Page 72 of Misted

I throw the butt of the cigarette, squash it with my boot and stalk back inside.

It’s like Crow did it on purpose and picked a cosy fucking house. From the antique wooden structure to the traditional carpets down to the twinkling fucking sea below is all that Mist and I would have chosen when I was a fucking idiot.

My mood darkens as I barge into the small bedroom where she’s been nursing her nasty withdrawal.

After I fed her soup — I don’t know how it tastes — this morning, she fell back to sleep immediately. Since I ate her out two nights ago, she barely opens her eyes anymore. It’s like those days where she was too exhausted to move. She’s sleeping with her fiery hair spilling all over the pillow. She looks so young and vulnerable with her hair down. Probably why she always ties it at the back of her head. Her mouth is parted in a small ‘O’ that begs for my cock to slide inside.

She’s spread-eagled with only a thin sheet covering her. The tiny pebbles of her nipples strain against the cloth. My dick hardens against my jeans, knowing she’s completely naked underneath.

I fucking hate her for having this effect on me. It’s like I was hit with Mist’s curse and I’ll never find a way out.

A tremor goes through her limbs every now and then.

It’s normal for all the withdrawal she’s been going through. No matter what I do, there’s nothing comfortable about withdrawal. It just fucking hurts.

At first, she demanded her dose every chance she got, but after a few days, she must’ve realised she won’t get it and forced herself in the fighting mode. She has seizures at night, but she bites her lips to suffocate the sound until blood comes out.

Her strength fills me with inexplicable pride.

She has always been a tough bean who fought anything dished her way.

I perch over her and untie her wrist’s bindings. My fingers massage the red skin over angry marks of faded scars.

Flame said Mist and Ghost used to cuff themselves when detoxing because they lose their memories. They preferred the cuffs over doing something they might regret.

During my time on Omega, I was always hyper-focused and eliminated targets as if they were ants. Perhaps my withdrawal is the reason why my hand is fucking useless now.

I undo her ankles next and she mumbles something I can’t make out. The soft sound is enough to strain my erection against my zipper.

She throws her hand, tossing the sheet away. Her creamy breasts topped by soft pink nipples come into view. I’m rock hard, imagining taking them in my mouth until they peak against my tongue while she’s wet and ready for me to take her as I fucking please. I wipe the side of my mouth to not drool like a bloody teenager.

The cover slips further, and it’s like someone drenched me in cold, freezing water.

The dagger and flowers tattoo and shit splays over her side atop her hip as a permanent reminder that the fucker Ink touched her. Rage grips me by the gut at the thought that she let him touch her in other places.

A part of me is tempted to set the tattoo on fire so there’s no trace of any other man on her.

I turn around before I act on the idea. I better go check the security one more time and ask Crow how he strengthens his. Even if he’s out of the scheme and settling down, he’s not a fucking idiot to lower his guard.

A soft moan snaps my attention back to Mist. Her hair falls in a silky wave down her shoulders and on the pillow. Her breathing is rapid, eyes moving behind her closed lids. Her hand trails down her flat stomach until she finds her pussy and rubs in slow, circular movements.

Fuck me.

My dick jumps to attention, itching with the need to replace her fingers.

I narrow my eyes on her face. Who the hell is she dreaming about to touch herself in her sleep?

She mumbles something as her fingers disappear between her thighs and she increases her pace. Her moans and the little needy sounds increase in volume. “P-please…”

Even though I’m still rock fucking hard, I can’t help the hot fire threatening to consume me.

Who the fuck is she dreaming about?

I reach out to shake her and stop whatever dream she’s having when she breathes in a needy moan.

“Hawk…” Her lips fall open.

Mine do, too.