“Fine. See you Monday,” I grit out, moving to the door.
“I will be in touch tonight. Don’t think I’m not watching, little deviant,” he calls to me as I’m shutting the front door. I don’t respond. I’m angry, turned on, and utterly frustrated. Once in the car Aunt Midge said I could use, I pull out down the drive and out onto the street.
The man is a complete dickhead.
But I want him more than anything.
20
HER
THE PAST
It’s not the pain of having your heart broken that kills, it’s the moment when you see them smile at someone else. Living in the same city, the same town, even the same fucking building is too much. I wish I could run away. I want to race from this building, from my home, and never look back.
The deviant in me beckons, it calls to me, telling me that what I crave is right. But I know it’s not. I shouldn’t want this as much as I do, but he’s mine. I’ll always have him, and he’ll always have me.
The addiction to him came along with the need to watch his life play out in a series of unfortunate scenes because he’s doing all the wrong things. He’s with all the wrong people, but you can’t tell someone they’re wrong because they won’t believe you.
Instead, you wait until it’s time and watch as they learn for themselves just how stupid they’ve been. It’s the waiting that causes anxiety to twist in my gut. The tightening, the pain, the way my lungs struggle with breath because I know just how wrong this is.
The light drizzle does nothing to dampen his smile or his handsome face. It doesn’t deter from how he walks into the building like he owns it. Guilt weighs on me. It grips me in a feral hold, claws scratching at me, making me bleed. I deserve it.
I lift my feet up against the window. My scruffy sneakers are in dire need of replacement, but they’re my favorite pair. I wore them the night we met, and I doubt I’ll ever get rid of them. They’re one of the only items I own that reminds me that night was real. The costume I wore is gone, and the mask that covered my face has long since been discarded.
But the memory has been forever burned in my mind.
21
Elian
I should have kept her with me today. To learn all there is to know about her, but I needed time to plan. This isn’t going to be straightforward, and we need to be extremely careful with what we do and where we do it. Granted, my house is safest, but I want to see how much she can take before she begs for my dick to be inside her.
The sun is already low in the sky, streaming directly through the patio doors when I pick up my phone and hit dial on her number. I want to take things slow because I don’t want to overwhelm her, but then again, that’s not who I am.
“Hello?” Her sweet, tentative voice comes across the line making every inch of my body tense. There’s an innocence to her voice, almost as if she hasn’t seen the realness the world has to offer.
“Have you been a good girl for me today?” I ask, settling on the sofa which overlooks the back garden. The grass is lush, a bright green illuminated with a golden glow from the sun.
“I have. I even did my homework and didn’t think of you for one fleeting second,” she sasses with confidence, which makes me grin.
“Oh, I’m sure you haven’t. Can you tell me with all honesty that you’ve been in your bedroom, all alone, not thinking about how much I’d love to taste your sweet cunt?”
“You have a foul mouth.”
“That’s the way you like it,” I tell her. “If you didn’t, you would have hung up after telling me to fuck off. You would never have agreed to this if you didn’t want it. And I assure you, you’re going to love when I put my filthy mouth on you.” It’s a promise, a vow that I will not break.
“Perhaps. I promise not to fall in love with your filthy mouth since you seem to be so confident about it.” Her voice lowers to a husky whisper when she speaks, which I’m almost certain she’s doing on purpose. But I can’t stop the chuckle that escapes at her words.
“Love? That word is not in my vocabulary. It’s a wasted emotion that doesn’t bring any form of happiness. It keeps you locked in a box, one the other person puts you in because that’s what they expect of you. I don’t like boxes,” I inform her.
“That’s a really sad way to look at the world,” Arabella counters, her voice strong and confident, which only notches up my respect for her. “Love doesn’t keep you restrained in any way. I believe that if you love someone, they’re the ones who unlock your shackles holding you back. The person who loves you unconditionally will ensure you soar rather than fall.”
“Then why do they say you fall in love? Falling isn’t something that can be done safely. It’s painful and violent. Also, there is no such thing as unconditional love,” I tell her with the confidence of someone who’s been hurt too many times. I thought I was in love before, I was convinced that I had my forever, until it fell apart right before my eyes.
“Of course, there is,” she insists. “Unconditional love comes in any form—friendship, family—”
“If you love someone without restraint, without limitations, there is an underlying promise of never hurting them, but human nature assures us that we can and will hurt someone, even if we love them. Think about any relationship you’ve ever had, whether it’s your parents, friends, or even a boyfriend.” I spit the last word with venom, and I wonder
