Cecily stands unmoving under the shower.
Water cascades down her neck, over the slope of her creamy tits, and down her swollen, pink pussy.
My blood and cum swirl into the drain and disappear.
I lean against the counter, facing the glass shower, legs crossed at the ankles and my hands gripping the sink behind me. It’s a hopeless attempt to stop myself from lunging in her direction and messing her all up with my blood and cum again.
Dirty her.
Mark her.
My cock jumps, straining against my jeans at the thought of ramming into her tight heat, throwing her up against the nearest surface, and pinning her down.
I’d chase, catch, and fuck her until she’s crying.
No—sobbing. She begged me to fuck her, but she still cried and whimpered.
Whether she did it because it was too much or something else, I’m not sure.
There are a lot of things I can’t pinpoint when it comes to Cecily Knight.
Such as why I’m watching her take a shower, and why the fuck it’s taking superhuman effort to not join her. All while trying to figure how to get rid of the shell-shocked expression on her face.
It’s been there ever since I carried her into the house and planted her beneath the shower.
The moment I pulled the trigger against my temple, she cried the hardest. It was no different than witnessing a breakdown. A person’s disintegration into another universe.
But the tears have come to a halt and she’s crossing into different territory.
Fucking decimation.
She’s not fully into the catatonic state, but if I leave her alone, she’ll definitely reach that point.
“Cecily,” I call with a calm I don’t feel.
She flinches, and I can see the life rushing back to her bright green eyes before she whips her head in my direction. “Huh?”
It takes all my control not to study every nook in her body, every cavity, and every slope. I can still feel her flesh trembling against mine when I fucked her like an animal earlier.
And the time before that.
I’m reduced to my primal instinct when this woman is around and I don’t like that.
Not one bit.
She’s waiting for me to speak, her expression sober, but there’s still the probability of her slipping into an unreachable state.
I crane my chin and point it behind her. “Use shower gel.”
A delicate frown appears between her brows, and I’m almost sure she’ll choose to be difficult just to piss me off, but she reaches behind her for a shower sponge and pours the gel all over it.
She lowers her head as she lathers her shoulders, armpits, and breasts.
“Eyes on me.” My voice roughens despite my attempts to remain unaffected.
And when those mystic eyes fixate on me? Fuck. I honestly wonder why I’m not in there taking over the task.
But then I recall that I need her to be conscious of her actions. If I do it for her, it’ll be easier to dissociate.
A blush covers her cheeks, neck, and even her ears as she hastily runs the sponge over her stomach and thighs.
Cecily might pretend that she’s not affected by me, might deny the palpable attraction between us and say that she wants nothing of what I’m offering, but her body doesn’t lie.
Her nipples have become harder since her eyes met mine, to the point that she winces whenever she touches them.
A soft shade of pink covers her pale flesh and she’s clenching her legs.
“Clean your pussy, too.”
Her throat works with a swallow. “Can I get some privacy?”
“No.”
A slow but steady fire lights up her expression. “I’m uncomfortable.”
“And I don’t give a fuck.”
The sound of her heavy breathing echoes in the air as she opens her thighs and scrubs her cunt not so gently.
Unease and anger mean she’s here and won’t be lured to whatever alternate reality her brain leads her to.
She finishes in record time, her movements jerky and fueled with her clear disdain.
I’m starting to learn that Cecily’s body language is able to express her feelings better than her words.
It’s not that she’s lacking in the verbal department. She’s intelligent, with a brain that can contain different interests and subjects without failing any. But she has an awful relationship with the sensory world.
She’s the type who trips over a rock due to being too caught up in her head.
As a result, when push comes to shove, she can’t find the right words to express what’s inside her. At least, when it comes to herself. She’s more eloquent when she has to turn on the mama bear mode and protect her friends—my sister included.
Cecily is selfless to an annoying degree and I’m contemplating a way to erase those habits.
Once she’s finished, she turns off the water and slips out of the shower. I push off the counter, my fingers aching from how hard I gripped the surface.
There should be a reward for the effort I spent to back off. Too bad my cock only accepts her pussy as compensation.
Cecily jerks to a halt the moment I move, her expression no different than an injured animal’s. A prisoner who hasn’t seen light in decades.
I grab a clean towel from the shelves and open it, holding it out, soundlessly telling her to walk toward me.
She does, her steps as light as a feather and as quiet as a kitten. Her body is physical perfection, all creamy, lithe, and small. Especially after I marked it with red bites and hickeys all over her neck, breasts, and thighs.
She’s custom-made for me.
Her silver hair drips all over the tile until she reaches me. And then she attempts to snatch the towel. “I can do it myself.”
I hold it out of reach. “Get in here.”
She glares up at me, lips pursing, but she probably figures out this isn’t a battle worth fighting, so she steps into the towel, so her back faces me.
I wrap it around her, wiping the water away, and accidentally—or not so accidentally—pause on her nipples, waist, pussy, and ass.
Cecily jerks with each brush of my hand against her skin. Due to her poor relationship with her sensory world, she’s sensitive to every external stimulus.
Just to fuck with her, I brush my thumb against her nipple when I finally tie the towel around her.
She grabs the cloth in a tight fist even as her ears grow red. I retrieve another towel and dump it on her hair, then take my time drying it.
Usually, her scent is that of delicate water lilies, but right now, she smells of me.
Not sure which one I like the best.
My fingers slide through her hair, giving every silver strand the same attention. Gliding, caressing, and curling against her skull, then down her nape and bare shoulders.
The longer I touch her, the redder her ears become, and she flinches every time I do something new.
“Why did you choose this color for your hair?”
“Why are you asking?” Her soft voice carries in the space and ends up beneath my skin.
“It’s an unusual color to dye one’s hair to. Commonly, people would try to hide gray hair, no?”
“I guess. Not me, though.”
“Why not?”
“You’ll think it’s stupid.”
“Try me.” And since when does she care about my opinion?
“White-haired characters are usually my favorites in mangas and anime. They have this intelligent, wise, and reserved aura that I always loved, so I went for it. Not going to lie, it’s a pain to maintain, but it’s worth it.”
“So you love characters like yourself?”
“I’m not intelligent and wise. Reserved, maybe.”
“You’re the smartest and wisest person I know. Except for when you’re being a pain in the ass.”
Red splashes her cheeks as silence pulses between us, heavy with our wild breathing. Neither of us breaks it for long minutes as I continue my task.
“Are you done?” she murmurs in a voice that I’m sure wasn’t supposed to come out so low, erotic, and with every attention of stroking my cock to life.
When I don’t answer, she glances at me. “I think it’s all dry.”
“Not yet.” I grab her chin and turn her attention forward so I can focus.
I go on until I feel her bubbling with that antagonistic energy. Only when I feel she’s about to act on it do I release her.
I throw the towel in the sink. “Follow me.”
She exhales an exasperated breath but marches behind me. “What’s with you and ordering me around?”
“How else will you do as I tell you?” I step to the living room that’s illuminated by the fire’s orange hue. After I carried her to the shower earlier, I lit the fireplace to warm the room.
Cecily observes her surroundings as if it’s the first time she’s been here, her feet padding along the wood floor. “I’d rather not be ordered around.”
“And I’d rather you do as I say.”
That glare, the one full of life and attitude, comes back, but it slowly disappears as she composes herself. “Can you give me some clothes? I want to go home.”
“Not yet.”
“What else do you want?” Despite her attempts to sound cool, her voice shakes at the end.
“It’s early.”
She points at the grandfather clock above the fireplace. “It’s midnight.”
“Which means early.”
“I have classes in the morning.”
“So do I, but you don’t see me whining about it.”
“I’m surprised you even study…” she mutters under her breath, then trails off when she spots her phone and keys on the small coffee table.
Still holding her towel with a death grip, as if that would stop me, she sits on the sofa, legs tucked underneath her, and checks her phone.
Then she listens to a voice message from an obviously drunk Ava.
“Cecy!! I can’t believe you left me…alone, you little bitch. But, like, a pretty bitch. Come back, Cecy… If you’re asleep, I’m gonna wake you up, uh-huh. Also! I bought one of those small packets of M&M’s like the ones Aunt Kim gave us when we were kids. I saved you some, but if you’re not here, I’ll eat them all. I hate it when I’m craving chocolate… Glyn says it’s because I’m sad, but I’m not. Right, Cecy?”
There’s a commotion on the other end before Glyndon’s voice calls in the background. “Ava! Jesus, what the hell are you doing standing in the middle of the road? It’s dangerous!”
“I’m manifesting Cecy. Let’s do it together, Glyn!”
“We should probably go back to the dorm.”
“Nooo—”
And then the voice message is cut off. Cecily releases a long breath and mutters, “This child, I swear.”
I soundlessly slide behind the sofa as she types something—a reply to her friend’s message in a group chat called ‘Foursome.’
After Ava’s VM, there’s a text from none other than my sister.
Annika: It looks like you guys had so much fun. I’m definitely NOT jealous while I sit in my ivory tower.
I narrow my eyes, but I continue reading.
Glyndon: It wasn’t that much fun. Eli showed up and Ava went off, and yeah, it was a disaster.
Ava: In this house, we don’t speak of He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named.
Glyndon: @Cecily Knight I wish you had been there to calm her down. You’re the only one who knows how. She wouldn’t stop drinking and playing her cello and crying. I think she’s going to sleep now, though. Where are you, anyway?
Cecily’s expression is aimed downward as she types her reply with fast, elegant fingers.
Cecily: Group study. I’ll be late. Please check on Ava @Glyndon King. Put a bucket by her bed and give her a painkiller. Also, wipe her forehead with a cold towel and make sure her alarm is set. You should go to sleep, too, Glyn, it’s late. Didn’t you say you have an important class tomorrow morning?
Glyndon: Yes, Mum! *salute emoji*
Cecily releases a long breath and I lean over, causing it to get caught before being fully expelled.
“So I’m a group study now?”
She slaps her phone to her chest and slowly glances at me like a character from a horror movie. “Is the concept of privacy foreign to you?”
“Possibly.”
She puffs out an exasperated breath. “I have to go back and check on my friends.”
“They’re adults, and unlike what Glyndon said, you’re not their mother.” I round the sofa and sit beside her.
Cecily scoots up and glues herself to the edge, trying and failing to put some distance between us. I can feel the warmth radiating off her and the hot energy that mirrors mine.
“Don’t,” I grind out.
“W-what?”
“Your nervous energy turns me on, so unless you’re up for riding my cock, tone it down.”
Her ears redden again and she rubs the side of her nose. “What makes you think I’m nervous? Maybe I’m disgusted.”
I know this aggressiveness is a reply to how much coercion I put her through, and usually, I don’t rise to provocations. But then again, my system has never been the same since she came into the picture.
I reach a hand out and she flinches, but I’ve already grabbed her hair and slid her across the old leather sofa that creaks underneath her weight.
Cecily’s eyes widen as I glare down at her. “You seem to have a misconception about certain terms. Should I give you a real reason to be disgusted?”
She purses her lips.
“Answer the fucking question, Cecily. Should I?”
“No.”
“That’s right. No. Don’t ask for something you can’t handle.” I release her for the sole reason that touching her, having her shiver against me, is enough to make me want to fuck her.
And I actually don’t want to hurt her when she must be sore.
Cecily clutches her towel so tight that her knuckles whiten, then she rushes back to sit against the other end of the sofa.
The sound of the burning logs fills the living room and mixes with her quickening breaths before she releases a sigh.
“And what am I supposed to do now? Drown in your broody, emotionless company?”
“Here’s what you’re not supposed to do. Sarcasm. Didn’t I tell you to drop it? If I repeat myself again, it won’t be with words.”
Silence, fidgeting, and more silence. Then she abruptly stands up. “I’m going to look for some clothes.”
“You look fine the way you are.”
“I’m sure you’d think that,” she starts to mock, but then clears her throat. “Do you have to rip my clothes?”
“No, but it’s more thrilling when I do.”
“Wow. Okay. That was direct.”
“I’m nothing less than direct.”
A weird expression covers her features, almost like resignation, or understanding.
Or maybe I’m imagining both.
“I can see that,” she says with revering calm. “But you’re not impulsive or reckless, so why did you make us play that game earlier? It’s out of character for you to put your life in danger. You don’t seem suicidal.”
“I’m not.”
“What if one of us died?”
“We wouldn’t have. I removed the bullet before you started.”
Her lips part and she stares at me as if I’m Lucifer himself. “You…you…”
“No rush. Take your time in finding the words.”
“I really thought I was going to die!”
“Which made you more honest. Aren’t you glad I was creative to find a way to make you open up?”
“Screw you,” she mutters, then trudges to the stairs and disappears at the top.
She must’ve taken a discovery tour around here the last time. I’m not worried that she’ll escape since the balconies and windows are high.
I remove my jacket, throw it on a nearby chair, and text back and forth with Ilya about security details.
Preferably, this should’ve been done in person, and I should’ve also plotted to inflict more damage on the Serpents. But the thought of leaving this place to do all of those chores holds no appeal.
No, not this place. Someone in this place.
“Why…do you have these?”
I lift my head from my phone to stare at Cecily. She’s wearing a pair of jeans and a black tee that molds against her tits.
The items in question are a few mangas she probably found on the nightstand. Even as she holds them, her hands aren’t completely steady.
I raise a brow. “Don’t you love reading about boys’ love? I did some research and that’s apparently a thing a lot of women do. Reading and watching gay men material.”
Her face turns a deep shade of crimson. “So what? We’re not hurting anyone by cheering on gay men to get together. I won’t allow you to shame me.”
It takes everything in me not to smile at the spikiness in her voice or how she hugs the mangas as if protecting them from me.
“Who says I’m shaming you?”
Her defensive stance turns into that of careful bemusement. “You’re…not?”
“Why would I buy you those if I were?”
She narrows her eyes. “Why did you buy these, anyway?”
“So you can read them here.”
“How do you know I’ve gotten this far in all the volumes?”
“I was in your room the other time, remember?”
“Stalker,” she mutters, but she sits down opposite me and strokes the covers of the mangas.
“I know.”
She whips her head up, her slowly drying strands swishing with the motion. “It doesn’t bother you to be called that?”
“If that label makes you feel at ease, go right ahead. I have no fucks to give.”
Cecily watches me peculiarly. “It’s not normal that you stalk me, buy the mangas I read, do some research on them, and even buy clothes that are exactly my size. Did you go through my wardrobe?”
“I did, but I didn’t need that to know your size.” I lift a hand and trace an imaginary outline. “I remember every nook of your body and can guess the size.”
Her lips tremble, but she murmurs, “You’re really impossible.”
“So you keep telling me. You need to learn that I don’t give a fuck about what’s considered normal or socially acceptable. If I want something, I will have it.”
She goes still, probably detecting my nonnegotiable tone. Her gaze slides all over me, from my face to my nonchalant position to the ink that’s spilling out from my short-sleeved shirt.
It lingers there, on the ink, before she slides it back to my face. “How are you any different from barbarians?”
“Don’t know and don’t care. Labels hold no importance for me.”
“What does then?”
“At the moment? You and your submission.”
She swallows thickly. “What if I say no?”
“Then you’d be lying to me and yourself. You enjoy this, Cecily. It’s in your nature, so how about you let go for once?”
She clamps her lips shut, not saying anything.
I know I have a long way to go with her. She didn’t even admit to the reason behind her decimation until I basically forced it out of her.
My blood turns ice-cold in my veins at the thought of that fucker who hurt her and transformed a proud girl into someone who can’t control herself. What he did to her must be the reason why gagging and drugging are her limits.
I will find him.
I will make him regret fucking with her.
Cecily might be a toy, but she’s my fucking toy and no one is allowed to touch her.
Hurt her.
Or engrave a permanent scar inside her.
