He holds back, refusing to give me more, his control the only thing that matters. He’s making me want him and it’s fucking working. His mouth claims mine with a bruising dominance, his kiss as punishing as it is everything I want, all while he continues to toy with me—only giving me the head of his cock, nothing more.
The torment overwhelms me, his shallow thrusts coaxing moans from deep in my chest, muffled against his lips. The sound of my wetness echoing into the room betrays how he’s unravelling me, piece by piece.
And then, suddenly, I feel it—his cum, hot and powerful, shooting into me and coating my walls as his body tenses against mine. The tip swells inside me, a maddening pulse just a few centimetres away from the spot where I ache for him most. The pressure coils stronger, a silent plea building inside me, but he doesn’t move deeper—doesn’t give me what I need.
His forehead presses against mine as a growl escapes his throat, steadying himself in the aftermath of his release, his breath hectic and rough as it fans across my lips.
When he’s finished, his dark eyes slowly open, locking onto mine. We hold each other’s gaze, scanning for something neither of us says aloud. The silence stretches thin, and just as I think I might speak, he pulls away without a word.
The sudden absence of his heat is jarring, and I feel cold, exposed. My legs instinctively draw together as he tucks himself back into his pants and rises. He grabs his axe, turns and strolls away, leaving me alone. I listen out for him as my mind spirals—questioning my life choices, what comes next—while my body deceives me, still desperate to come.
When he returns, Midnight is perched on his shoulder, her claws digging into his skin, but the pain doesn’t seem to bother him. Instead, he drags my suitcase into the room and my brows knit together in confusion while shifting my gaze between him and the suitcase.
“You went to my house?” I ask quietly.
He nods, “Stopped by on my way back here. Figured you’d probably need your girly shit and fresh clothes,” he says blankly before stepping toward me.
My body stiffens as he crouches but with a soft click, my wrists are free before he shoves the cuffs into his pocket. I pull my arms forward, wincing as I rub the sore skin. I glance up at him, searching his face for answers I’m not sure I want.
“Clean yourself up, freckles. I’ll be back.”
I blink expressionlessly at him, my mind numb before his hand lands on the side of my head, his thumb sweeping across my cheek with an eerie tenderness.
“Be a good girl for me and the cuffs will start to be non-existent. You can be beside me freely.”
I feel like he’s testing me, and despite the fear tightening in my chest, I’m oddly willing to play along. I give a small, reluctant nod in response. Ty watches me for a second longer as if searching for something hidden, but when he finally seems satisfied, he stands and takes Midnight with him, leaving the bathroom and locking the door behind him.
I stand on unsteady legs, trying to make sense of everything that just happened between us before I move toward the sink, hoping to get washed and into some fresh clothes.
Chapter Eleven
Ty
After washing myself and getting into some fresh sweatpants, I’ve just finished securing thick planks of wood over a window in a pretty decent room with a nail gun to trap in the warmth from the burning fireplace. I set the tool down on the floor with a quiet thud and my gaze shifts to Midnight, content as she eats from her bowl, a small makeshift bed resting beside her.
This is all temporary. In a few days, I’ll move us—me, Raven and Midnight. We’re going on a little road trip. It’s about time she sees the world, sees me, for what I really am.
The sudden chime of my phone breaks the silence, and my brows furrow as I look down. I pull it from my pocket, scanning the lit-up screen. My eyes narrow at the message:
[Messy as fucking always,, Ty.]
Who the fuck’s this?
I don’t know anyone. I don’t even have contacts on this phone—it’s the first one I’ve ever owned, and I’m barely learning how to use the fucking thing.
A faith noise from the bathroom catches my attention and my gaze snaps to the open door, my body tensing on impulse. I let out a long huff and shove the phone back into my pocket, pushing the message to the back of my mind, for now.
I storm toward the door, my mind racing with the likelihood that Kitten might be trying to escape me. My hand grasps the doorknob, and in a swift motion, I unlock it and shove it open. She flinches, jumping back instantly, her eyes wide with surprise.
I pause at the threshold, my gaze sweeping down her—still wearing my black hoodie, her legs bare except for the black socks she added. There’s a flicker of something in my chest, a mix of possessiveness and... something else. Probably the fact I still want to fuck the life out of her.
She tucks a strand of red hair behind her ear, almost revealing her raven tattoo, her movements hesitant. “I hope you weren’t expecting your hoodie back,” she says, her voice soft, her gaze avoiding mine and it takes everything in me not to smirk at how she’s trying to hide the vulnerability beneath her words.
“It’s comfortable,” she continues as she tugs it down her thighs, her chin lifting as she finally meets my eyes. There’s a quiet challenge in her gaze, a spark of defiance, and I can feel my control slipping just a little more.
I pushed her to the edge, just so she could feel what I feel every damn time I look at her. I teased her, making sure she felt every craving building between us. And I could see it in her eyes—she wanted more, needed more. She wanted me to fuck her into oblivion and make her come.
But It’s all part of my strategy, my cruel, manipulative game. Each move, each touch is a step toward making her need me, making her want every part of me—the dark, the sick, the madness in my mind. She doesn’t know it yet, but soon she’ll be tangled up in me, and when that happens, she’ll want it. All of it, not choosing to escape me.