Fiery Little Thing

by Avina St. Graves

To the girl who wants a man to treat her gently, burn the world for her, and fuck her like a whore.

This time, I’m sure she’s going to smile at me. And then once I know how to make her smile, I’ll make her do it over and over until she’s sick of me. She’d better not smile at anyone else but me.

“Asshole.” Both a noun and an unofficial adjective—such a versatile word. Just like cunt.

“The first step to healing is facing your demons. Then you shake their hand and call them old friends—” “I’m going to shiv my fucking demon in his sleep and call him a cunt if he comes within ten feet of me.”

If I thought the ungodly thing warring in his pants was impressive a minute ago, having it pressed against my stomach feels akin to having a gun pressed against my head; a little horny at what could be done with it, and a teeny bit uneasy about the prospect of death.

“What the fu—” “No.” My eyes widen as I gasp when he closes his fingers around my windpipe, depriving me of my oxygen and rendering me silent. “I’m sick of hearing shit come out of your mouth.”

A trip to the shrink isn’t enough. I need to be put down.

“You don’t want to be good. You don’t want to be broken. You want to be loud and mouthy because you want someone to notice you. You want to choose when to hand over control, and it makes your pussy wet that it’s me making all the decisions.”

“Fucking hell, Blaze. Are you trying to die?” he growls under his breath and yanks my head back with a fist in my hair. “A murder charge would look good on you,” I sputter between strangled gasps, staring up into his disgustingly beautiful eyes.

“Fuck, you’re a dirty little whore.” Feminism? Out the window.

I’m going to fucking kill her right after I kill my brother. Kiervan. Kiervan? She humped my leg like a dog in heat, she kissed my lips, she soaked through my clothes, and Kiervan gets the fucking credit? He isn’t even here, and he’s in the spotlight.