapped it, and the photo lit up from the night before. The whole crew, huddled like some happy little cult in front of the airline logo.

They all looked like ugly ducks, except her. She was the only real thing in the entire frame. Hair like gold spilled across her shoulders, lips soft, smile tight, the kind she fakes when she’s trying to seem happy.

But that wasn’t what sent the pulse hammering through my teeth. It was fucking Trevor, standing right next to her, hand on her waist. Fuck. Good thing I mutilated that hand. I needed to cut his dick too; I wasn’t satisfied.

I exited the app, opened my messages, and typed. “Delete your story. Now.”

Two seconds ticked by.

Princess: No.

The fuck—

Before I could type something fitting for that fucking no, I heard their footsteps inch closer from behind me. I locked my phone and craned my neck over the couch, and grinned at Nikolas, “Well, hello…uhm.”

My brows knit together in mock concentration. “Hmm. What should I call you?”

He stared at me. “Bro?” I offered. “Bro-in-law?”

Nikolas blinked, “Or do you prefer Dad?” I added mockingly at how he keeps interfering in my fucking life, over and over again.

Christian snorted, but Nikolas didn’t. His jaw twitched, temple ticking like a countdown, and without muttering a word, his hand raised and he smacked the back of my head. My eyes widened, and I reached back like he’d just scalped me. “What the fuck—”

Christian sank into the armchair across from me, doing his best not to laugh while sipping his coffee, reveling in the fact that someone could annoy me as much as I annoy him.

Nikolas moved to sit as well, but not before his gaze caught my face, and just like that, his whole posture shifted.

His steps slowed, and he came closer, his fingers curled around my jaw, holding my face in one place, his eyes narrowing, “What happened?” he asked, his voice low, taking notice of scars that weren’t there before.

So, he doesn’t know…

I shrugged, “Nothing big,” I said.

My hand went to his wrist, it curled tight and pried his hand away from me, “And don’t touch me again,” he ignored me, ready to sit down when I added, “Or I will be touching your son next time—”

I didn’t even get the rest out. He spun around so fast the air dropped ten degrees. He leaned in, pinned me down with one fucking glare.

“What did you say?” His voice grated straight from hell.

Every muscle in my spine lit up, and the cushion behind me suddenly didn’t feel so safe.

My throat bobbed. “Nothing,” I muttered.

And that’s when I remembered, there’s more than one monster in this family.

⊹˚₊‧────────────────────‧₊˚⊹

Author’s note:

I will be offline tomorrow, so I decided to publish the chapter a bit earlier this time. Happy reading.

Also, I want you to promise me that if you ever come across a Nathan in your real life, you’ll do the below:

RUN FOR YOUR LIFE, THE DUDE IS INSANE AND DESTRUCTIVE.

Hehe, see you next week 😉