So I realized that I need to chill the fuck out.
Brandon who?
The guy who will take my cock between his lips and thank me for it, that’s who.
No. Jesus Christ.
Chill, Kolya.
Just chill for one fucking second, dude.
Though it’s impossible to convince him of that when I’ve been spiraling for over twenty-four hours.
Ever since I saw that atrocious scene with Clara.
While he only has that one picture of her on his IG, she definitely flaunts him all over hers.
My man x
Babe, you keep me alive x
Isn’t he the most handsome man ever? x
Love you, sexy x
Blah fucking blah.
According to her posts, they’ve been together for about two years.
Fuck that right the fuck off.
My sister Maya, the social media detective of the family, said they’re in an on-again, off-again relationship. She thought I wanted to fuck Clara, to which she scrunched her nose and told me to stay away because she was just so hung up on this Brandon guy and I could do so much better.
Couldn’t care less about that. One piece of information remained in my head.
On and off for two years.
Interesting.
Anyway, I don’t care, because I’m chilling. In the pool, floating face down. Living my best life.
I can fall asleep here. Sweet.
Though I’d probably die, and that’s not exactly convenient.
Whatever. I’ll just remain here for a bit more to relax. I sure as fuck need to stay still for a goddamn second and not entertain stupid thoughts like maybe I should go for a morning run tomorrow.
I didn’t today, because if I saw pretty Clara again, I would be tempted to ruin her features. And I never, and I mean never, get thoughts of violence about girls in general.
Mom brought me up to respect women. Cheer them on, not bring them down.
But something about that Clara…
A commotion brings me out of my peaceful contemplations that are filled with blood. Lots of blood gushing from all her fucking holes.
I lift from the water with a gasp and check my watch. Three minutes and fifty-five seconds. Not bad.
I’ve been breath training for three years now and the time I spend without breathing is improving.
Aside from riding my bike with Jeremy, this happens to be the only method that helps me wind down. Probably because I’m almost dead at that time.
There’s also brutalizing people, but that only pumps me up and doesn’t bring me down from the blood-soaked phase.
Considering my brain’s tendency to get high as a kite at unfortunate moments, I had to find a coping mechanism to counter that loud phase.
I lift myself up at the edge of our indoor pool located in the underground level of the mansion. Usually, it’s hard to hear anything when I’m here, but something’s different now.
Is it trouble? Fuck yeah.
I walk to the bench, shaking water from my hair, then use the towel to dry the haphazard strands.
I pick up my phone and pause at the notification on the top of my screen. I open it so fast, I nearly drop the phone.
So I might have been messaging Brandon on IG. You know, because I’m a goddamn pest like that.
He didn’t answer them.
For three days.
My text were along the lines of:
It’s me 😉
Nikolai, in case the handle didn’t give me away.
Wanna hang out? Like friends?
Ok, that was a lie. Being friends wouldn’t work since you’re such a delight to be around. All standoffish and grumpy and shit. The exact opposite of fun.
We could have a drink?
*GIF of a bored kid tapping the table*
We can do this all day, Prince Charming. Love talking to your inbox. What a fucking thrill.
Why do you always use the same hashtag? Is there a meaning behind that?
Why do you play lacrosse?
Can you send me your playlists that you listen to all the time? Not really into rock, but I love discovering new music.
Also, isn’t rock too extreme for your prim-and-proper image? Not that I’m judging. I actually dig the contradiction. Kinda makes it fun to try and figure you out.
Why did you want to become an artist?
Aren’t you too uptight to be into something that requires people to let go of their creativity? Or are you different when painting?
Please tell me you do that half naked. It’s blasphemous to hide beautiful bodies, you know.
Want to exchange numbers? Here’s mine XXXXXXXX.
Hello, lotus flower’s inbox, lovely to see you again this evening.
You looked hot today.
Not that I’m hitting on you or anything since you’re sooo straight.
Let’s consider this my hopeless one-sided crush on a straight guy. You don’t have to reciprocate.
Unless you want to *eyebrow wiggle emoji* *sunglasses emoji*
Yup. All good. My texts are still sitting prettily in here. Will check again later to make sure.
I sent that text two days ago, before I saw him with Clara.
I didn’t text him after that, but now, I see the first reply from him. Earlier this evening.
Stop bugging me or I’ll block you.
But he didn’t block me. He even accepted my text that was in his requests since I follow him and he obviously doesn’t follow me.
I narrow my eyes on the screen. Is there a meaning behind this?
Why would he reply days later?
Fuck this shit. Seriously. I’m losing my few remaining brain cells because of this asshole.
I put on my shorts, and yes, I was swimming naked. If any of the guys came in, well, tough shit.
When I arrive at the main hall, I’m greeted by one of my guards who my parents made follow us here. Jeremy and I use them to cause mayhem more than anything.
“Sir,” he starts with a Russian accent. “I thought you might want to know that your cousin Killian was attacked. He’s upstairs now.”
I narrow my eyes. “Upstairs, as in alive, or upstairs, as in, in his casket?”
A crease appears on his forehead and he says slowly, almost like he’s not sure, “Alive. He lost consciousness, I think.”
Thank fuck.
Kill’s death would probably be inconvenient. Not to mention bad. At least, for Aunt Reina, who’s Mom’s identical twin.
But then again, this is an opportunity for violence.
How will I punish those who hurt my cousin? Punch them to death? Waterboard them? Step on them—in a non-erotic way, of course?
Too many options.
I take the stairs two at a time and swing his door open, my head sliding in first. “Heard Kill nearly got killed. See what I did there? Also, whose head do I have to cut from their body, rip the flesh from, and hang on a stick—”
I stop mid-sentence.
Well, well, well. Guess who’s here?
Killian’s lying in his bed like a Sleeping Beauty, sans the beauty, and his new girlfriend, Glyn, and Gareth are by his side.
But that’s not what makes me stop. It’s Glyn’s beautiful specimen of an older brother. Also known as the asshole Brandon.
In my house.
I walk inside, deliberately slowly, keeping my attention on him. For a second, his eyes widen, as if he didn’t want to see me in my own fucking place.
Happy to crush your hopes, lotus flower.
He’s dressed in a white button-down that’s tucked into his khaki slacks. Khaki. Jesus. He’s so prim and proper.
All the more reason to ruin the fuck out of that image. See what truly lurks behind his standoffish persona and control-freak façade.
I stop a small distance away. “Now, what do we fucking have here? Did a lotus get lost?”
His expression doesn’t change, imitating a perfect robot, but then he lifts his hand to the back of his neck and pulls. Hard. As if he has a beef with his own hair.
That’s it, lotus flower. Break for me.
This situation is amusing after the shit he pulled yesterday, so I summon my threatening tone. “Was it this one who hurt our Kill, Gaz?”
Glyn watches me with slightly trembling limbs, her eyes flying from me to her overly tense brother.
She hasn’t known me for long, but even she has heard of my notorious reputation and tendencies to punch first and ask questions later.
Though I am asking first this time.
Has her brother also heard of me? I wonder what he thinks of me, and I never wonder what other people’s thoughts are.
But lotus flower is this golden boy who hides more than he shows and I’m thirsty for any crumb I can get.
Not that he makes it easy.
“No,” Gareth says. “Brandon and Glyndon drove him here. They found him near their campus. For more details about the culprit, we have to wait for Killian to wake up.”
“Is that so?” My attention remains on Bran, who’s basically ripping his hair out at this point. “You carried the motherfucker Kill all on your own? I thought you were a dainty lotus, but maybe you’re stronger than you look.”
“I’m going back.” His voice catches at the end as he lowers his hand and smiles at his sister in that fake-ass way. “Want to come, Glyn?”
“No, I’m staying the night,” she says, her gaze falling on Killian, who’s slumbering away without a worry in the world.
Thank you for your services, cousin.
If it weren’t for him, Glyn’s brother wouldn’t be here.
Maybe Kill should get hurt more in the future, work on strengthening his immune system and shit.
Bran frowns but nods. “Call me if you need anything.”
Then he turns around and chooses to brush past Gareth instead of me on his way to the door.
Someone is going to a lot of trouble to pretend I’m not here.
Wake-up call is incoming in ten fucking seconds.
I slip out behind him, not bothering to say anything to Glyn and Gareth.
Bran is already quickening his wide, controlled steps down the hall, head straight and shoulders tense. Like when he kissed Clara.
I catch up to him and fall in step beside him. “If you wanted to see me, you should’ve told me and I would’ve given you a tour.”
“Get over yourself.” He’s looking ahead like a fucking robot. “I’m here for my sister and her boyfriend.”
“Tomayto, tomahto. Wanna have that tour anyway?”
“No.”
“How about dinner?”
“No.”
“A drink?”
“No.”
“Do you have another word in your monosyllabic asshole vocabulary tonight?”
“No,” he says, almost on autopilot, and I jump in front of him.
He nearly walks into me and has to stop abruptly, his throat working up and down, and I can’t help but stare at that gorgeous Adam’s apple. I want to bite it.
Hard.
Maybe draw blood in the meantime.
The red would look fucking beautiful against his fair complexion.
He steps back faster than I can blink.
Even though he’s a couple of inches shorter, he manages to look down on me with that condescension he wears like armor. “Are you allergic to shirts or something? Why are you always half naked?”
“Because I look fucking awesome and it’s a pity to hide it. Also, does this mean you were checking me out?”
“Nonsense. It’s impossible to miss your constant state of nudity.”
“Constant state of nudity. Jesus. Chill, my dude. You sound like a judge in court.”
“I’m not your dude.” He stresses the word as if it’s an insult and starts to shift past me.
I get in his way again and he stops. An aura of crushing disdain radiates from him and licks my skin as he shoves a hand in his pocket and releases an exasperated sigh. “What?”
“Why did you reply to me earlier today? Did you miss my texts?”
“I was clearly telling you to stop bothering me.”
“But I wasn’t. I stopped after…you know, your public make-out session with Clara, whom you clearly asked to come to that specific place at that specific time on purpose. What were you trying to prove, lotus flower? Because the way I saw it, you got hard when you had your eyes on me. Not her.”
One minute, I’m standing there, and the next, he crushes my windpipe with his arm as he shoves me against the nearest pillar.
My head hits the harsh stone and pain explodes in my skull, but I don’t feel it.
I can’t.
Not when his eyes blaze a fierce blue, savage and so out of control.
Hands down, the sexiest view I’ve ever seen.
“Listen to me, you thick fucker. I’ve been tolerating your nonsense for far too long, but enough is enough. You’re not my peer, friend, or anything in between. So crawl back into your hole and stop being in my fucking space or I will crush you.”
“Talk dirty to me, baby.”
He growls and I shove my face in his, erasing the few inches separating us. I could easily remove his arm, but I love the pressure.
I love that he lost control enough to get physical. Up close and personal.
“That’s what she calls you, right? Baby. No, it’s the less glamorous version. Babe. Tell me the truth, did you get a boner because you were kissing her or because I got an erection for you? It’s not good form to look at a guy’s hard-on when you’re kissing your girlfriend, don’t you think?”
“Nikolai,” he growls again, the sound masculine and fucking delicious. I want to reach out and suck it from between his lips and jam it down my throat.
But most of all, I love that his control is unraveling, ripping at the edges, and leaving a mess of goo in its wake.
This is the hottest I’ve ever seen him, and I’ve always found him mouthwateringly sexy.
Right now, though, I don’t think I can take it slow or easy. If I’m left to my own devices, I’ll fuck him all up for good. I’ll throw him down and have my way with him. There won’t be patience or diplomacy. There will be choking, grunting, fucking, fucking, and more fucking.
Jesus Christ. Chill, Kolya. We can’t scare him away.
“Mmm. I love the sound of my name on your lips. Say it again, baby.”
“I’m going to fucking kill you.” His arm presses further into my neck until it’s hard to breathe, but if I have to smash my own vocal cords to egg him on, that’s exactly what I’ll do.
“Tell me more. I’m getting all hot and bothered with your foreplay. I love it when you curse, baby.”
“You fucking—” He cuts himself off, nostrils flaring and cheeks slightly flushed, but then his expression closes.
I can see him slowly pulling himself together and eclipsing behind that giant wall.
Hiding.
Retreating.
Nah, hell no. Fuck that.
I grab his free arm and shove him with my body mass and that’s when the most beautiful thing happens.
Brandon Uptight King steps back once, twice, and lets me push him, his eyes glazed over, and a tremor rushes through his entire body and beneath my fingers.
He downright flinches when his back hits the opposite wall, his slightly flushed skin looking like goddamn art against the dark-red wallpaper.
His arm remains against my throat, but he lost the battle, my Prince Charming, all wound up and staring with those wide fucking eyes.
My chest presses to his and I can feel his heartbeat thundering against mine—thud, thud, and fucking thud—as I wrap my fingers around his throat.
He swallows, chest galloping and goosebumps erupting on the backs of his hands.
Bran would hit me if I were to say this out loud, but he’s the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.
There’s a note of innocence beneath his grouchy, standoffish edge, and I want to latch on to it, suck it dry.
Destroy him through it.
I inch my lips close to the corner of his as I whisper, “You want to know what I think, lotus flower? I think you were fighting your goddamn demons to kiss her. The deeper you went, the more forced it looked. The longer you had your mouth against hers, the more burdened you looked, so it’s safe to say you weren’t hard because of her.”
“Shut your fucking mouth,” he says and tries to push me with his other hand.
I snatch his wrist and slam it on the wall above his head.
His throat works and he shivers against me. Goddamn shivers. I’m going to devour him fucking whole and leave no crumbs.
“Your bossiness turns me the fuck on, baby,” I murmur, my lips an inch away from his jaw.
I inhale his scent deep into my greedy lungs—clover, citrus, and fucking damnation.
“Only Clara calls me that,” he mutters, seeming to fight, dig, and sink his claws into that control he loves so much.
“But you didn’t get hard for Clara, did you, baby?” I bite out, inching closer. I’m fucking intoxicated, struggling to stop myself from licking him like an ice cream cone. “I can always test it real quick.”
My fingers slide from his throat to cup his jaw, my eyes zeroing in on his luscious, tempting lips.
He shudders and drops his arm from my neck to shove it against my chest.
Only, it’s trembling.
Like the rest of him.
And he’s not pushing.
His Adam’s apple bobs up and down. “Don’t you dare.”
“Or what, baby?”
“Nikolai, if you don’t stop, so help me God, I will…”
“What? You’re leaving me in suspense again, baby.”
He swallows again, and this time, I can’t help it. I’m a fucking masochist who’s hung up on this dick.
Figuratively, of course.
I dart my tongue out and lick along his jaw, all shaven and clean like the rest of him. He tastes of goddamn citrus and I want to drown in it even if it stings.
I was never good with self-preservation anyway.
He shivers again, like a leaf, his hand remaining on my pec, but now, he’s digging his fingers in my skin and I’m not sure if he realizes he’s doing it.
It’s not enough. This is far from fucking enough.
I need more and more and everything.
I trail my tongue down the hollow of his throat and bite on his Adam’s apple like I’ve fantasized. And fuck me, it tastes better than any fantasy.
He tastes like my own downfall and I’m ready to drown in it.
A groan rips from Brandon’s lips and I pause, my chest expanding and my dick thickening against my shorts until I’m sure I’ll burst.
More.
Give me fucking more.
I slide my tongue back up to his chin, his cut jawline, and stop near his lips, mine hovering, my nostrils flaring, and my breaths coming out heavy and deep.
His exhales match my own, distorted and chopped off. Unorganized and completely out of fucking control.
Just the way I want him.
I’m going to swallow those lips and feast on his tongue until he forgets all traces of Clara.
His eyes widen as if he can see the intention and he pushes me so hard, I stumble back.
I’m forced to release him, my body starving and needing more.
More.
More.
Fucking more.
His jaw tics and his muscles tighten. And just like that, he slips back to the uptight asshole with serious issues. “I told you not to touch me, you disgusting prick.”
Aaaand he fucking ruined it.
I swing my fist back and then drive it into the side of his face. He stumbles, only held up by the wall, and I tackle him, watching in pure satisfaction as he topples to the floor, all haze leaving his face and replaced with pure confusion.
“I told you I’d beat you the fuck up if you said that again. Get the fuck out of my face, hypocrite.”
Instead of waiting for him to leave, I turn around and stalk to my room.
My nerves pound, my dick hard as fuck, and my mind jittering with thoughts to go back there and pummel him.
Fuck him right the fuck off.
Straight crush is officially over.
