Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 170885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 170885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
There are also pills, but fuck those right the fuck off. They kill my mind, take away my inhibitions, and nearly drowned me in the pool the last time I took them.
I know how to keep myself in check without their unwanted help. They’re not helping anyway. They just turn me into a fucking zombie, and no one likes that fucked-up guy.
I pace the length of the locker room back and forth, back and forth like a caged gladiator in Roman times.
The crowd’s cheers reach me from outside, buzzing on my skin as if I’m being stung by a thousand bees.
People love the adrenaline of seeing violence. They love the crunching of bones and the spilling of blood. There’s something intoxicating about watching two people shred each other a new one.
And I get off on the screams. The chants. The enchanted look in their eyes. It’s why I usually take a few of them home for a fuck fest that always takes place afterward.
Sex and violence go hand in hand with me. A high. A release. A perfect synergy of fucked-up energy.
Tonight, however, I have absolutely no intention of continuing this tradition. I haven’t for several weeks.
Fucking Kolya and his stupid imaginary chastity belt.
Though he’s not chaste—it’s blasphemy to call him that. He’s just become selective and is only into a certain reluctant asshole.
At the mere thought of my lotus flower, my cock twitches to life, tenting against my shorts.
See. He’s still a dick, just not for everyone.
Pacing the length of the dimly lit locker room, I stare at my phone that’s been gripped in my hand for the past…fuck knows how long.
I should be out there, beating Kill to a pulp and getting beaten in return, but I can’t stop looking at my conversation with Bran.
It’s been four days since the day he finally agreed to stop running from us—well, he didn’t say that exactly, but he laid out all those fucking conditions, so he can bet his ass that I took that as an agreement to my sole condition.
I went running with him the past three days, and he was still stalling, being the epitome of an asshole and refusing to come to the penthouse.
Every day, he came with a different excuse. Practice. Meeting with friends. Art project.
He finds those so easily, the lies slipping out of his beautiful mouth without a second thought.
Fucking liar.
He’s just trying to avoid the inevitable, which I told him in not-so-subtle words over texts yesterday.
Me
You know you’re stalling, right?
You can hide for as long as you wish, but I’ll eventually drag you out, baby.
So I’ve been thinking. I don’t do that a lot, but it’s become a habit lately. You know, since you love all that smart shit.
Wanna know what I’ve been thinking about?
Bran
Don’t care.
Glad you asked. I’ve been kind of replaying the image of your ass swallowing my fingers as you came all over my stomach. So fucking hot. I came to that image in fucking waves, picturing your erotic face.
Why on earth do you have to speak that way?
Does that mean you were thinking about it, too? I knew I liked you. Serious question. Wanna do it again? This time, maybe replace my fingers with my cock? I’ll make you feel good when I fuck you, baby, I promise.
You’re not going to fuck me, Nikolai.
Eh, what do you mean I won’t fuck you? Isn’t that the whole point behind your exasperating conditions?
Why do you have to be the one who fucks me? Maybe I should be the one who fucks you.
Baby, you’ve never fucked a guy before and I only top. Besides, you obviously enjoy receiving, judging by the way you came apart on my fingers.
Doesn’t mean I’ll let you fuck me.
Are you still weirded out about being touched by a guy? You clearly loved it, no?
Love is a strong word. I just…didn’t mind it.
*eye roll emoji* Then you won’t MIND the fucking either. I’ll prime you really well and try not to make it hurt. Though you do enjoy a bit of pain, since your cum flooded my mouth when I handled you roughly.
Stop talking.
Penthouse tonight?
Tomorrow?
Tomorrow. It’s a date.
He left me on fucking Read.
That was yesterday. I didn’t go on the run today because of all the demons perching on my shoulders and whispering nasty things in my ear.
It’s the first time I haven’t pounced on the chance to see his face, annoy the fuck out of him, and crawl deeper beneath his skin.
I don’t want him to see me this way. I also can’t trust myself not to fuck him the fuck up the moment he’s in front of me.
My finger is stiff as I exit the text exchange and call the only person I’m comfortable speaking to when I’m in this situation.
The only person who told me, “Fuck the pills. If they erase your fire, don’t take them.”