Chapter 29 #2
“Mm, you know I love it when you say my name like that.” He kisses my neck. “Like a prayer. Like you can’t wait to have me deep inside you.” He presses into me harder and bites my neck before soothing it with his tongue.
My hand slips from where it’s resting on his shoulder and goes underwater as I reach for his length.
Rubbing over his briefs. I knew it, he is big.
How am I even going to take him? No, wait.
Stop thinking about his dick. I don’t care how good everything he’s doing right now feels.
This isn’t happening. He undoes my bikini top, completely exposing my breasts before taking one in his mouth.
Sucking and biting my nipple. His tongue lulling the sting, eliciting a moan from me, “Fuck–me.”
He smiles, “Yeah, that's the point,” his hand thats not on my thigh slips behind my ass, skimming that sensitive spot that has me craving more. More pressure, more fullness.
“Tha–that's not what I meant,” I try to sound stern, but my voice betrays me.
He moves to the other breast, “Yeah, it is.”
“What's your deal?” I ask him.
“My deal?”
“Yes, your deal.” I grab his face so that he’s facing me.
“I don’t get you, this push and pull between us.
One moment you’re looking at me like you want to kill me, the next, we’re sharing a moment over drinks or you’re climbing through my window almost every night, calling me yours, giving me an amazing birthday and then back to.
.hating me? Ignoring me? Like nothings happened,” I pause for a moment.
“Why? What the hell did I do to you? You’ve got my mind feeling like muddled chaos.
” I feel a panic attack coming. “I can’t stand you, I look at you and there’s a part in my brain, a little voice that tells me that you're the enemy. That I shouldn’t go near you cause you're bad news. And you are. But then you come to my room and you make the nightmares go away. And the pain that I feel every day dissipates. And you make me feel safe. And I hate you for it. Why do I feel safe with you?” My eyes blur, words spilling out of me.
A mix of anger, pain, and panic. He doesn’t move.
Doesn’t interrupt. Just lets me speak, letting me fall apart in front of him.
Because, for whatever reason, I trust him enough to break in his presence.
He swipes his thumb under my eyes and I realize I’m crying. I’ve never shown this side to anyone before. And here he is yet again, bringing out a different side of me. Making me vulnerable.
“You consume my entire fucking mind Nastasya, my every thought.” His voice is low and rough.
“You haven’t left me alone since I first saw you.
I tried staying away, but it's getting harder and harder to fight this feeling. I don't want to fight this anymore. That damn scowl you wear, the way you scrunch your face when you’re angry or upset. I love to see it but I also want to be the reason you smile. I love the way your eyes light up when you do. I want to fucking consume you. Mark you as mine. Taste you, 'cause you're intoxicating, a drug, and I’m addicted. You feel safe with me because your soul knows me. It knows that I will always keep you safe. I will always chase away your demons. I’ll stare смерть in his soulless face, for not even he can have you. I am the nightmare even, he, fears.”
His eyes don't leave mine. I get lost in pools of honey. There’s a darkness in them that frightens me, but I know he’d never hurt me. His lips brush against mine ever so softly, “Let go Anastasia, and let me in. Fall with me”
My heart thunders in my chest. It’s like everything inside of me is clawing toward him, desperate to hold on, terrified to let go.
He sees me. And that’s the scariest part.
He doesn’t just see the version I let the world tolerate.
He sees through it. Straight to the broken girl underneath.
The one I keep hidden under bite and sarcasm and calculated apathy.
His forehead rests against mine. His breath is warm. Steady. He’s grounding me without even trying. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “I’m scared,” I whisper.
“Of me?” His voice is barely audible like he’s afraid of the answer.
“No. Of what you make me feel.”
His hand slides to my cheek. His thumb brushes my jaw like I’m something delicate. Like I’m precious. Me. Fucking broken me. “I don’t know how to love anymore,” I admit. “Not in a way that doesn’t end in fire.”
His lips press against my temple. “Then burn with me.”
And Gods help me, I think I will.
I pull him closer. His mouth finds mine and the kiss isn’t sweet. It’s hungry and desperate like we’re trying to consume every piece of each other before we fall apart again. Our bodies press together under the water and for once, I don’t feel like I’m drowning.
I feel alive.
His hand slides down my back and I shiver. It’s not the cold. It’s him. It’s always him. I could scream at how unfair it is that the person who makes me feel most whole is the one I’ve spent so long convincing myself to hate.
His lips are soft but insistent, coaxing mine open like he's unlocking something sacred. Our mouths move together in sync like we’ve done this a thousand times in another life. Like our bodies already know the choreography that our minds are still catching up to.
His hands glide back down to the curve of my hips, pulling me closer, until there’s not even water left between us.
I can feel every inch of him pressing against me, all heat and need, it’s driving me wild.
But it’s more than the heat. It’s the way he touches me like he’s memorizing me.
Like I’m something worth worshiping, not just using.
No one’s ever touched me like that.
His mouth moves down to my jaw, my throat, trailing kisses that send shivers through every inch of my skin.
When his teeth graze the edge of my collarbone, I gasp and arch into him, my fingers knotting in the back of his hair.
He's panting softly now, trying to rein himself in, but I can feel the tremble in his arms.
He’s holding back for me. But I don’t want him to. I don’t want him to treat me like a delicate doll that can break.
“Eryx…” I whisper his name like a prayer, and I feel the way it ripples through him. His entire body stills.
“Say it again,” he rasps, “I love my name on your lips.”
He pulls back just enough to look at me, and what I see in his eyes floors me. Worship. Not lust. Not possession. Just… awe. Like I’m something that could bring him to his knees.
“I need you,” I admit, voice cracking, “but not like this. I need to know that this is more than just something you’ll forget about.”
“You’re not just something,” he says. “You’re everything.”
“I don’t know how to be someone’s everything.”
“Then let me teach you.” His lips brush mine again. Slower this time. Sweeter. “Let me start here. With this.”
“I don’t want you to be gentle with me.”
“My love is nothing close to gentle, Moya Vorona.” He traces his fingers along my back.
“Show me, I can take it.”
With that, we get out to head back to his room.
He climbs out first, grabbing our towels from the chair. When he turns around, droplets run down his chest, clinging to every cut and line of his torso. I lick my lips. He’s a walking sin, and I’m not sure how I survived this long without touching him like this.
He hands me a towel so I can dry off before I get dressed in the same shorts and tee I was in earlier.
Then I slip my feet into my slides and grab my bag out of the locker following him silently through the dim halls.
Everything’s quiet. The kind of quiet that only happens when the rest of the world is off pretending to be happy for the holidays.
We don’t speak as we walk back to the dorms. We don’t need to. When we reach his room, he opens the door and waits for me to step inside first. It’s not neat, but it’s not messy either. It smells like him—clean, dark, like woods and expensive cologne and something sharper beneath it.
I drop my bag near the foot of the bed, then take in the space around me.
There’s a stack of CDs and vinyls off to the side with a record player and one already on the deck.
The left side of his room has two shelves full of books.
Some are paperbacks, and others are leather-bound and pristine.
The Prince, Blood Meridian, and The Art of War among a few.
All sharp-edged, all violent in their own way.
But one stood out, Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky.
Its pages are worn, it’s spine cracked, as if it has been opened again and again.
Behind me, he leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, a half-smile curling on his lips. “Looking for something?”
“Just... curious what a man like you reads when no one’s watching.”
“That one,” he said softly pointing at the one in my hands, “isn't about crime. It’s about consequence. Guilt. Control. It asks if some men are above morality.”
“Are they?”
“Depends who’s writing the rules.” A reference to our little debate.
I turn the book over in my hands, thumbing through the yellowed pages.
About halfway through, something sticks out, an uneven edge.
There, wedged between pages 312 and 313, is a thin photograph, folded sharply in half.
It looks old and worn. I hesitate, then pull it out.
A girl with dark hair and eyes the same shade as his.
A big smile on her face, wearing a flowy white dress.
“Who is she?” I ask him.