It’s a miracle that I manage to reach the dorm without having an accident.
I haven’t been able to focus on anything except for the throbbing pain in my ass, the clenching of my thighs in remembrance, and the tightening in my chest.
Something must be wrong with me.
Seriously wrong.
Because I can’t help replaying what happened in the storage room over and over until I choke on the carnal memories.
Until my heart threatens to burst and my head fills with all sorts of depraved theories.
And images.
His hand on my ass, his fingers inside me, my hair at his mercy. My whole body homed in on his ruthless dominance.
I’ve always thought I would be the type who likes respectful sex, the ‘can we do it tonight’ sex, the ‘we’ll have a date, then eat and touch each other in the dark’ type.
So what if I somehow ended up watching hardcore porn once or twice—okay, maybe a few times. That was only curiosity, a fantasy, and had nothing to do with my real-life preferences.
But those preferences and every single perception I had about myself have been shattered to pieces in a single encounter with Creighton.
He reached inside and yanked out a part of me I didn’t even know existed. It was hidden right beneath the surface, waiting for a natural disaster of Creighton’s caliber to finally show itself.
I tiptoe inside the apartment I share with the girls, then stop just past the threshold. Why do I need to sneak around as if I’m doing something wrong?
Truth is, a sense of corruption reeks from my every pore, not to mention that I’m a little bit filthy in the best ways possible.
“Anni!”
I jump slightly, then school my reaction and smile as Ava waltzes in my direction, holding something in her hand.
“Someone dropped this in the mailbox with your name on it. Do you think it’s poison?”
My lips part and my vision fills with the tube of ointment in her hand. No one else would know I need this except for the one person who gave me a reason to use it.
“Earth to Anni?” Ava waves a hand in front of my face.
“Uh, I don’t think so.” I subtly pull it from between her fingers. “I’ll throw it away, just in case.”
“Yeah, good call. Looks fishy as hell.”
“I’ll go change.” I step past her, thankful that she doesn’t see the emotion on my face. Hell, I would’ve sworn she’d comment on my crumpled dress and possibly see the handprints her childhood friend gave me.
“Wait.”
My breath catches in my throat. Please don’t tell me she’s seen something more incriminating.
I hold on to my cool as I turn around to face her with my usual smile. “What’s up?”
“I know I’m supposed to fix something for dinner, but I don’t want to. Can we order instead?”
Phew. “Sure thing. I can cook if you want.”
“No, definitely not, I mean no.” She’s quick to wave my offer away.
I narrow my eyes. “My food is edible, you know.”
“Not to humans. Seriously, Anni, I love you, but you’re not made for cooking. Just stick with your fresh salads.”
“Creighton ate my food just fine,” I grumble. Though it was only once and not in front of me.
“That one eats anything, including dog food if he finds it.”
I tuck my hair behind my ear. “Do you know why he has that weird fixation about food?”
“Not really. It’s been there since we were kids.”
Sometimes, I envy Ava and the others for having known a younger Creighton. But then again, Cecily said his personality isn’t drastically different, so on second thought, it’s probably better that I didn’t meet him back then.
He would’ve either friend-zoned me to death or broken my heart into irreparable pieces.
He could still break it now.
I smother that thought in the dark corners of my mind and focus on Ava. “Like his silence, I assume.”
“Totally. Creigh is a man of few words because he simply doesn’t feel like talking. And I know he might seem standoffish and cold, but he can be super caring.”
My ass throbs and I mutter, “You must be talking about a different Creighton than the one I know.”
“Nope.” Ava leans against the wall and tilts her head back, eyes seeming lost in another universe. “He was there for me during a dark moment. He didn’t say anything, just sat beside me and let me use his shoulder to cry my eyes out on, like a brother would, and I will never forget that.”
This is the first time I’ve seen Ava so pensive. In pain, even. I want to ask what that dark moment was, but I don’t want to come on too strong or to intrude.
My friend shakes her head and narrows her eyes on me. “Wait a minute, you flirt. Why are we talking about Creigh when you wanted to fake date Bran last night? Ces and I even put in a good word for you, you know. Bran doesn’t like dating that much, since all the girls go to him because they can’t get Lan. And if they actually liked him for himself, they’d change lanes to the evil twin as soon as they meet Lan. I’m on a mission to stab those blind little bitches in the eyes for hurting Bran.”
I bite the corner of my lip. “So…uh, I’ve thought about it and I don’t want Bran hurt by my brother, after all. He doesn’t deserve it.”
And he’s definitely not the one who haunts my nightmares. Last night, I texted him and told him that he doesn’t have to be my fake boyfriend, and he replied that he’s always around if I need him.
Seriously, the world doesn’t deserve such a gentle soul like Brandon. Now, if his cousin were a bit similar, things would be way easier.
But no, I had to be interested in the resident mute of the King family.
“Bran is, like, the most eloquent ever,” Ava argues. “He could totally convince Jeremy.”
“That means he’d be dragged into the Heathens’ games.”
“So? He’s a big boy. He can handle himself.”
“Have you seen the way Nikolai looks at him?”
Ava visibly shudders. “That psycho looks at everyone like they’re on his shit list.”
“Yeah, but it’s different with Bran.”
“Different how?”
“Bad different. Nikolai has a serious thirst for blood and violence, and he might be my brother’s close friend, but I keep as far away from him as possible. I’m simply not putting Bran in his path. I’d never forgive myself if he were to end up being hurt because of me.”
“Aww. You’re like the sweetest.” Ava strokes my arm, then steps back. “I’m telling you this because I really love you, Anni. Creigh is like the hardest nut to crack, after his stone of a brother, but I think you’re getting there.”
“I-I am?”
“Hello? He was super pissed when you didn’t consider him for the fake boyfriend position and then picked Brandon.”
“That’s nothing.”
“That’s interest, bitch. And believe me, Creigh never shows that in anything that isn’t food.” She caresses my arm again. “Not sure if gaining his interest is a good or a bad thing. Scratch that, totally bad. He’s a King, after all, and they kind of have a twisted family aura, except for Glyn and Bran.”
The handprints on my ass tingle in pain as if agreeing with Ava’s words.
“Good luck. You’re totally going to need it.” She steps away from me and grins. “Be right back. I’ll go convince Cecily to let us order in tonight.”
As she jogs to our friend’s room, I disappear into mine and close the door behind me. I let my bag fall to the ground and stand facing the full-length mirror with a neon purple frame.
I lift the skirt of my dress and wince when the fabric rubs against my sore bottom. Turning sideways, I inspect the angry red handprints Creighton left on my ass and my upper thighs.
My fingers subconsciously ghost over them and I wince again when my cold skin makes contact. I continue to touch them, gently poke at them, reveling in the small bursts of pain and the memories they trigger.
I can still smell him, that spiciness and clean scent. I can feel his weight, his sheer size, and the absolute dominance he held over me.
My core pulses back to life, recalling the methodical way he brought me pleasure I’ve never experienced before.
Hell, I didn’t know that type of carnal claiming even existed.
I flinch when I touch an especially painful spot. It’ll hurt like a mother to sit or sleep on my backside for days to come.
And yet, for some reason, I’m looking forward to it.
The ache will bring back those fresh memories that somehow refuse to leave my subconscious.
I stare at the tube in my palm, open it, and apply some ointment on my ass. The pain becomes too much sometimes and I get on my tiptoes, inhale deeply, and then continue.
By the time I’m done, I think I’ll either cry or come again.
After changing into comfy pajamas, I grab my phone and lie on the bed on my stomach with my legs in the air.
I check my notifications, reply to Mom’s daily text and to a few others, then I open my Instagram.
After sending a few likes and typing some comments, I click on Remi’s profile.
Since Creighton is completely, absolutely, and irrevocably against having any sort of social media, Remi’s account is the closest thing to getting updates on him.
Considering Remi’s religious nature about posting updates, I’m sure there’ll be something there…
Sure enough, he shares a selfie where he’s in the middle of three guys. Two of them are the twins, Landon and Brandon. One is smirking, the other is smiling. The fourth is the mysterious Eli King, Creighton’s oldest brother and the reason Ava gets defensive whenever his name is mentioned.
In the background, Creighton sleeps while sitting on a chair.
I pinch the picture to zoom in on him. How can someone look criminally gorgeous even when he’s sleeping? I’ve always found Creighton hot, but that has long since bypassed the superficial beauty and reached new depths.
Dangerous depths.
He’s wearing the same clothes from earlier and since the picture was posted ten minutes ago, that means he got home.
Ava told me the five of them live in the mansion that’s dedicated to the Elites. They throw parties, too, or more like Remi does, but neither Ava, Cecily, nor Glyn ever wants to go there.
Not even when I told them I was curious about what their mansion looked like.
Seriously, they’re okay with tagging along with me to go to The King’s U, but when it’s their own club, they’re suddenly not interested.
I release the picture to read Remi’s caption.
Rare as fuck picture of these fuckers together. Thank me later, fangirls. Also, we’re so going to paint Creigh’s face with a permanent marker. Think he’ll look good with a mustache?
Smiling, I like the picture and comment.
annika-volkov: I’m sure he will. Share pictures.
It’s only fair after the map of handprints he left on my ass then went to sleep as if nothing had happened. How dare he?
Remi replies to my comment immediately.
lord-remington-astor: Your wish is my command, my lady. Stay tuned.
I smile and go back to scrolling through my IG feed, then switch to TikTok. I’m about to post one of my drafts when a text appears at the top of my screen.
My heart skips a beat at his name and I’m seriously wondering if this is even a logical reaction anymore?
The text is a photo of Remi. Sulking. Wearing an ugly mustache drawn with a marker.
Creighton: I heard you wanted pictures.
Annika: I didn’t suggest it, he did, and I only played along.
Creighton: Don’t play along next time.
Annika: Or what?
My heart beats in my ears as I type the words.
Creighton: Your arse knows the exact answer to that. Don’t be a brat.
Well, damn.
He has no right to sound so hot when telling me not to be a brat. I can even imagine his lowered tone if he were to say the words.
In an attempt to ease the ache that’s blossomed between my thighs, I slide onto the bed and retrieve the ointment, then take a picture and send it over.
Annika: Do you give these to everyone you spank?
Creighton: Only the brats.
My chest aches and I refuse to honor the feeling crawling inside me with a name. Or even my attention.
And no, I’m not going to think about how many women have experienced what I did. That what I consider an awakening of sorts is a normal occurrence for him.
I’m simply not going there.
Annika: I thought the whole purpose of punishment was me feeling pain.
Creighton: It is. But I don’t want it to bruise. Not for long, at least. That way, I can mark it again.
Annika: That started swoony and turned creepy real fast. Oh, and by the way, I’m better. Still sore as hell, but I’ll survive. Thanks for asking.
Creighton: Watch it.
Annika: So I’m just supposed to take it and shut up?
Creighton: Preferably.
Annika: Well, that’s not me.
Creighton: Don’t I know it.
Annika: And you’re okay with it?
Creighton: I’m not.
My chest aches again, that familiar pain becoming more potent than the one on my ass.
Annika: But you still insist on pursuing me.
Creighton: I wouldn’t call it pursuing.
Annika: Then what is it?
Creighton: I’m punishing you, little purple, and I’m getting off on every moment of putting my mark on your translucent skin.
I rub my foot again on my leg. Somehow, the throbbing between my legs has gotten worse and my ass feels like it’s on fire.
He’s a true sadist, isn’t he?
Then why am I not more scared? Hell, the least I can do is stop being intrigued.
Creighton: Is that smart mouth of yours finally speechless?
Annika: Not in this lifetime. I was just thinking.
Creighton: About?
Annika: One: Why do you call me little purple?
Creighton: Aren’t you obsessed with that color?
Annika: But you aren’t.
Creighton: In my mind, you are the personification of that color.
I try not to blush, but considering the heat in my cheeks, I’ve definitely failed.
Creighton: That’s one. What’s two?
Annika: When did you start having these…singular tastes?
Creighton: Since I hit puberty.
Annika: So you’ve been experimenting since?
Though I wouldn’t call his lashes experimental. He knew exactly what he was doing. Despite the pain from his handprints, they’re not meant to leave a permanent mark.
Which means he’s done this countless times before.
To a dozen other girls. Maybe more.
Nope, no. I’m simply not going there.
Creighton: Not experimenting, engaging.
Annika: With girlfriends?
Creighton: With sex partners.
Annika: As in, whores?
Annika: Sorry, I mean sex workers?
Creighton: No. Willing submissives.
My fist tightens at the thought of how many submissives have gotten on their knees, taken his beatings, and thanked him for it later.
Hell, if the fangirls at the shelter knew he was this kinky, they’d be like ‘Choke me, Daddy.’
Annika: And are you still seeing these willing submissives?
Creighton: Why are you asking?
Annika: I don’t want to compete with girls who are already into your stuff.
Creighton: Stuff?
Annika: You know. At any rate, they need to go.
Creighton: Will you take their place as my plaything?
Annika: Aren’t I already?
Creighton: What happened today was a mere demonstration, a little taste of what I’m capable of. It’s by no means the entirety of my ‘singular tastes.’ You think you can handle me? Think again.
Well, shit.
If that was only a taste, then what else does he plan to do to me?
This is probably that moment where I should backpedal and abort whatever twisted feelings I have for the sadist.
One small problem, though.
No matter how much it hurt, no matter how painful it will be to sit at all, there’s something else. I’ve never felt as empowered and free as in the moment when he held me down and ‘punished’ me.
When he threw me against those shelves and dominated me, I never thought to fight or escape his savage hold.
For some reason, it felt…right.
And my toxic trait is definitely curiosity because I type.
Annika: I’ll never know until I try. And don’t be a hypocrite. You don’t get to tell me not to take Bran as a fake boyfriend, then go and have other people. If you’re going to unleash your inner sadist, unleash it on me.
His next text steals my air and leaves me gasping.
Creighton: You’ve fucked up again. I’ve given you an opening to try and run away, but you went ahead and refused to take it. Don’t blame me for what’ll happen next. You’re now mine to punish and discipline, little purple.
