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DAX AGE 19
I'M STILL BLOODY AND BRUISED FROM THE FIGHT. But I barely feel the pain. All I feel is her. Anguish darkens blue-violet eyes. I suspect Cleo only brought me here to ease her guilt. I wait for the I'm so sorry and the I never meant to hurt you to come.
To my surprise, she says nothing. Cleo simply stares back in resigned silence. There's not a shadow of denial, no bullshit, etched on her lovely features, just a bleak look of acceptance. It triggers something in me.
Why isn't she playing the victim card?
I want to see the fake tears. I want to hear a sob story. Her lies will give me something to anchor my hatred. A needle-like vice clenches my chest. Fucking hell. I don't understand why hurting her hurts me, too.
I'm a mess.
Even as pain writhes with every beat of my heart, my cock has grown harder than steel. I must be a goddamn masochist. There's no other explanation. After everything she put me through, I can't believe I'm here again with Cleo.
Back in her room.
On her bed.
As I glare down at her sinfully sweet face, I'm not sure whom I hate more right now.
Cleo?
Or myself.
Her eyes are wide, shining with emotion. Like she's holding back tears. Both hands remain locked over her head. She's pretending to be a good girl. My good fucking girl. I know better. Cleo Fitzgerald is the spawn of Satan, and she has no right to look this fuckable. No right to look so broken. I shouldn't feel sorry for her.
I should save that sympathy for myself. With the two drops of blood left in my brain, I suddenly realize: If I fuck her, it'll only fuck me up even more. But I can't seem to walk away. A twisted part of me wants to stay. I want to destroy Cleo tonight. To remind her of everything she could've had with me. Instead of him. I want her desperate, crying and begging as I rail her to the point of no return. Maybe then I'll be able to move on.
Maybe then I can forget her.
There's only one thing stopping me from carrying out this petty-ass plan for revenge, and it has everything to do with the raging boner between my legs. I still want Cleo, damn it. All it took was five seconds of fondling her perfect tits and pretty pink cunt—and I'm a goner. My dick has no shame. He's throbbing now, so painfully thick that I might die if I can't have more of her.
Fuck me.
I'm the desperate one here. I still hate being touched, but not with Cleo. I always want Cleo. My hunger has only grown. Violence used to be my oxygen. Now it's her. No matter how many breaths I suck in, it's never enough. The need for more, more, more keeps tightening around my throat like a goddamn chokehold.
