The expression on Glyndon’s face can only be categorized as the start of a stroke.
If it were someone else, I’d be ninety-nine percent willing to shove the situation onto that shelf and move on to other pressing issues.
Such as the state of my cock that has, once again, crossed the impulse control red line. This change of events is more blasphemous than when her face was stuffed with my dick as she cried.
And the reason is nothing other than making her orgasm.
I don’t get pleasure from giving. I don’t even give. I fuck. Often—my release being the endgame. Or I used to before the whole event became a monotonous, pleasureless chore. My previous fuck buddies know that reciprocating isn’t part of my modus operandi, but they still beg to suck my cock anyway.
As a certified non-giver, the only reason I thrust my fingers into Glyndon’s cunt was for dominance—nothing more, nothing less. I wasn’t planning on letting her finish and only wanted to drive her to the edge and leave her hanging so she’d beg for a release and still wouldn’t get it.
But then something interesting happened.
I felt her hymen with my fingers.
I’m pretty sure I don’t give a fuck about virgins. They’re a hassle, a nuisance, and usually not a good fuck, so I have to get laid before and after to get my dose of physical stimuli.
So why the fuck is my vision filled with the image of the blood I’ll smear all over Glyndon’s thighs when I tear into her cunt?
“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her face is red—like the blood that I will extort out of her—and so is her neck and her ears.
Even her lips have turned redder, hotter, and should I bleed those, too? See what exactly lurks behind that thunderous pulse, the soft beauty and the translucent skin? I bet red will make her a masterpiece.
Maybe now?
I focus back on the road.
Repress.
Repress.
I chant the words in my head for the millionth time tonight, because I swear to fuck this seemingly normal, innocent, fucking boring-on-paper girl might not be boring or normal, after all.
She’s still innocent, though.
And I’ll shatter that innocence, wreck it to pieces and flounder in its blood—just like all the other things in my life. She’ll be my new masterpiece.
“We’re talking about your intact hymen, baby. Aren’t virgins at nineteen a Middle Ages currency? Actually, no, even then, they birthed babies at fourteen, so you’re a rare species.”
She shoots me a death glare—her standard expression when she’s with me, aside from the annoyed and speechless ones.
The last is my favorite. Her lips will part and I’ll start thinking about all the ways I can get my fingers between them.
“Are you done?”
“Glad you asked. I’m curious. Why have you remained a virgin until now?”
She stares out the window, huffing. “None of your business.”
“What did I say about taking the high road? Do I need to deflower you on the road like an animal before or after you answer my question? Maybe while you scream and cry and bleed?”
Her head whips in my direction. Despite her attempts to camouflage her fear, the unnatural shine in her big eyes gives her away. Their green becomes lighter, frightened, chaotic. And so does the shaking of her lower lip that’s begging to be bitten. “Fuck you.”
“Since you’re somewhat of a prude, your cursing with that sweet voice is in fact a turn-on, so unless you’re willing to suck my cock, I’d advise you to refrain from it.”
“Oh wow, shocker. You actually used the word willing.”
“It might not look like it, but I can be a good sport.”
She snorts, and usually, that would be juvenile as fuck on other people. On her, however? I want to bite her lips into my mouth, feast on them with my tongue, and rip them against my teeth.
And that, ladies and gentleman, is the first time I’ve thought about kissing someone before I’ve even fucked them.
Kissing is pointless anyway, and I don’t indulge in the activity in the first place. So why are my fingers twitching to wrap around her throat as I devour her lips?
“You’re not a good sport, Killian. You’re the worst game to ever exist. I bet you don’t even know what the word willing means, or maybe you do and just don’t care.”
“Definitely the second option.”
She stares at me with that cat-like curiosity. Glyndon thinks she’s not interested in me, but she sometimes watches me as if she wants to peel back my skin and peer inside me, too.
It’s the first time anyone has ever looked behind the façade and has been more in tune with what lurked deep within me. Maybe it’s because she already knows I can’t be contained.
Or that she’s already seen my demons.
And while she’s terrified of them, she’s still curious about them.
“Do you do this a lot? Kidnapping girls to God knows where?”
“You agreed to the ride, so this is not kidnapping.”
“Let me rephrase then. Do you stalk and haunt the hell out of girls and manipulate them to agree to a ride that is totally not kidnapping?”
A smile twitches on my lips. Her sarcasm is adorable. Still annoying, but adorable all the same. “You’re the first, baby.”
“How about what happened on that cliff?”
“The first for that, too.”
“I don’t know whether I should feel flattered or terrified.”
“Go for the first. As I said, you can enjoy this instead of being scared of me.”
She releases a long breath. “Why am I the first?”
“Others wouldn’t be irritating and fight every step of the way. In fact, they’d beg for my attention.”
“Well, I’m not others, so how about you grant them your attention and leave me alone?”
“They’re not the ones I think about all the ways I’ll stuff them with my cock, watch them writhe beneath me, then fill them up with my cum, you are.”
Red creeps up her neck despite her attempts to remain unaffected. “Even if I don’t want you?”
“Considering you shattered all over my fingers and had to mute your moans for it, I’d say you want me. You just hate it and will probably fight tooth and nail before you ever admit it out loud. Lucky for you, I understand your inner thoughts. Aren’t you glad you have me and not some loser who’d run away after the first no?”
Her lips part and I smirk before I stare ahead. “Don’t look so surprised. Told you, my superpower is mind reading.”
She puffs out a breath. “You’re just offering excuses.”
“I’m not you, baby. I don’t do that. Everything I say or do comes from assertiveness.”
I slow the car to a halt and her attention snaps to our surroundings. To the forest that stretches for as far as the vision goes—dark, empty, and a perfect crime site.
Not that I’m contemplating crime.
Or am I?
“You still didn’t answer my question.”
She flinches even though my voice is the usual range. Okay, maybe it’s lower. Which goes without saying, in view of the amount of blood that’s been rushing to my cock since earlier.
Impulse control is my specialty, but even my godlike abilities are proving to be lacking whenever this girl is in sight.
She doesn’t even smell special—an important sense that usually either makes me interested in fucking someone or crossing them off my list.
It’s paint, I realize. She smells like oil paint and something fruity. Cherries. Or raspberries.
Too sweet, low-key, and definitely not something I’m usually into.
Glyndon as a whole is not something I’m usually into.
“Where is this place?” she whispers.
“Your posh friends haven’t taken you on a ride to this part of the island? It’s where we bury the bodies.”
She chokes while swallowing, and I burst out laughing. Christ. I could get used to the feeling of seeping under her skin, watching her flounder with her cheeks reddening and her eyes widening. Or witnessing the light in her irises change from high to low and everything in between.
I’ve been studying emotions since I realized I was different—back at that mice incident—and this is the first time I’ve meet someone whose emotions are so transparent, so visible, it’s fucking fascinating.
Curious, even.
I’m tempted to explore it more, delve deeper, hook against her darkest parts and expose it all.
Everything.
I want to see inside her.
Literally and figuratively.
“I was kidding,” I say after my laughter subsides.
“You’re not funny.”
“And you didn’t answer my question. If I have to ask again, it won’t be with words, Glyndon.”
She gives me a look, dirty and a bit condescending. “Do you get off on threatening people?”
“No, and I wouldn’t have had to if you weren’t being difficult over a trivial matter.”
“So my privacy is trivial now?”
“There’s no such thing as privacy in this day and age. Any form of privacy is a smokescreen that’s coded by numbers and algorithms. Besides, the topic of your virginity isn’t private anymore since I now know about it.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“And you’re stalling.”
She releases a long breath, whether in frustration or resignation, I’m not sure. But she remains silent for a while as the sound of the engine fills the car.
“I just didn’t feel like having sex. Happy now?”
“My happiness has nothing to do with this. Why didn’t you feel like having sex?”
“That’s another question.”
“Never said there was a limit to the number of questions I’d ask.”
“And let me guess, I have to answer or you’ll threaten me with something worse, and if I keep fighting, the threat will escalate until you take it too far.”
I can’t help the smile that pulls my lips. “I knew you were a fast learner.”
She stares at me for a beat, two, three and doesn’t break eye contact.
Ah. I see.
That’s what attracted me to her the first time. The way she held my gaze when many find it impossible to stare at me for long—my brother and mother included.
Whether they’re uncomfortable or intimidated by me, I don’t know.
Jeremy once said I have a look that makes people uncomfortable in their own skin, so it’s a given that they’d choose to stay away.
Not Glyndon.
Not once has she looked away from my eyes. As if she needs to see me at all times.
I don’t even need to see me at all times.
My being is a condensation of atoms and molecules, a homogenous, perfect combination of my parents’ genes that formed a human being who’s unable to relate to humanity.
So the fact that she’s interested in seeing this entity—even out of fear—is another rare occurrence.
The accumulation of all these arbitrary, divergent traits in one person should be frowned upon.
With another sigh, definitely resigned this time, she lets her quiet voice fill the car, “I haven’t found anyone I want to have sex with.”
“Why not? Surely you’ve had some attention.”
“I just haven’t felt like it. Do you have any other questions, Your Majesty?”
“Not for now, no. I’ll let you know when I do.”
She narrows her eyes. “Really? You won’t say anything about the topic?”
“Like how I’ll eventually fuck you? I’m happy to talk about it, but I don’t think you’re ready for that conversation.”
“I’ll never let you.”
“Never say never, baby.”
“I liked it better when you were demanding answers.”
I reach for her thigh. “Want me to ask more questions when I’m on top of you this time?”
“No! I’m just saying.” She absentmindedly tucks a strand behind her ear. A blonde one, because of fucking course, this bundle of weird composition has blonde strands in her honey-colored hair.
She peeks at me from beneath her lashes. “Can we go back? I have class early tomorrow.”
“Not yet. You haven’t seen what we’re here for.”
Her pupils dilate the slightest bit, but she remains composed.
Hmm.
It must be her upbringing. Someone taught her not to back down, even when scared. To keep her spine straight and her gaze ahead.
To be the definition of her last name.
“I thought we were going for a ride. Isn’t that already done?”
“A ride needs a purpose.” I step out of the car.
She doesn’t.
So I go to her side and fling the door open.
Glyndon—innocent, sweet, and lush like her perfume—thinks she can get away by trying to glue herself to the seat.
“Come on, baby.”
She shakes her head. “What if you’re luring me to my grave? Maybe you weren’t kidding and this is exactly where you bury the bodies. Or worse, maybe a few of your underlings are waiting in the woods to gang rape me.”
“If I wanted to bury you, I would’ve killed you about an hour ago before I got beaten up for your currently absent trust. And there won’t be anyone touching you before I cover my cock with your blood.”
She purses her lips. “Is that supposed to be reassuring?”
“Not reassuring, no. Mere statement of facts.”
“You’re so cutthroat, it’s disgusting.”
“And you’re so repetitive, it’s starting to piss me off.” I tilt my head. “Come out.”
When she hesitates, I fling her seatbelt off and grab her wrist. She tries to fight, her body going stiff, probably letting panic take control.
I drag her behind the car with ease. She’s small, I could crush her with one single hand—without full force.
Her skin appears pale blue in the darkness, like fresh corpses. If she somehow starts bleeding and the red is added to the mix, her skin will look ethereal under the moon.
The fact that I’m choosing not to act on those fantasies with this girl is a marvelous manifestation of my impulse control.
Repress, motherfucker.
“I can walk on my own.” Her voice shakes as she tries to release herself and fails miserably. Countless times.
She’s infuriating enough to keep on trying. I’ll give her that.
“You didn’t when I gave you the chance earlier, so the ball is in my court now.”
“Stop it, Killian.”
I pause at the sound of my name in her tiny little voice that’s no different from a lullaby. I don’t even like people’s voices most of the time. Some are high-pitched, others are low, and most are fucking annoying.
Hers, however, is the right amount of sweet and melodic. The right amount of softness and paralyzing terror.
I glance at her. “Stop what?”
“Whatever you’re doing.”
“Even when you’ll like what I’m doing?”
“I doubt I’ll like anything you do.”
“Sure about that?” We come to a halt near a small lake and Glyndon goes still.
Her attempts to struggle are long forgotten as she stares at the scene in front of us.
Hundreds of tiny yellow dots light up the trees and shine on the water’s surface with the efficiency of small lamps.
As she watches the fireflies, I watch her.
I’m captured in a chokehold by the way her shoulders relax and her lips fall open. And the way her eyes reflect the yellow lights like a mirror.
They’re shining, brighter, faster, and I don’t think about it as I pull out my phone and take a picture.
Commemorating the moment feels like a need instead of a mere action. It’s not impulse either; it’s much fucking worse.
She doesn’t even focus on the flash, still engrossed in the fireflies. “They’re so beautiful. I can’t believe I didn’t know about this place.”
“It’s our college’s property.”
“Did you bring a lot of your victims here?”
“So that’s what you are now, my victim? I like that. And no, this is where I come to when I want to be alone, so you’re the first.”
“I’m a lot of firsts.”
“I’m surprised by that, too. Do you like it?”
“I love it.”
“Told you that you would. I figured an artist would appreciate the dark beauty of nature.”
She finally focuses on me. “How do you even know I’m an artist?”
“I know a lot of things about you, Glyndon.”
“Why? Just what do you want?”
“I want a lot of things. What context are we talking about now?”
“This, bringing me here. You must have some purpose.”
“Told you, so you can trust me. I thought this place would appeal to you.”
Her eyes turn into slits. “That’s it? You’re not going to do anything funny?”
“Define funny.”
“The fact that you’re even asking means you will.”
“I’m just considering my options.” I sit on the edge of the dock, letting my feet dangle, then retrieve a cigarette and light it.
Glyndon approaches me but stops and waves away the smoke. “Why am I not surprised you’re addicted to poison?”
“I’m not addicted to anything.”
“The cigarette hanging from your lips testifies otherwise.”
I pull it from my lips and hold it in the light of fireflies. “It’s a habit I use to keep my hands busy.”
“Does that mean you’ll quit if you want to?”
“I’ll quit if you take their place and keep my lips and hands busy.”
“No, thanks.”
I lift a shoulder and tap the spot beside me. “They look better from this angle.”
“What look better?” she asks in a spooked tone, and why the fuck am I getting harder?
“Fireflies or bodies, whatever floats first.”
“Your dark sense of humor is really on another level.” She slowly approaches, then before settling down, she hesitates.
That habit of questioning everything I offer will be gone soon.
“Don’t worry. I won’t fuck you tonight.”
“Wow. Thanks.” She flops down beside me, her fruity perfume getting stronger. Or my sense of smell is picking her up faster.
“You’re welcome.”
“That wasn’t an actual thank-you.”
“Then why did you say it?”
“Sarcasm. Ever heard of it?”
“I know. I’m just messing with you.” I tuck that blonde strand behind her ear and it turns red, along with her neck.
“Do you like messing with people a lot?”
“Not all people, no. Just a select few.”
“So I’m a VIP now?”
“If you want.”
“Seriously, talking to you is like speaking to an evil robot.”
“Evil robot, huh?”
“Yeah, you know, the ones who get destroyed at the end of sci-fi films.”
“You mean the ones whose red eyes flash in the last second of the movie, signaling their return?”
“You shouldn’t be proud of being evil.”
“That’s the thing, baby. I don’t see myself as evil.”
“Please don’t tell me you see yourself as a hero.” She sounds even more spooked than earlier.
“No, I don’t. I just see myself as neutral. Instead of black, white, or gray. I’m colorless.”
“You’re an entity. You can’t be colorless.” She huffs. “You’re just black.”
“Black?”
“Yeah, I give people colors and you’re definitely black, like your soul, heart, and that disturbing head of yours.”
I stare at her for a beat and then smile. Jesus.
This girl is getting herself into big fucking trouble.
Because I want to keep talking to her.
And I don’t even like talking to people.
I want to own her, even though I have no fucking clue what owning people is all about.
It can’t be different from having pets then wanting to see inside them, right?
