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“You did good,” he says, his voice soft but with an edge that sends a shiver down my spine. “You proved that you’re mine.”
His words should make me recoil, should make me sick, but instead, they send a thrill through me, a dark, twisted excitement that I don’t understand or want to accept. I hate this. I hate myself for feeling this way, but I can’t stop. I’m drawn to him like a moth to a goddamn flame, knowing that he will lead me to my end, but still unable to stay away.
“I…” My voice cracks, and I swallow hard, trying to steady myself, but it’s no use. I’m shaking, my whole body trembling as I try to find the words to make sense of the chaos in my mind. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”
He sits up and reaches his hands out to cup my cheeks. His touch is warm and firm, grounding me in a way that instantly seems to silence every thought spinning through my head. I should push him away, should run as far and as fast as I can, but I don’t. I can’t. Instead, I lean into his touch, my eyes fluttering shut as I use the silence his touch provides to try to make sense of the storm raging inside me.
“Nothing is wrong with you. Don’t you see that?” he whispers. His voice is soothing, almost tender, but there’s still a hint of darkness beneath it. “This is who you are. Who we are.”
I want to deny it, want to scream that he’s wrong that I’m not like him. But the words won’t come. Because deep down, I know he’s right. There’s a darkness in me, a part of me that craves the things we did tonight, that finds a sick sort of pleasure in the fear, the violence, the blood. It scares me, but it’s also intoxicating, like a drug I can’t quit, no matter how much I want to.
“I’m scared,” I admit, my voice barely more than a whisper, the words torn from me like a confession.
“I know,” he says, his thumb brushing over my cheek, his touch soft but commanding, like he knows I won’t pull away. “But you don’t need to be. It’s not like you’re alone. I’m here, and I’ll take care of you.” he adds with a devious smirk.
I know it’s fucked up, but I can’t help but cling to him. To his words. He’s the only solid thing in this swirling vortex of fear and confusion, the only thing that makes sense, even if everything about this is wrong.
“Caius…” I don’t know what I’m asking for or what I need, but his name is a plea on my lips, a desperate whisper that betrays just how lost I really am.
He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he pulls me closer, his arms wrapping around me, holding me against his chest. His heartbeat is steady beneath my ear, a comforting rhythm that I latch onto, my fingers clutching at his shirt as if he’s the only thing keeping me from falling apart.
And maybe he is. Maybe that’s the scariest part of all.
He tilts my chin up, forcing me to look at him. “Here,” he adds as he reaches for the small baggy of cocaine on his nightstand and dumps a small amount onto his hand. He holds it out to me, flat in his palm, and the world narrows down to that tiny, perfect mound. My breath catches, and I lean in, my nose brushing against his skin as I close the distance.
The coke hits my nostril, sharp and immediate, and I inhale, deep and slow, letting it burn its way up into my head. My eyes flutter shut just as Caius takes a hit himself. In the darkness, the world seems to be spinning around me, and when I open them again, everything is brighter, clearer. My body feels like it’s humming, every nerve alive and on fire. I can taste the bitterness in the back of my throat and feel the rush as it slams into my brain, sending a shockwave through me.
I glance up at Caius just as his hand returns to cup my face, and I kiss his palm, slow and deliberate, tasting the salt of his skin mixed with the remnants of the cocaine. He smirks down at me, and I can see it in his eyes—he’s just as high, just as caught up in this moment as I am. And I know he’s got more planned for us tonight, something darker, something dangerous. And I’m ready.
I’m always ready when it’s with him.
The intensity in his eyes steals the breath from my lungs as I take his finger into my mouth. Sucking and lapping my tongue around it. There’s something raw and primal in his gaze, making my heart race and my blood pound violently in my veins. It’s a mirror of the same desire flowing through me. A hunger for him, despite how wrong I know it is.
“I need you, Tatum,” he says, his voice low and rough, like he’s barely holding himself together. “I fucking need you with me, in this, in fucking everything.”
His words send a jolt of electricity through me, a spark that ignites something deep inside, something I didn’t even know was there. It terrifies me, but it also draws me in, pulls me closer to him, like I’m being dragged into the darkness by some invisible force. And maybe I am. Maybe that’s exactly what this is—an inevitable descent into something I can’t control, can’t escape.
But right now, I don’t want to escape. I don’t want to fight it. I want to lose myself in him, in this moment, in the twisted, fucked-up connection we share. Because even though it scares me, it’s also the only thing that feels real right now.
It’s the only thing I have left.
I don’t know who moves first. I don’t know if it’s him or me, but suddenly his lips are on mine, hot and demanding, and everything else falls away. It’s like a dam breaking, a flood of emotion and need that sweeps me under, drowning out everything but the feel of him, the taste of him, the way his hands grip my hips like he can’t get enough.
I respond without thinking, my hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, deeper, as if I can somehow merge with him, become one with the darkness that’s been clawing at the edges of my mind. His kiss is rough, almost punishing, but I don’t care. I need this, need him, need to feel something other than the fear and grief that’s been eating away at me.
“Tatum,” he growls, his voice rough and low, sending a jolt of electricity straight through me. I shift, straddling him, the sheets falling away as I press my body against his. The cut on my arm stings with the movement, a sharp reminder of last night, but I don’t care. I break the kiss and lean down, my lips brushing against his ear, and I whisper, “I’m yours, Caius. Only yours.”
Something snaps in him, and suddenly, he’s on top of me, flipping us with a speed that leaves me breathless. His weight pins me down, his hands rough as they skim over my body, and I can feel the desperation in his touch.
His mouth is on mine, brutal and demanding, and I kiss him back with equal ferocity, needing him to feel what I’m feeling. Every nerve in my body is on fire, the coke amplifying everything. My hands find their way back to his hair, tugging, pulling, trying to ground myself as he presses me into the mattress, his body a solid, overwhelming presence above me.
When he breaks the kiss, he’s breathing hard, his eyes wild as they rake over me. “Why’d you do it?” he asks, his voice tight, almost choked. He’s looking at the bandage on my arm, his fingers tracing the edge, and there’s something in his gaze that makes my heart clench.
“You wanted me to,” I reply, my voice trembling but steady. “Because you’re all I have left. Because we only have each other,”
He doesn’t say anything, but I can see the storm brewing in his eyes, the conflict raging inside him. He’s angry—angry that I hurt myself, angry that he wanted it, angry that he wants me so much—and it all pours out in the way he moves, the way he claims me. Then, without warning, he’s kissing me again, harder this time, like he’s trying to erase the pain, the doubt, with his mouth. His hands are everywhere, rough and demanding, and I let him take what he needs, my body arching into his touch, desperate for the connection and release that only he can give me.
His hands slide under my shirt, rough and demanding, his touch searing against my skin, a soft moan escaping my lips. It’s too much and not enough all at once, a dizzying whirl of sensation that makes my head spin and my body tremble with a need I don’t fully understand.
