Page 30 of Misted

Molly throws me unsure glances as she walks backwards before she turns and disappears around the corner.

“You don’t get to terrorise her like that,” Mist grits out, back to crossing her arms, red-painted fingers tapping her forearm.

Red. Always her fucking colour.

I grab her wrist and push her inside her room. She gasps as I shut the door and slam her against it. Both her hands push at my chest, her cheeks flushing with exertion.

She really hates me touching her.

It would’ve hurt if I still cared. But now, I’m ruining her. Now, I’m taking back what was forced out of me.

During all that torture, I swore to myself that if I got out of there alive, she’d be my first stop.

I’m done disappearing.

Done playing by the rules.

Done denying my deepest, darkest desires.

I advance forward, my weight having one purpose only. She’s touching me with fingers that have been inside her moments ago. My cock hardens at the image of biting those fingers in my mouth as I ram inside her against the wall.

A guttural groan threatens to escape, and I press it down, continuing my merciless barging into her space.

Although she’s pushing, her strength fails her. Either she’s not doing her best or her withdrawal is acting up.

Her stardust freckles disappeared either by makeup or something else. She always thought them an imperfection, but the woman standing in front of me is imperfection itself.

A hypocrite. A rigid cord with no substance.

“Nero!” She shouts, out of breath.

As if being drenched by freezing water, I stop an arm’s length from her but I don’t move away.

“What are you going to do about him?” She’s panting, her hands on my chest shaking. Perhaps her withdrawal is that bad.

“None of your concern.” I bite out. “You know nothing and saw nothing. Stop having your emotions written all over your face.”

“But that day, I – ”

I grab her hands, imprison her wrists in one hand and slam them on the door above her head. “You weren’t there. You know fuck. Got it?”

Her lower lip trembles. “Stop. Just stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop doing this. Whatever it is you’re doing.”

“And let you save Ink?” I lean against her neck, tempted to bite the skin and draw fucking blood. She sucks in an audible breath as I whisper against the throbbing pulse in her throat, “Not going to happen.”

“What do you want?” Her tone is firm but not strong. “I’ll do it. Just tell me what you want.”

A bitter laugh escapes me. Fuck. She would really do anything for Ink. Two can play this game. I’ll ruin her so badly, that when he has her back, she’ll be a mere shell. A broken doll.

“I want to fuck you, Hellion.” Physically and fucking mentally until nothing is left of her.

Just like nothing is left of me.