When I feel thick arms wrap around me, his scent invades me. Instead of turning away, I bury into him. I know I should be screaming, shouting, but I feel safe wrapped in his arms, my mind too unfocused to separate the past and the present.
My breath hitches, hiccupping. I tilt my head up, locking gazes with those black eyes, and press my lips against his. He’s unsure, keeping his mouth still, unmoving. I pull back, capturing my lip between my teeth and wishing I could read his thoughts.
“Please.” I want him to get rid of this feeling burying deep inside of me, knowing he’s the only one who can release me from it.
I hold his face between my hands, crushing my lips to his, melding them together, giving him no choice but to accept it. Little by little, his hand glides up my neck. I pull back when his other slides into my hair, holding tight, before his lips devour mine, as if he’s starved for me, one taste setting his craving wild. The thought rips a moan from my lips.
“Lilliana,” he whispers across my lips. The soft way he says it brings all the pain flooding to the surface. I blink at him, and all the words become lost when I witness the intensity, he’s looking at me with, sending a shiver down my spine, goose-bumps covering my body. He looks like Malachi. My Malachi.
I squeeze my eyes shut, and a single tear escapes. It’s too much. I don’t want gentle or soft.
He seems to understand my silent pleas, because his fingers dig into my hips, causing another moan. He rolls on top, pushing up on his arms, causing every muscle to go taut before a low growl escapes him. The softness he held in his eyes disappears like a shadow in the night. The glimpse of Malachi disappears under the sinister features of Prince, proving it’s an illusion.
He lifts my hips, making me cry out as he enters me in one harsh movement. Pain and pleasure start to take over me as he pumps harder, my nails dragging down his back, making him hiss as I try to hold on to this feeling. As if he's my gravity, the feeling only he brings out comes alive, burning through me. As if the flames of hell themselves are burning inside him, the lick of his tongue on my neck connects to every fibre, igniting sparks, and the fire grows into an inferno. Back is the tidal wave of hurt, desperation, fear and desire, crashing over us with each thrust of our hips. My eyes flutter open to see every muscle bunched tight, sweat glistening on his skin, the tendons in his neck taut, his head chucked back, pure, raw desire covering his features. A deep groan escapes his swollen lips. As if he can sense my gaze, his head falls forward. He watches me through heavy lids, and the sight catches my breath.
“Let go,” he speaks in strangled whisper, before he leans down and bites my shoulder, enough that his teeth break the skin and I feel a trickle of blood escape. The pain mixed with dark desire causes me to scream, mumble words that make no sense as stars dance in front of me. My body floats to a place that is no longer here nor there, a place where nothing exists. Pure ecstasy fills my veins, pulling another moan from my lips, until our ragged breathing is the lone sound that fills the room.
When I feel thick fingers move my wet hair from my forehead, I can't help but look up at him.
“He came for money, didn’t he?” It isn’t a question, more of a statement.
His fingers drop at my words. He sits at the edge of the bed, his body turning rock solid.
“Yes.” His voice carries that threatening undercurrent, telling me not to ask the questions I won't like the answers to. He stands, putting his clothes back on, never once looking at me. He strides across the room, his hand settling on the door handle.
“He’s in trouble, isn’t he?”
He shakes his head before looking over his shoulder at me, burning with rage. I can feel the tension from here.
“Why do you still care?” He spits every word, covered in disgust, making his lips curl as if the words leave a bitter taste.
Pulling the sheet up to my neck, I look at him. “Because…” I’m messed up, twisted and bent in a way that can never be fixed. I can’t tell my heart to stop loving him no matter how many times he breaks it. Because if he didn’t love me, who would? Who could? Because my biggest fear is being alone in this world, lost, without hope. Because I feel responsible.
“He’s pissed off too many people.” I nod before turning on my side, knowing what he is telling me. Jack is on borrowed time. His last hand has been dealt. He’s gambled with his life and lost.
It’s a while later when I hear Malachi’s car start up, the deep roar cutting through the quiet of the night, before it becomes a distant hum.
16
Prince
Who knew tears of sorrow tasted so sweet?
17
Lilliana
I wake to three loud bangs on my door, before Declan marches in, Marcus on his heels.
“The police are here!” Declan hisses at me, his voice low, deadly. One thing the Kingstons hate more than anything is the police sniffing around, sticking their noses in stuff. Snitching on the Kingstons ended with you going missing. I know Gage has some policemen in his pockets. I wouldn’t be surprised if he also has MPs and some of the government divisions working for him. The fact that these have gotten past security worries even me.
“I haven’t talked,” I say, keeping my eyes on Declan. Even as a kid he pulled something out in me, a survival instinct where my gut screamed to run, that he was bad. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as if sensing the danger this man possesses. After the last few weeks, I know how strong his backhand is.
His eyes narrow, before a sinister smirk slides across his face. “You’d better be telling the truth.” He pulls a butterfly blade out, swirling it around his fingers, the threat not needed to be spoken. “Get up.”
My eyes ping-pong between him and the door, which Marcus stands in front of. “Can you leave? Please?” His smirk grows as he shakes his head, and I feel the heat creeping up my cheeks. As I stand, naked as the day I was born, Marcus’ eyes fix on Declan, and for that I’m grateful, but Declan stands closer. Using the tip of his knife, he glides the blade down the middle of my breasts. I close my eyes to block out the image, but it just heightens everything I am feeling: the coldness of the blade against my skin, his rough breathing, the brush of material against my legs as he stands closer.
Suddenly, I'm pushed against the wall with a thud, leaving me gasping for air. My eyes pop open to see Declan so close I can see my reflection in his eyes, the sharpness of the blade at my throat. Is this how I'm going to die? I feel the blade start to pierce my skin.
“Think I would touch a cunt like you?” he growls, pushing the blade in further, causing a droplet of blood to fall.
“Man, are you crazy? The police are downstairs wanting to talk to her.” I shift my eyes to see Marcus’ gaze on my neck, and hold my breath, fearing whether the blade will dig in deeper.
Declan’s crazed eyes come back to me, before he releases the blade. I hold my throat, gasping for breath. Just as I gain it, it’s stolen again immediately with a punch to my ribs, sending me to my knees.
“Remember who owns you, bitch.” Declan spits on the floor next to me, but it wasn’t him who punched me, it was Marcus. I bite back the tears that swim in my eyes. I stand on shaky legs, using the wall for support as I take in a deep breath, which causes a stabbing pain in my left side.