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What in the bleeding livid gates of hell?
“Fuck. I love the way you say my name. Though everything sounds amazing in that hot accent.”
“That’s it. Fight me. I love this energy, lotus flower.”
Fuck. Fuck me. Fucking fucker of all motherfucking fucks. He tastes like sweet surrender, all wound up and ripe for the taking.
My new favorite line in all of literature
Losing control once threw my life in a loop of chaos and fucking destruction and I can’t do chaos.
He tastes of lawless violence and forbidden temptation. He tastes like my custom-made damnation.
I breathe out, shuffling and searching through the mess in my head, but for the life of me, I can’t grasp at the strings of my MIA sanity.
How can a savage be so…attractive?
Until I forget my damn fucking name.
It was not a dream.
My chest takes the shock, my AirPods fall from my ears, and my senses flood with the very distinctive smell of mint, clover, and hellish damnation.
How can someone be so damn comfortable with touch? It’s not normal.
If Brandon is not gay, I’ll chuck myself down a fucking cliff.
That’s when I realize most of the people surrounding us are watching me as if I’m the personification of Lucifer himself. A lot of pearl-clutching happens, too. I roll my eyes and sit down.
“You’re a fucking nightmare,” he mutters, his throat working beneath my fingers. “Your nightmare.” “I hate you.” “I don’t.” “You’re fucking crazy.” “About you,”
“Then blame me all you want, baby.”
I could deny it all I want, but the truth is, Nikolai Sokolov is…good-looking. Sorry. Fucking hot is the expression I’m searching for.
Wasn’t I supposed to be broken?
I suck in a deep breath. “Get out of my life, Nikolai.” “The answer is no.” “I want you gone.” “It’s still no.” “Do you have no pride?” “What the fuck is that? Is it edible?”
I need to leave before he sees me for the ugly monster I actually am.
Wanting him is a painful struggle. Wanting him is ripping a hole in the very marrow of my existence and making me question everything.
I jerk my arm away. “Why the hell would you lick me? Are you a dog?” “Woof.”
I haven’t been able to fucking breathe properly, and whenever I do, my lungs fill with the same fucking red mist that’s blinding my eyes.
“That’s it, Niko. Unleash the fucking crazy.”
I’m fucking fine.
Every swallow feels as if I’m slowly cutting at my insides, curling
and twisting them into a huge pool of fucked-up red.
He touches me and I catch fire.
Later. I’ll think later. Now, I want to feel.
“Thanks, baby.” “For what?” “For bringing me back.” “Bringing you back from where?” “Somewhere unpleasant.”
🥹
I can’t let him see me like this. And he won’t. Because I’m fucking fine.
Others fuel that energy. My lotus flower tamed it.
“You drive me fucking crazy, baby.”
Locking me out. Figuratively. Literally.
What started like a temporary loss of control has categorically turned into the most tragic addiction.
Only one addiction can actually lead to my decimation. One addiction forces me to forget everything else whenever he’s in my vicinity. Whenever he touches me, kisses me, fucks me. I pretend my outer skin doesn’t exist.
I’m just me. His lotus flower. His Prince Charming. His baby.
“I don’t snore.” “Christ. You should see your offended face.”
I’m thrown back to the first and only time Lan ever begged as he held me close while I cried in his chest. “Please, Bran, please! Tell me what’s fucking wrong.” Though that happened during the darkest time in my life, his words and his hug are my favorite memories. That was almost eight years ago, and no matter how we change, whenever I look at Lan, I see his face from when we were fifteen as he kept me together.
“Are you insane?” Nikolai rolls a shoulder. “Probably.”
But most importantly, on the pulse that beats in his throat. He’s alive. He’s here.
I’m sorry about being a coward who can’t kiss him in public but hungers for him in private. I’m sorry that I retreated after he ended things when I should’ve fought for him. But most of all, I’m sorry that he even wants me.
I’m not secure in my body, my sexuality, or my own fucking head.
His noises of desire are mine. His body is mine. He’s all mine.
“Call me baby.”
<3
“You’re the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.” Bloody hell.
I take whatever he has to lash out at me. I need it. I need him.
“That’s it. Good boy.” “I’m not a boy. I’m older than you.” “Age is a number, and you’re definitely my good boy, baby.”
“I did…I missed you… I missed you so fucking much.” I feel a rush of air whooshing out of me with the words. I don’t think I’ve ever said anything that I felt to my core like those words.
Because yes, I missed him. I missed him to the point of insanity. I missed him until I couldn’t breathe. And the only reason I can suck air into my starved lungs is because he’s touching me again.
