Chapter 6 Cain
“At your service, Mr. Manson. Have a great rest of the day,” the driver says.
I slam the car door fiercely and stride towards my mansion’s entrance.
A simmering rage has been seething within me all day, making it impossible to focus on anything. I feel a surge, a rush I can’t control, barely able to keep myself from erupting.
How dare she do that? Slap me? Me? I’m no saint—not even a good guy, to be fair—but slapping me is something I won’t forgive. Even I have boundaries, and she’s crossed them in the worst possible way.
As I approach the entrance, I realize I’ll see her soon, and I have no idea how I’ll react. If I snap and hurt her, I’ll never forgive myself. So, I decide to light a cigarette and take a few long drags before going inside. I’ve lost count of how many I’ve smoked today.
She wants to leave … leave and go where? To her so-called boyfriend, who only makes her miserable? To those “friends” who are just jealous of her?
Or back to her abusive and indifferent parents, who do nothing but push her?
Push her to be “perfect,” to do things she doesn’t want, all for the sake of her image.
Push her into a future, a career she never even wanted.
Lock her in her fucking room because she disobeyed them.
Being indifferent when she was sick. When she needed them.
Kate?ina seems perfect, as if she has the whole package. But deep down, she’s just like me. An outcast. An unloved child. Not because she did anything wrong, but because she dared to exist in a marriage as a product of their vanity.
God, she’s perfect. Untouched by darkness. Her mind and soul are still innocent, unstained by malice and corruption.
I am a fiend. A wretched man who should be cast into the fire and left to burn. But thinking of her in danger makes me even more certain about my decision to take her. The way that piece of shit was stalking her the night she went to that party made my blood boil. How dare he?
Fuck, I shouldn’t act impulsively and kill him. I should find out what he knows. As if I’m a fucking amateur. At least threatening the bouncers to bail on their job was easy, as always.
That pulsing feeling in my spine won’t let go, the certainty that someone is always watching her. And Elijah isn’t the real threat. It’s something else, something I can’t see. No matter how much I search or tear myself apart over it, there’s nothing. But I know better. I know it’s there.
She has to be protected and ripped away from this sick, rotting world. Locked away, where nothing and no one can reach her. No cruel words, no filthy hands, no twisted, hungry eyes. No him.
Safe from everything.
I tried not to be a creepy stalker. I tried to remain rational and sane. But she was in danger, and I couldn’t risk her safety.
I yank my cigarette from my fingers and enter the mansion. As always, it’s quiet and peaceful. I dislike voices, noise, and unnecessary chatter among the staff. Instead, I want everything to roll smoothly and the way I desire.
On my way, I pass the vase with bloodred roses in the corridor and take one in my hand. Fuck, its smell is almost euphoric, just like hers.
I walk into the kitchen and find her eating the meal I had Eleanor cook for her. The minute they both hear me, they direct their eyes to me.
Damn, now I realize how much I wanted to see her again. See her eyes again. Hear her voice. Touch her skin.
She startles as if she had been doing something naughty, and I caught her in the act.
“Welcome back, Mr. Manson.” Eleanor smiles brightly, stirring up Kate?ina’s marmalade in the pot.
I can’t look away from her. I simply can’t. She acts like a martyr, still dressed in my shirt, eating hesitantly, little, like a bird would.
However, she is still beautiful. She doesn’t have to try to look attractive; it comes naturally to her.
“Leave me with my guest, Eleanor.”
“Of course, Mr. Manson.” And she walks away, leaving me alone with her again. Finally.
At first, I don’t talk; I merely prowl around her. She seems scared. Intimidated by my presence.
“I see you came out of your nest,” I jeer and take a seat on the chair next to her, leaving the rose on the table.
She shrugs herself in fear again, almost tossing the fork on the plate. Her lashes flicker between mine and cast me a few awkward glances. She is amusing.
“Are you afraid of me?” I ask again. She doesn’t talk or look back at me. I raise her chin with my fingers. “You don’t have to be.”
Her chest heaves. I can almost dance to the rhythm of her shallow breaths.
“You don’t give me much of a choice,” she mutters.
“I apologize, little rose. I had a moment of weakness, and I snapped,” I explain, my thumb brushing gently on her soft cheek. “We can both make sure it won’t happen again.”
She takes a deep breath and lowers her eyes again.
I click my tongue. “I see you didn’t snoop around.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re still in my shirt when you had a closet full of clothes chosen specifically for you.”
“Wait, you bought all those clothes for me?”
I lean in and look straight into her glacier eyes. She doesn’t move back. “I don’t want you to feel like a hostage.”
“Then what am I?”
“My guest.”
“Name it however you want. I still can’t leave this place,” she hisses, her Slavic accent soft on my ears. She has no idea how intoxicating she sounds. No idea how irresistibly alluring she truly is now that she looks like a mess, utterly disheveled and powerless.
“Then why don’t you try to make it worth it?”
“And do what?” She raises her brow. Fuck, I’m too close. Even her natural scent is sexy. “Put on dresses and walk around like your puppet?”
Feisty, naughty girl!
I approach more, causing her eyes to flicker in stress. Purposely, I don’t talk, just to intensify her anxiety and her longing for my answer. Her breaths come faster, sharper, grazing the collar of my white cotton shirt.
“You’re tense, little rose.”
“Stop calling me that!”
“What?”
“L-little rose,” she mumbles as some strands of her unruly, blonde hair fall unevenly over her face. I want to fuck this face so roughly.
I’m struggling to restrain myself. At this point, I don’t care that she’s scared of me. I don’t care if she will be more afraid of me. All I care about is touching her. Feeling her skin trembling under my fingers.
Slowly, I spread her lean legs and kneel in front of her once again. She is scared, I know. She is quivering even before I touch her, and all I can think about is how she’ll sound when I fuck her. How her shaking will become more intense as the pleasure consumes her.
“What are you doing?” She draws herself back. I grab her legs and pull her closer to me, eliciting a gasp. “I-I have a boyfriend.”
“What makes you think I care?” I raise a brow. “Besides, that didn’t stop you the other day.”
“I didn’t know you were crazy.”
I hum, my eyes never drifting from hers. “You are mine now, Kate?ina.”
“What does that mean?” She widens her feline eyes, her arched brows rising.
I gently weave my fingers through her loose hair, feeling her shudders deepen.
“In here, there’s no boyfriend. There’s only you and me.
” I tighten my grip just enough for her to feel the weight of the moment.
“Unless, of course, you’d like poor Kry?tof to end up in a ditch somewhere … ideally with rats gnawing at his eyes.”
“You’re sick!” she squeals, fear lacing her voice. “You … you bastard, you’re a madman!”
“Like I told you, I’ve been called far worse, r??i?ko,” I hiss, my other hand sliding up until it rests around her throat. “And I’m sure that, eventually, you won’t want to escape this madness.”
Sweat slicks her upper lip, her jaw tightens, and her eyes remain locked on mine. “I want to go to my room.”
A wicked smirk crosses my lips. Your room. Of course, it’s your room, baby. And you have no idea what kinds of moans and screams will fill it soon enough.
My grip on her throat tightens. “Don’t be afraid.”
She gently rests her hand on my wrist. “Do I have a choice?”
I run my thumb across her full and soft lips, causing her to close her eyes and her to sink into my touch. She likes it; I know. Under the fear and denial, desire is hiding, far stronger than she thinks.
“Do I look scary?” I whisper. She doesn’t talk; she merely opens her gorgeous eyes slowly and looks at me. “Answer me. Do I look scary?”
“N-No … now you don’t.”
Fuck, I need her. I need her wrapped around me. I need to feel the actual impact of my touch on her. Slowly, I trace my fingers on her firm calves and rise.
“Tell me that you don’t like what my touch does to you, and I will stop.”
“I … I …”
I know you love it, baby.
I grab her outer thighs, pull her closer to me, and roughly grip her jaw. “Tell me those shivers aren’t from my touch.” I brush my lips against her ear, eliciting a louder sigh from her lips. “Tell me that you don’t picture my cock shoving deep inside your little pussy the way I do.”
A soft moan escapes her, proving that she indeed wants me to fuck her right here, right now. Her body temperature increases.
A droplet of sweat drips down her chest, between her breasts, attracting my eyes to it.
I want to taste it so badly. I want to taste every inch and every part of her.
Carefully, I wipe the droplet with my fingers, and she lets out a sharp sigh as if surprised.
I drive my fingers to my tongue and lick her sweat.
She’s fucking divine …
“Fuck, little rose. You are delicious.”
She is fully submitting to my touch, and that only makes it harder for me not to act like a savage.
I live for the frantic beats of her heart under my palm, each one a silent confession that she’s mine, even in her fear.
Especially in her fear. Because in that helplessness, in that delicious surrender, she’s more beautiful than any lie she could ever tell me.
And I will keep breaking her, again and again, until she finally understands there’s no escape—only me.
Still, my plan isn’t that simple. I want her to beg. I want her to burn for me as much as I’m burning for her right now. To turn wild and plead for more. I want to see the despair in her eyes.
My hand reaches for the rose beside me, and I trace its velvety petals along her neck, causing her shudders to intensify.
Fuck, I savor how she’s mine, even when she still thinks she has a choice. I savor the way she shudders under my touch, knowing how helpless she is.
I savor how she’s spiraling in the sickness I’m pouring into her, and she doesn’t even realize I’ll make her need it.
Because the more she loses herself, the tighter I own her.
“Ring around the Rosie …” I murmur slowly.
Her lower lip trembles faster.
“A pocket full of posies …”
The rose drifts lower, tracing the curve of her collarbone. She wants to pull away, but she doesn’t. She’s fucking enjoying it way too much.
“Ashes, ashes …”
I lean in, my lips brushing against her ear. “You know how it ends, right?”
Her breath stutters.
“We all fall down,” she mutters.
I let the rose fall onto her lap.
“The ring is closing tighter around the little Rosie,” I whisper. She raises her big, feline eyes and looks at me.
“You’ll bloom, little rose, but only in my hands. No one else will ever touch you. Not while I’m here … and not after.” I trace my fingers over her soft cheek again. “I’ll take you apart, piece by piece, until you’ve forgotten the world outside of me.”
“No,” she exhales unevenly, shaking her head as her eyes well up.
“But don’t be afraid. Even if your petals fall, I’ll keep them close.”
I stand and take a few steps back, crossing my arms and leaning against the kitchen counter.
“Go.”
“Go where?” she asks with wide eyes, shaking.
“Your bedroom. Didn’t you want to go there and hide?”
Her eyes remain on mine for a few more seconds. She stands and exits the kitchen, heading back to her room. My gaze follows her, and I picture a thousand ways I want to choke her with my cock.
Soon, little rose.