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There was, of course, no fucking reasoning with Killian. Saskia could say she wanted a goddamn planet, and the idiot would be on the phone to NASA like, “Yeah, someone give my girl a fucking planet or bodies start dropping.”
Welcome to Midnight Mayhem, where we fuck with your head because our heads fuck us on the daily.
I’m not going to give him the answer he wants, and that is that sin is my favorite color.
Kyrin is a nightmare concealed with a face way too fucking pretty to be that moody. Shame really. He would’ve been a good lay.
People who know too much are walking bombs, ready to explode and exploit at any moment. They have too much control.
I am well aware of how powerful hate can be, especially if you let it in. It can stay there for months, years. It won’t just stay as hate either; it turns bitter and mean. I’m not interested in any emotions, much less one so exhausting as hate.
he doesn’t have to talk while he’s fucking me. I could just sit on his face.
“If I would still find your talking annoying if you’re moaning my name.”
“Your eyes are insane.”
“They’ve got nothing on my mind.”
I’ve been with a few guys in my day, never had a preference in gender. If I’m interested, I’m interested, and that would be a dangerous thing for most people, but I’m not most people and I’m hardly ever fucking interested.
“No. They didn’t need it because I’ve never challenged them. I’ve been black and white all of my life; no other colors involved. Until I met you both. I got back there and did what I needed to do, fitting back into my routine. I tried to fill in the blanks with the same two colors I’ve used all of my life, but it was too late because you both had already given me new ones.
Kyrin wraps his fingers around the back of my neck, pulling my face to his. “I want this. You. Her. Whatever the fuck I need to make this happen.”
“We’ll handle our Little Devil.”
Eventually, I reach for my phone and hit repeat on “Feel Nothing” by The Plot in You because it’s not enough to only hear once.
There are three of us in this relationship, so that means three times the trouble, three times the angst, and three times the fucking fight.
I want you.”
I slip my hand into Kyrin’s and watch as they intertwine. It’s not until Eli is walking in front of us that Kyrin takes my phone from me. He raises the lens up, capturing a small video of his and my hand, and before moving to him, wrapping his arm around Eli in front of us. He slides through the filters and chooses something grungy before typing the caption. Ours.
The more I think about everything that has happened among the three of
us, the more I realize one thing, and that’s broken pieces all fit when they all belong to the same puzzle.
