Burn for Me (Chaotic Love)

22. Twenty-Two

Twenty-Two

9-2-2024

Did I lose control on the one person I want to protect?

-Sam

I knew it.

“Sam, wait—you have to understand,” Jasmine yells as I grab her by the arm, toss her into the passenger seat, and throw the notebook with the file into her lap. Not Jasmine… Melione.

Goddamn it, I opened up about the darkest parts of myself, hoping she could help me through them, but she faded into the shadows, and now I can't find her—the woman I fell for. The mirrors tremble as I slam my door, and her soft cries echo through the interior while she hurriedly pushes the papers to the floor. I need to calm down, but it’s hard with each sniffle, knowing I'm the reason for her tears. I can't help it, though. She keeps pushing when all I need is...

My phone vibrates, pulling me deeper into my downward spiral, so I jab the button on the car dashboard to answer through Bluetooth.

“What?!” I snap.

“Where have you two been all day?” Caspian barks.

“We went out,” I reply tersely, glancing over at her trembling shoulders and now distraught outfit from my efforts to get her into the car. There’s too much happening, and too many emotions collide and clash, contradicting each other in my head. I huff and throw the car into reverse, speeding away.

“There's been a complication.” I grit out through clenched teeth, trying to focus on the sound of the wheels spinning.

“Is everyone okay? I mean, is it going to affect the mission?” Sharkie interjects. Her calm tone suggests she’s panicking.

“Everything will be fine,” I murmur, gripping the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles turn white as if I’m desperately trying to strangle the leather.

“As long as everything's still in order. Did you have time to go over the intel?” Caspian asks casually, unaware of the storm brewing inside me. I’m tempted to talk to him, to find something to ground me, but I can’t. If I do, then Jasmine— Melione —will be done for. I run my tongue over my teeth, hating how her name feels.

“Yes,” I say, keeping it short and simple, refusing to elaborate further.

“And?”

Just then, a car pulls in front of us like a godsend, cutting off the conversation. I throw my arm over Jasmine’s chest, and the sound of squealing tires prompts Sharkie to change the subject.

“ Jas, how's everything? Are you feeling prepared?”

I jerk my arm away and grip the steering wheel tightly, suppressing the urge to let out all my anger on the driver who almost caused us to wreck.

“I—” My glare cuts off Jasmine's words, warning her to keep fuckin’ quiet because I still need to figure out our next steps.

Her nose scrunches, and her chest heaves as if she is holding back something. But then, like a transformation unfolding before my eyes, she clears her throat, wipes her tears away with her palms, and lifts her chin defiantly, responding with a firm, "Yes, ma'am."

Is that how it has been all these years? Does she flip a switch and change how she wants me to perceive things? I scoff, and her head turns toward me, giving me a narrowed stare.

Even though I want to yell at her for being completely idiotic, all I can focus on are the golden depths of her eyes shimmering as they dart between mine. She looks at me as if I’m the only man in the world, unable to tear her gaze away, even when it seems like smoke is about to pour from her ears.

It’s as if she’s willing to walk through flames if I ask her to. I know she would, so I draw in a deep breath.

“Sounds great then. I told them not to go off the rails when you two went out. Enjoy the rest of the night; I need to take care of stuff.” Moe finally arrives, and everyone goes silent, completely caught off guard by the fact that he has something to do. “Sam, update us when you can.”

“Wait—” I quickly cover the little devil's mouth as soon as she starts to speak. I can tell from her tone that she was about to spill everything to them, but this isn’t about them or the mission. This is our marriage.

A low growl vibrates against my palm as delicate hands push my wrist while she kicks her feet against the dashboard.

“What’s your complication?” Caspian’s voice comes through. I scan the road for police so I can take the exit toward our destination with more speed than necessary.

“Nothing important,” I say slowly.

“Sam—” I cut off the call using the button on the steering column but don’t move my hand away from her mouth.

“No–please…” Hayden’s muffled whimper comes from behind my palm. Pathetic. He wasn't a crying, whimpering mess when he was injecting that shit into my arm so my uncle could make bets on how long it’d take for me to pass out.

“You’re lying!” I snap as I dig my knife into his thigh.

“I-I swear. There was a funeral and everything! Look, man, we didn't know it was laced. It tore Hex up when he found out!” Braxton nearly cries, and my wrist turns, pushing the blade deeper as he says my uncle's name.

“Where is he?” I bite out. Carlisle is getting close to ending the War for his wife Misty, but my war’s not over until I have my answers. Brady isn't dead, and my uncle isn't getting away with yet another fucking murder if he is.

“He gathers in Newtown. But… the others, they’re harmless…”

I quickly pull my knife from his thigh and push my hand through my hair with a humorless laugh. Next door. He’s been so close to me this whole time.

“The others are harmless,” I repeat slowly as each moment of pure hell they put me through replays in my head.

“We’ve changed. Brady asked for the stuff, and we delivered it. It was just a bad batch. Like your pare–” Before he can finish, I quickly turn, driving the blade into his neck repeatedly, unable to stop. His body morphs into my uncle's pinned below my knees as I drive fist after fist into his face.

“Sammy!” He yells the nickname my mother gave me, and it only encourages me to punch harder. He took her from me. He took my cousin from me–his own fucking son. For what? Some money? A high? He’s taken everything.

His screams fade into Jasmine's sobs as her hands grasp at my wrist, pulling my hand from her throat, but it feels like I can’t stop. It’s not her, it's him.

“Sam–” She gasps, clawing and scratching at my wrists. I shake my head, trying to clear out the fog. My mind is just tricking me again. Maybe it's the drugs they gave me. Perhaps it’s a hallucination. Maybe–

Taking a sharp breath, I slam on the brakes just inches from the parking curb. I hadn’t realized how lost I had become in my thoughts until a slight sting on my wrist pulled me back to reality. Thankfully so. Usually, if I get lost in my head, it’s flashes of the past, but the last part–

Slowly lowering my hand from Jasmine's mouth, I shake it.

“I’m triggered,” I say curtly. She doesn’t deserve a detailed explanation right now, but I know she deserves a warning.

“I’m overwhelmed, and I don’t—” My words are abruptly cut off as she rushes to open her door, but I reach across and slam it shut, refusing to let her out.

“Don’t ever silence me again! I understand you’re mad and that things are overwhelming, but I refuse to let another person I love do this to me!” She yells, but I can’t concentrate on her words as I focus on the red splotches blooming along my wrist in straight, deep lines.

Is that from her? How much force did she have to use to try to pry me off? Did I—

My heart starts to race at an uncomfortable speed, making me almost nauseous, so I quickly grip her chin and turn her head towards mine.

“Stop touching me! You’re supposed to be the person who sees me! Who listens!” she snaps, trying to push me away. I know all too well what it’s like to be touched when I don’t want to be, but I can’t let go. I won’t.

I just need to make sure…

“I didn't mean to... I lost—” I swallow hard as I look at the color of her cheeks, trying to determine if the red tint is due to my hold or her emotions. “I’m sorry. Just let me check.”

Her eyes soften momentarily but then harden again. Even though she appears to be fuming, she remains still, allowing me to raise my other hand to brush her hair out of her face and trace her features with my thumbs.

“Melione O’Hanson.” I open my mouth to speak, but her jaw flexes under my hands, so I nod, and she continues, “If you want to do your digging, my notebooks have everything you need. You would've known that by now if you weren't such an asshole !”

I can handle her yelling or even a hit if she wants to throw one. I’ll take her rare cursing, too, as long as I can feel her skin for a little longer. I’m certainly angry, but I’m also terrified of the rage I’m holding inside. I have never wanted to hurt her like I’ve hurt others who made me feel this way. The thought of it makes me want to drop to my knees and beg the devil for forgiveness–even though she’s the one putting me through hell.

“Did I hurt you?” I ask softly.

She relaxes slightly but quickly responds with a short, “Not physically,” before stepping out of the car. An uneasy feeling wraps around my chest, prompting me to exit the vehicle, toss my keys to the valet, and follow her. As my palm finds the small of her back, she looks at the receptionist with a bright but faded smile. I’ve taken her shine away, and I don’t know how to bring it back.

“Jasmine.” I swallow against the tightening in my throat as we approach the elevator. There’s no response, and panic washes over me as the fear that I’ve pushed her too far sets in— the worry that I’ve driven her away. She looks down at the floor as we stop, and I shift closer. I wish I could express everything I want to say, but the words won’t come, no matter how hard I try to form them. Instead, I focus on every event that led to this moment while studying her profile.

“You love me?” The words feel like a prayer on my tongue—reverent and pleading.

“I may be good at changing into what people need me to be, but I’ve never been adept at changing my emotions.” The elevator doors open, and I try to guide her inside, but she dramatically pulls away.

“I don’t want good. I want all the bad—every dark, deep, horrid thing—so I can…” I growl as she tries to corner herself. Snaking my arm around her waist, I turn us until she’s trapped between the wall and my chest.

“I want it all. Just be patient with me.” Brushing my knuckles over her cheek, I let out a breath of relief, seeing the hue has lightened a shade. It was simply her emotions; I didn't hurt her.

She raises her hands to rest on my chest, but they drop back to her sides.

“Tell me what you need,” she mutters quietly, drawing my attention to her furrowed brows and the concern growing in her eyes. I know exactly what I need: a moment to collect myself, a way to regain control, and a reminder that I can still hold myself together. I need the one thing that helps me go blank and calms the storm brewing inside me— her .

I focus on her lips as the elevator rumbles below our feet, hitting another floor and breaking the silence I hadn't meant to let linger.

“Look, I know you're upset and have every right to be, but it’s never been fake with you. It’s just…” She trails off, turning her head to break my gaze but quickly looking back to avoid the metal reflections surrounding us. “You don’t have to trust me, but if you can try to look past my mistakes and give me a chance to prove—”

“Stay still,” I mutter, my brows furrowing as my mouth brushes against hers. As much as I love her endless rambling and desperately want to memorize every word she says, I know I won’t be able to focus on any of it right now.

The hue starts to return, but it’s more pink than red. It’s the color I recognize—the woman I’ve always known, now just with a few more skeletons in her closet than I expected. That’s okay, though. I can bury those skeletons when this is all over. I’d do it right now, but I can only focus on those three dangerous words she said. Even if they weren’t intended the way she expressed them, I refuse to believe otherwise.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, and her lashes flutter open. Tears are welling up again, and it tears me apart because I know she feels remorse for what she has done.

The elevator opens on our floor, and I take a deep breath, trying to memorize how she looks at this moment. I thrive off her fear, but this is different, and I know I never want to see it again.

“I know.” My mouth crashes back into hers without restraint. It’s a chaotic collision where my teeth clash with hers, and she grips the wall to keep herself balanced as we tumble down the hall.

If anyone were to see us right now, they might say we’re kissing as if we’re the air that the other needs to breathe. They’d be wrong, though. I’m kissing her in a way that makes her feel exactly how loving her is: rough, messy, and painful, yet so fucking good. It’s like trying to douse a fire with gasoline.

Her back hits the door, and she gasps, tilting her head against the barrier as I finally pull away.

“Please don’t be another one to push me aside.”

“I’m not…” I respond with more force than I intend. I take a breath and lean back in, trying to convey how complicated my thoughts are.

“I just—” She kisses me.

“I don’t—” I kiss her back, raising my hand to cup the side of her neck, feeling her pulse against my skin.

“I can’t.” I curse softly against her lips, struggling to find the words, but I come up short because she’s doing exactly what I need—calming my mind and easing my thoughts.

“Show me.” She mutters against my mouth, and I give an approving growl as her hands weave into my hair. I kick the door behind us when my hands are steady enough to push through the barrier. We’re a tangle of limbs; she kicks off her heels and tugs at my belt while I pull away slightly to trace my mouth along her jaw, desperately tearing at her blouse. Buttons pop off and clatter to the floor around the mantle as her back collides with the surface.

“Do you still trust me?” My voice is muffled against her skin as my hands slip beneath the loose fabric at her waist. I want to memorize every inch of her body like it's a file that will keep my mind occupied, but the jagged outline protruding from her skirt makes me pause.

Thank the devil she didn’t fucking stab me earlier. I chuckle at the thought.

"You could hold a flame in front of me, and I would gladly lick the match because I know you would never let anything hurt me— except for you." With a smile, she nudges the switch with her elbow, sending flames erupting in the fireplace as if to make her point.

“Strip,” I growl, pulling the blade from beneath her skirt. I step back to admire my beautiful fallen angel in all her messy glory. It’s mesmerizing to see her battered blouse hanging from her shoulders as she tries to step toward me, her hair tousled in every direction. Yet, somehow, it still doesn’t feel like enough.

“What’s your safe word?”

She pauses, and a flicker of fear flashes across her features as I twirl the object between my fingers. Her eyes dart toward it.

“Red.” she purrs, regaining her composure as she tosses her shirt aside. I begin to circle her slowly, like a predator stalking its prey, but I pause when she kicks off her skirt and reveals a deep maroon mark peeking from beneath her underwear.

“These too,” I say, slipping the blade handle into the band above her hip, allowing her fingers to hook into the lace and draw the marking more into view.

“Still too many clothes,” I mutter to myself, tilting my head while dragging the steel up her spine until it’s under her bra.

“You’re still fully dressed, so—” Jasmine gasps, breaking her sentence as the blade breaks through the fabric.

“Sam Morana! My bra!” She yelps as I step back and twist the knife in my palm.

“I fuckin’ love it when you say our name, but it would sound even better if you’d get on your hands and knees.”

“I liked that one. It matched my tattoo.” she taunts. I quickly grip her jaw, making her lashes flutter, and a gorgeous whine escapes her lips from the force.

“Careful, darlin'. I’m trying to control myself right now,” I warn.

“Don’t,” she replies, trying to step closer, but I tighten my hold. I’ll never understand how she can make me feel so comfortable touching her like this, holding her in these positions. Unfortunately, I don’t have another soul to sell to find out why.

I gently kiss her lips, and she breathes me in as if it calms her. Just as I let her go, she turns and drops to her knees. It's as if she's in a trance—sitting back on her heels while the orange hues illuminate the pulse in her throat—entirely captivated by the sight before her.

"Give me all you have," she mutters. I step behind her, lowering myself to my knees.

“The good, the bad, the ugly.” she continues, her shoulders relaxing under my caress as I move lower to massage her rib cage.

“And I might let you worship me at my fiery altar.” She finishes, and I suck the back of my teeth. It’s as if she wants to test me right now, knowing she’s already pushed my emotions too far. It feels like she’s begging me to snap.

Gently, I slide my palm over the irritated skin along her spine, where the blade has barely grazed her. She leans forward, resting her head against the carpet. I’ll correct her in a moment, but for now, I’m too intrigued by the little artwork she has created on herself. It’s amusing how she acts out to spite me.

I tut, pulling down the waist of my slacks until my throbbing cock is bobbing against her thigh. “Hips higher in the air.”

She obeys and arches her back to where her arse is spread, and I’m able to get a full view of her pussy weeping for me. Rubbing my hand over the plump flesh, I stop, and my fingers flex over the tattoo as my wedding band rests perfectly on it.

“Have you ever lied to me?”

“No!” Her eyes are drawn over her shoulder instantly, and she looks at me like the idea floors her. I hum in response, and cock throbs as I drag it through her lips to coat myself in her arousal.

“I never want you to feel like you have to prove yourself to me.” I rock, bumping my tip against her cunt.

“I’ve always seen you.” Sliding back forward, I graze her clit drawing out a sweet moan, and her head falls forward.

“But I do want you to do one thing.” I grin, curling her hair against the knife as I jerk her back so she has no choice but to either look at her fear or me.

“Say, please.” Gripping the base of my cock and aligning my swollen tip with her weeping core, she tries to rock back as her breathing shallows.

"Ask your husband nicely to let you look at the fire in your eyes while I fuck you into hell." I taunt, but it turns into a groan when she slides her knees against the floor, spreading herself wider. The motion catches me off guard, so I lean back, releasing her hair to watch as she slowly sinks back against me.

“Please.”

God, that whisper would be enough to bring me to my knees if I weren't already on them–light, airy, and so bloody sinful. I wish I could relish the sound, but that damn art keeps staring at me, mocking me with a single word. Pulling back, I quickly slam back into her, and her hand flies to the glass to brace herself, but she quickly places her palm back against the floor.

No . That’s not happening. The only thing she is going to be thinking about is me; how full she is of my cock, how much she has to stretch just to take me in. Not the fucking fear of what can happen if the glass cracks below her pressure. Spinning the knife until the sharp steel is wrapped firmly in my hand, breaking the skin, I wrap my arm around her waist.

“You said you trust me.” I bite out, placing the handle against her clit, and slam back forward.

“I do!” Her head snaps up to the glass with her cry. Those evil golden irises ignite with the flicking flames through the reflection of the barrier.

“It seems to be a struggle for you.” The blade slips within my wet grasp as she starts to grind against the handle, throwing her arse back in a way that has my cock throbbing and a low growl builds at the back of my throat.

“I just… I don’t—“ She’s a moaning, crying mess. Destroyed with mascara streaking down her cheeks and her pussy leaking enough that with each thrust, her thighs stick to mine. She feels like heaven. I draw a deep breath through my nose, gripping the handle tighter.

“One day, you’re going to tell me who the fuck hurt you enough that you have to battle demons for me.” I moan from how her tight hole just keeps sucking me back in. I never thought I could be so addicted to skin, but the way her flesh feels wrapped around me and how little red splotches are starting to appear at the base of her neck tempts me to run my tongue over the flesh–to taste and see if it's as intoxicating as she feels.

“I will.” She gasps, her head bobbing with my ruthless thrusts that force her body to slide forward.

“Oh God–” She whines as her hands grapple across the carpet to try and hold herself steady.

I go motionless deep in her velvet heat, leaning over her shoulder with heavy breaths so I’m sure she can see my reflection just as clearly as I see hers.

“Are you praying, little devil?” I chuckle and gently kiss her shoulder.

Her walls clench warning me she's close, so I pull out, gripping her arse hard enough that she squeals as I shift back on my knees to properly focus on what I want to do.

“The devil doesn't ask for forgiveness.” Without warning, I dip the knife into the start of the ink on her perfect plump flesh, but she trembles, so I pull back to smack her arse. Once she stills, I press the blade deeper to make a perfect line through the gorgeous skin. She'll tell me if it’s too much, but until then…

“Do you know why?” I tuck my lip between my teeth, focusing on the carving.

“Sam, I'm going to come.” Jasmine whines, and I nearly come knowing that this is what’s getting her so worked up—being afraid, being in pain.

She was fucking made for me.

Leaning over, I run my tongue over the bubbling flesh, then continue my work once it’s clean.

"Because you’re not bound to everlasting chains." I blow against the dripping flesh, and she squirms, gasping for breath as she tries to move away.

“Sam.” She gasps, and I lean back to admire the thick, bloody line and bold, thick letters I’ve created with a grin.

“You are free to rule your fallen angels. They pray to you .”

She’ll always be my devil, even if that means I have to walk over burning embers every day for the rest of my life. Now, she can have a pretty little reminder. I push my tongue through her folds, dragging it up her crack along her spine.

“ I pray to you . I worship you .” As soon as my cock probes her from the position, she’s trying to fuck herself back on me.

“You want to burn the world down? I’ll give you the bloody matches.” Dropping the knife, I fist her hair, pulling her back to an arch, and wrap my injured palm around her mouth. The red tint spreads across her features under my skull-inked hand. It’s such a fucking sight. She looks like she belongs to me now.

Chaotic–a product of destruction.

“Then I’ll fuck you into the ashes that your flames create.” I loosen my hold and shift my fingers into her mouth, making her gag when they intrude her throat.

Red-tainted drool drips down her chin to her chest as she tries to nod. The sight has me too fucking close, but I’m grateful I’ve been able to last this long with how damn good she feels. My veins bulge against the tight fit and the rigid sensation against the softness of her welcoming hole.

Removing my fingers, I grip her jaw so she stays focused on our reflection. It’s no longer a punishment to make her watch her fear… I just want her to be able to see what she does to me.

“Tell me what you’re scared of.” Her arse slaps against my hips creating a beautiful wet sound, and she pants trying to find some semblance of words. It's a pitiful attempt when all that’s coming out is incoherent gibberish.

“I’m not scared of losing control.” I groan and clench my eyes shut to place a soft kiss on the side of her neck the exact moment she screams my name so loud her voice goes out. I can feel every flutter and pulse of her pussy around me as her come joins the blood dripping from our bodies to the floor.

“I’m scared of trusting people.” Quickly I grip the nape of her neck and press her torso flat with the surface so I can bury myself deeper into her cunt.

“Letting them in,” I grunt while pulling out, wrapping my fist tight around my shaft as I stroke it.

“I’m scared of loving you.” I moan as her body limps into the carpet, and I come all over her pretty new art. Sitting back on my heels, I twirl my thumb into the come and blood to admire my handiwork. No matter how badly I just want to collapse on her back and let us pass out in this puddle, I can’t let us lay like this, not after that .

Rubbing my hand over my face, I push myself off the floor and mutter a curse under my breath as my legs wobble. My emotions feel numb and sluggish as I leave the room and head to the bathroom. I run a bath, adjusting the temperature to a comfortable level and tossing in the substance from her bottle, waiting for the bubbles to form.

I’m sure she’s exhausted and probably sore, and I can only imagine how her screaming must have irritated her throat. I grin at the thought, making a mental note to grab her a glass of water before I clean her up.

A broken sob captures my attention before I even reach the threshold of the living room, and my head snaps in that direction. Before I can think, I tuck one arm under her knees and wrap the other firmly around her back as I drop to the floor, holding her close to me.

“Shhh. What’s wrong? What hurts?”

She shakes her head, pressing it against the crook of my neck, making it difficult to decipher the cause of her distress. I quickly reach for the fireplace switch and turn it off.

Was I too rough? Did I hurt her in a way she didn’t like? Was it too far? Did she feel like she couldn’t use her safe word?

My mind races as I stand and rush her to the bathroom, gently lowering her into the warm bubbles.

“Damn it, Jasmine. We have a safe word for a reason,” I mutter under my breath as I hurriedly take off my pants and crawl in behind her. Pressing my hands on her back, I try to encourage her to lean forward so I can examine her skin.

“Darlin’, I need you to talk, or I can’t help.” This foreign feeling makes my stomach turn, and my eyes burn. “I don’t know how to fix it...”

Did I lose control on the one person I want to protect?

“I thought you were leaving me alone in there,” she whispers.

Running my fingers over the marks, I let out a breath, knowing I didn't go any deeper than I intended. All the wounds are clean and precise, so I gently brush my fingers over her head to guide her back against my shoulder.

“I—I thought you were tossing me away because you couldn’t forgive me.” she whimpers. I continue to soothe her by running my fingers through her hair as I grab a rag and dip it into the water. Ignoring the sting that crosses my palm, I wipe the washcloth against her face to clean away the blood.

“I was just getting a bath ready for us. I apologize for not saying anything. I’m still processing it all. Be patient with me; I’m learning.”

I hate the idea of anyone seeing her like this except me, but there’s nothing I can do right now apart from taking care of her.

“Be patient with me. I’m learning,” she repeats quietly with a hiccup. I continue to wipe under her lashes and her nose to try to ease the puffiness and redness. This feels like my own personal hell. I always thought my worst nightmare would be watching something I could never have, but I was wrong.

It's seeing the thing that heals me hurt and not knowing how to fix it.

As if she senses my thoughts spiraling again, she places her hand over mine and holds it against her mouth, tilting her head into my neck. I was hoping to try that cuddling shit people talk about after our bath, but that’s not bloody happening.

Once I get her comfortable, I know exactly what I’m doing.

I’m making a fucking list. Starting from the assholes watching us now all the way down to whoever has made her this way, and each one is getting the same thing; a pretty red x on their chest.

My little devil will be wanting some new souls anyway.