18
I'm locked in a room with the beast. He's demented and chaotic and–Did he call me Nightshade? Again. That nickname has haunted my dreams.
“Now, why were Val's hands all over you, huh?” He interrupts my thoughts with his mocking haughty tone.
My eyes drag over his form with indignation until I meet his crystallized gaze. His tattoos span across his face, neck and arms. He lights something within me I wish he didn't. He's dangerous.
I decide to snuff out the flame before it ignites into unholy ruin. “Because we fuck, obviously. It's none of your business!” I spout off.
A dark heat simmers beneath the surface. His chaos scares me. I can't read his demented mind, yet I still push to see how far he will go. How far until he tips.
“Silas joins in, too,” I further press, mocking him. Is pushing a manipulative, wild card in my best interest? Probably not, but I can't help myself.
A predatory smirk grows on his face. He lets out a cold, cynical laugh. His eyes hold a secret I want to uncover. Something lies beneath the surface. I'm not sure why, but something about his desecrating gaze holds my curiosity.
No, bad idea, Clara. Horrible, actually.
So, I lash out in anger instead of dealing with my feelings. “He was better than you. He didn't feel the need to drug me just to fuck me.” Lies. “Clearly, you find me repulsive if you feel the need to do that!” Low blow but screw it.
Something flips like a switch. His devil may care attitude leaves the room. His smirk is now replaced with a devilish undercurrent of fury. His face turns stony. He stands unmoved. I'm not sure if it's more concerning that he's not reacting at all. I expect him to lash out.
Destruction.
Cataclysmic rage.
Something other than a statue. Under the surface he's calculating his next move–something he never does. I take slow steps toward the door, but he's not easily fooled. He blocks my exit with his massive body.
He latches onto me with his spectral gaze.
His words come out timed and thick. “Yet you keep yourself drugged heavily regardless. You're a walking zombie. The question is, can you fuck without the use of sedatives and pills, Nightshade? What's that like for you?”
He cocks his head to the side like he knows me.
My fiery attitude pops like a deflated balloon.
That cocky attitude of his shines through, as if he knows the emotions that filter under my skin. It's always there, pulling me under.
I grit my teeth. The guy has a way to deflect.
I take another step toward the door. He matches it.
His Chelsea boots make the floor creek. My ass slams against the wallpapered wall behind me.
My skin turns clammy. His masculine musk hits my nose, filling my circle.
I swallow, fighting the urge to allow him in. He can't see me for what I really am.
I don't know why I do it, but I reach out to trace under his eye where his tattoo falls along his cheek. A flame. It's one of the many tattoos stamped on his skin. He has so many covering his entire body. It's chaotic, just like him. There's no rhyme or reason to them.
“Why do you refuse to leave my Goddamn brain?” he growls, inching closer. His eyes fall over my face in a resentful attachment. His hot breath fans over my cheek. Weed and alcohol surround me.
He reaches out and threads his tattooed hand up the back of my scalp and yanks.
Hard.
“Why, huh? You're an unhealthy obsession, Clara,” he grits, his voice growing more fevered. His eyes alone keep me pinned to the wall, imprisoning me. The heat between my legs tingles throughout my entire body.
I open my mouth to speak, but I don't know what to say. This strange pull ignites. I refuse to acknowledge it.
He moves in closer—if that's possible—caging me in.
He rubs his bulge against my center, inciting a moan from me.
His other hand drifts up my skirt. His jeans brush along my thighs.
My breath quickens and I desperately want him to use me.
To fuck me until I can’t remember how to breathe.
Until I fall into the same routine of chasing pleasure with the pain.
Everything is culminating in a destructive point of no return.
A manic laugh falls from his lips. “Such a tempting little Nightshade, you are.” He licks his lips, loosening his grip on my scalp.
All reason leaves me the moment his tongue drags across my cheek. The remnants of the drugs are still cycling through my pleasure system. His eyes are pinned and dilated.
He, too, is gone. What a recipe for disaster.
He effortlessly forces my body against the dresser next to me, knocking a few contents onto the floor below.
My hands slam against the cool mahogany.
His large hand forces my cheek against the sleek finish.
I'm embarrassingly wet from his dominating behavior.
I'm well aware how sickly unnormal this is. His boots kick my heels together.
“You've got no Goddamn clue how damn appealing you are. You're a hypnotic disaster. Another broken beauty to destroy. I want to watch how far you'll fall.” He leans his entire body weight against me. His hand shoots out and wraps around my throat. I gasp out a breath as he wrenches me back up again.
“Look. At. Me,” he grinds out, his voice raising with each word.
He forces my gaze on the dresser mirror.
I can see every cynical expression filtering over his face.
All chaos unleashes. He twists my jaw around and claims me in a punishing, carnal kiss.
Something he's never done with me. And fuck, if it isn’t everything I've ever craved from a man.
It's hungry, galvanized and asphyxiating.
His tongue dances with mine in a twisted dance and, holy shit–his tongue is pierced.
He's a bad habit I can't afford. His eyes reveal tragedy and trauma.
It mirrors my own. I can recognize a cold, vitiated center.
Without thinking, I bite his lip, drawing blood.
Copper tinge flows onto my taste buds. He grunts and stumbles backward.
A sick, twisted laugh that sounds more cynical than anything else leaves his throat.
He keeps his eyes trained on me while he wipes the remnants on his forearm.
The bulge in his pants presses against my leg. “Harder. I love dangerous toys.”