Mom squints at me over her morning coffee. “Did you go to work last night?”
“Uhhhh—” I say as I rack my brain for something to say.
Sorry, the scary murdery hottie a few doors down said I can’t go there anymore!
“Are you feeling okay?” She beckons me over and puts a hand on my forehead. “Any strange menstrual issues?”
“I’m fine, Mom. Don’t start doing the whole folk medicine thing on me again.”
“If you’d listen, you’d never get sick a day in your life.”
“I don’t think it actually works that way.”
She waves me off. “I’m the perfect example. I rolled my eyes at all the tricks my momma taught me, and here I am, sick as sick gets.”
“Alright, alright, I’ll put garlic in my shoes or whatever.”
“Don’t give me that.” She glares and gestures with her coffee mug. “Did you make an appointment to see your doctor yet?”
“Not yet. But I will.”
“I’m sure.”
She doesn’t press after that, fortunately. I hate lying to her. I didn’t have much of a problem with it back in my younger days when I was sneaking out to break into abandoned buildings and stuff like that, but these days it’s a lot harder. How am I supposed to live with myself if she dies believing some stupid lie I told her? It just feels wrong.
This whole mortality thing really screws up my vibe.
But since I don’t have a job anymore, I have time to clean up the apartment. I start with the bathrooms, move on to the kitchen, and only pause to tell Vadim to go to the grocery store.
“No can do. I have an important meeting.”
“Nothing you do is important.”
“Great chatting, sister.”
He disappears, and since I can’t go anywhere right now on account of the scary hot murder neighbor, I send Dad the grocery list and hope he can stop on his way home from work. Asshole Vadim.
I know all this cleaning and busy housework is just my anxiety taking over. Every time my phone so much as appears in my visual field, I start thinking about Arsen and the way he was looking at me last night before I got sick—like he wanted to wrap his hands around my throat and squeeze until I turned purple and my eyes popped like balloons. And the way he was looking after, like he wanted to shove his tongue down my throat and hold me and pet my hair until I felt better.
Really fucking bizarre, if I’m honest.
And I don’t know what to think anymore. I can’t tell if he’s going to kill me or try his awkward best to take care of me. The guy clearly didn’t know what to do once I started puking, but he was so earnestly trying to help that I actually found it endearing in a creepy sort of way. I mean, I saw him shoot someone in the skull. I saw him execute my boss.
And then I ralphed in his bathroom.
It’s all a mess. I clean the sink and scrub the oven. Mom scolds me for doing too much, so I fold all my underwear and vacuum every single corner I can find. Until finally, my phone lights up, and I yelp when a text appears from an unknown number.
Come over. We need to talk.
I’m trembling when I look in the mirror. My hair’s a curly, ratty mess, and the stupid little stud in my nose is slightly off-center. I’m in black Adidas sweats and a tight thermal top with no bra on. My nipples are hard for some reason.
Fuck it. Whatever. I pull back my hair to keep it from my face, tell my mother I’ll be back soon, and walk down the hall. Another funeral march.
“I don’t know what to do with you,” Arsen says when he welcomes me into his place. It’s weird, the way he changed it since I was last here. Aside from the general lack of mess, there are paintings on the wall, generic landscapes I couldn’t pick out of a lineup, but still. An attempt at personalizing an otherwise barren space.
“Don’t do anything with me.” I stand nervously near the couch, sit down on the arm, lose my balance and rock back, then jump to my feet. I’m getting all twitchy and annoying again. Get it together, Lena. “We can just call this a wash. I already quit Shade.”
“That’s a start.” He’s staring at me. There’s something else bothering him, like he’s not quite in the room, but his gaze keeps moving down my body. It lingers on my chest, and I like how he licks his lips. A flush fills my skin, thinking of what he can do with that mouth.
“What can I do to convince you? How about you take my brother as a hostage?”
“I don’t want your brother.”
“Yeah, I can’t blame you, nobody really does.”
“I want you.”
He steps toward me. A cold thrill runs down my spine. It’s half horror and half primal excitement. Hooray, the murderer wants to fuck me.
Why is that weirdly hot?
“You know I can’t turn you down,” I whisper, because it’s true. He wants to fuck me? Okay, fine, fuck me, anything to keep him from killing me. That confuses things since I want him to fuck me too. I just also have to. Maybe he doesn’t care.
“You can. You’re free to do anything you want.”
“Then you might get mad and kill me. See the problem?”
“I’m not going to kill you, Lena,” he says, voice husky and low.
“Fine. Good. That’s wonderful. So I can walk out of here?”
“Yes.”
“No strings attached?”
“Stay away from Shade. Find a job far away from that place. Don’t ever speak to anyone from that club again. But aside from that, no strings.”
I’m breathing fast. I touch my top lip with my tongue and shift past him. “Then from here on, I don’t know you, I’ve never seen you, and I won’t ever say anything about you to anyone.”
“If that’s what you want.” He’s staring at me as I shuffle down the hall. His big, muscular body doesn’t yield to me, and I’m forced to the wall to slip away. He turns to stare at me but doesn’t reach out.
“Goodbye.” I reach the door. My heart’s pounding. Is this what I want? He looks so good it’s obscene. His tight Henley shirt’s unbuttoned, showing off a bit of ink and a little scar. His hair’s swept back in a gorgeous wave, and he’s got that incredible mouth. And I know what sort of things he can do with it.
I hesitate. I shouldn’t, but I do. I don’t grab the door and yank it open, and maybe that’s why he does it.
But he reaches for me just as I turn to look at him again.
His fingers brush my cheek. I stare, mouth opening. His palm cups my cheek and slowly moves back into my hair.
I could jerk away and tell him to stop. Some part of me knows I should.
His hand grips hard, and I gasp.
“Tell me you want it,” he whispers through his teeth. “Tell me, Lena, and I’ll fuck you until your messy little pussy comes all over my bed tonight.”
“That’s what you want from me?”
“I want to feel you come and listen to your moans. I want your mouth around my cock.”
“And what if I don’t want that?”
“Then get out. But if you stay—” He leaves that last part empty. It hangs between us. The promise of what he’s going to do to me.
This whole situation is beyond fucked.
I step forward into him and he leans down to kiss me, but I’m already moving up to meet him, and our mouths clash together. It’s ungainly, awkward, and I’m so fucking hungry I don’t even care. The kiss is teeth and tongues and lips, and he pulls me against him tight as he steers us both back into his apartment.
The bed has sheets this time. I notice that, but not much else. He undresses me and worships my body as he does it, murmuring about how good my nipples taste as he licks them and how beautiful my hips are as he kisses them and how much he likes making me squirm and moan and beg for him as his tongue licks up and down my pussy.
And he’s right: I squirm and moan and beg, I gasp his name as my back arches, and I push against him harder as his fingers glide inside of me. He works my clit with his tongue, and it’s too much. The terror of the last day slams headfirst into the almost divine bliss of his skilled mouth and I come way faster than I ever thought possible, shivering and shaking underneath him.
“That’s my girl,” he says, pressing two wet fingers into my mouth. I suck them, whimpering. Why the hell do I like hearing that so much? He undresses and guides me by the hair until his cock’s in my mouth, and I suck him like I want his approval, like I need him to be proud of me. I slurp and lick, gliding him as far into my throat as I can, and it’s absurdly satisfying when he moans my name in that low bass rumble of his. He pulls me back, eyes burning as he drags me onto the bed, and he pins me down until his cock fills me to the brim.
I grind into him. I’m sweating and I don’t care. He fucks me, kissing my neck and breasts, thrusting slow and deep until my breaths and gasps speed up and he speeds up too.
“This is all I want, right here,” he whispers, filling me again and again, my hands pressed against the headboard. “Your wet, soaking pussy feels so fucking good. You’re a filthy girl for me, aren’t you? You love to get filled to the brim, you dirty fucking girl.”
“Yeeeessssss,” I moan, arching into him. “Keep going.”
He grips my hips and plunges in. Fuck, it feels so good. I’m riding right on the edge, my brain a mess of bliss.
“You couldn’t resist letting me fuck you again. You want me in your mouth, in your pussy, between your tits, deep in your ass, wherever I fucking want. You want to give yourself to me. You want me to wreck you, don’t you, baby?”
That does it. He hits every note and I’m done. I shatter under his fingers and come so hard I can barely breathe, and he’s not too far behind. I feel him stiffen and his warmth fills my pussy. I pull him down in a clumsy embrace and kiss him with wet and hungry lips.
We stay tangled like that. I’m grinning like an idiot, floating in midair.
That was good. It was so, so good, and maybe it’s a mistake but I don’t care.
I’m happy.
Until I feel it again.
And my smile disappears.
“Uh-oh,” I say.
“What?” he mumbles.
“I’m sorry.” I push him away and scramble out of bed. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry!” I run away, butt-ass naked, and throw myself into the bathroom.
Just in time to puke my guts up again.
