You’d lose your mind trying to understand me #2
“Did you replay it?” he murmurs. “Did you think about me fucking your mouth? Think about how I forced my fingers inside your wet, dripping cunt? It was begging and wanting more. Did you lie down in bed and finish yourself because you were so turned on?”
The itch under my skin turns unbearable.
One second, my hands are balled into fists, the next, my palm cracks against the side of his face.
The sound snaps through the courtyard, loud enough to compete with the rain and the slick slap of water on stone.
His head turns with the motion. A red print blooms along his cheek like a brand.
He doesn’t look back right away. He is utterly still.
My breath catches. Horror rushing in, fast and ice cold. “Oliver, I…” I start, the apology already on my tongue.
His hand closes around my throat, lifting me like I weigh nothing, like gravity is a suggestion.
Before I can say another word, my toes leave the ground, and air is a luxury I’m not afforded.
more. I clutch his wrist for purchase, searching his face for anger and finding something far worse. Something rawer. Something terrifying.
“Lyra,” he says, his voice quiet, and that softness is worse than a shout. “I’m going to let that one go.” My lungs burn. “Do it again, and I will punish you.” His fingers flex. “And you’re not ready for what I have in store.”
He releases me, and before I can even pull back, he cups my face.
Tender. Gentle. Like a lover. For everyone else, he’s sweet.
He tips extra. He holds doors open. He smiles at the right moments, says the right things, and wears his charm like a second skin.
In the shadows, he’s something else entirely.
Dark. Depraved. Unhinged. And with me, he’s both.
For a fleeting second, I wonder if this version of him is real or if it’s just another performance.
“Don’t hit me again, Lyra,” he says, eyes locked on mine. “You can do anything else to me, but don’t ever hit me.” I analyze his words, searching his face for the trick. Something like vulnerability or hurt crosses his face before it’s gone.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. My fingers rise, almost without permission, and brush his reddening cheek.
Maybe I shouldn’t apologize. Maybe he doesn’t deserve softness from me after what he’s done. But the look in his eyes, that flash of something human, makes my throat tighten. And I hate that it does.
“Come on.” He takes my hand and steers me away.
“Wait. Where are we going?”
“Back to your room.”
My room?
“I can walk myself.” I don’t want him in my space. He already got on my floor once. That was enough.
I pull again, but it’s useless. His grip only tightens. “Not a question, Dollface. Move that pretty ass of yours. You’re freezing, and the rain’s stopped.”
I grumble the whole way. When we reach my building, I force my voice into something polite. “Okay. Thanks for walking me.”
I reach for my key card, but he already has one, swiping it open.
He moves inside, holding the door open like he belongs here.
He doesn’t. We pass a cluster of girls dressed for a night out.
A couple of them smile at Oliver, and he gives them that easy, wicked grin.
Others stare until their eyes slide to me and sharpen.
For the fifth time this hour, and the fiftieth today, I wonder what the hell I’ve involuntarily gotten myself into.
I go to unlock my door, but like the last time, he’s already there, key in hand, unlocking it. I freeze in the hall, dumbstruck, while he disappears into my space.
“Are you coming in?” His voice drifts back. My feet lock to the floor.
“Am I coming into my own room? Is he fucking kidding me?” I storm in and slam the door behind me.
He smirks. I glare.
“How did you know what room, and how the hell did you get a key?”
He shrugs like that’s the most normal thing in the world. In two steps, he’s standing over me. His hand slips into my hair, tilting my face towards his. “I have ways for everything. It’s best to understand that now.”
I sink onto my bed, the plush mattress bouncing under me. “Fine. You walked me up. Now you can go.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Oliver…” I throw my hands up. They fall back down with a soft thump. “I haven’t slept in two days. Please go torture someone else.”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he drifts around my room, his presence filling it until the walls feel smaller. His gaze lands on everything. My jewelry scattered on the dresser. My books. The string of Polaroids tacked across the wall. He studies it as if he were dissecting me piece by piece.
“Your family?”
I don’t respond. I don’t know why I’m even still allowing him in here. One phone call and he could be escorted out.
“You love them?”
I nod. “What about your family?” I question.
“Keep asking about me, baby, and I’ll start thinking you like me.”
“I could never like you.” I almost believe it.
He turns. “Why’s that?”
I kick my boots toward the corner and crawl farther up the bed, putting space between us, even though it doesn’t help.
“You liked me at the forgotten party. At the fountain.”
“But that wasn’t you.” I gesture at him. “This is you.”
“And I’m so bad?” He tilts his head, expression unreadable. “Be honest, Lyra. You like me, even if you’re trying to pretend you don’t. You like my hands on you. Your mind and heart might not be on the same page as your body, but they will be sooner or later.”
Arrogant asshole. He says it like it’s just inevitable. Like my traitorous body choosing him means the rest will inevitably follow. He has another thing coming.
I slide off the bed and march over to him. “You know nothing.” I meet him toe to toe.
His gaze doesn’t flinch. “I see you. Just like you see me.”
His eyes dip to my mouth, then he’s crushing his mouth to mine, forcing my lips apart. For a moment, I don’t fight. I can’t. I’m too tired. When he pulls back, his lips are curved in something that isn’t quite a smile. “You don’t understand it yet. But you will. Eventually.”
“Fuck you!” I shout at his back, but he’s already gone, door clicking shut behind him, louder than a gunshot. I stare at the space he left. The room feels too big without him in here. Worse, when I finally collapse into bed, closing my eyes doesn’t bring rest. It brings his voice.