As he stops in front of her, his tall, broad frame overshadows her and presses against hers very boldly as he reaches for the refrigerator beside her. She sucks in a sharp breath, her head tilted right back as his red orbs stay fixed on hers. Without them breaking eye contact, he reaches inside for a bottle of water, his jaw flexing with every chew of his gum. His expression is blank, but the intensity pours from him as if darkness is seeping from his pores and suffocating the room. He is clearly unbothered that he is intimidating the fuck out of her, and I can’t help but grin at the sight.
When he has the bottle, his eyes gradually move down to the swell of her breasts before he steps back, turning around and returning to his bedroom. The air is thick with unspoken tension, and Blush’s breath comes out in a shaky exhale before she looks at me with expanded eyes.
“I think I need to change my panties.” She says in the most serious tone, and I can’t help but laugh.
“Please, Noir.” She begs once again, and I think about it before giving a small nod. “Fine. But I’m not staying for long.”
She squeals, “Be ready for eight pm.”
With that she walks out with a spring in her step, and I sink back into my chair, lost in stillness. When the door opens, I don’t look until Soul comes into view.
He tosses a small box onto the table in front of me, “Madame said to give these to you.”
I lean forward, reaching for it, noticing it’s the anti-depressants I asked for, and a wave of relief sweeps over me.
“Thanks,” I say when my eyes reach his. He gives a small nod before walking away, leaving me staring at the box blankly.
It’s early evening, and I walk into my bedroom after a long day of plotting another hit for a client. The music blares, and Dolly’s perfume assaults my senses, a heady mix of sweetness and danger. I hear her singing along to the tune playing from the bathroom, the door left open. I peel off my leather jacket, tossing it onto the bed before pulling my hoodie over my head. When I am finished, I stride toward the bathroom door, peeking around the frame with one eye.
My gaze travels down the length of her back as she leans over the sink, scrutinizing her reflection in the mirror while doing her makeup. She’s wearing a tiny black, skintight mini dress with thin straps on her shoulders, paired with her usual black platform boots. Her blonde hair, thick and loosely curled tonight, cascades down her back to her ass.
When she stands straight, I notice she has long black, silk gloves that reach up to her upper arms, covering her pain from the other night.I start wondering what she is up to until she turns around, and I dip back, leaning against the wall, thinking how to confront her.
Beside me, I spot a small white box on the chest of drawers, and I gently reach over. I lift it before bringing it in front of me, my eyes scanning over the text and realizing they’re anti-depressants. I open the box, seeing she has already taken two, and then place it back down.
A heavy sigh escapes my lips as I feel the weight of the past few days pressing down on me. Since the other night, I have had to withdraw from things to assess them for what they are. The words she said to me, even if she was clearly out of her fucking mind and not remembering she said them, they rocked me. They have made me think I might not be right for her, even if I feel like she is the other part of me. It makes me believe those words that were spoken were still from somewhere deep within her and they had truth in them.
I am a violent asshole, I know this, but if something has happened to my Little Dolly prior to her meeting me, am I just adding to her fucking trauma? Am I just like “them” as she said? I guess some form of guilt is creeping in. Something I’ve never felt before, but it just shows what this girl does to me. There’s a war within myself because it seems like she likes who and what I am whenever we’re together which has me fucking conflicted. I know, soon, I am going to have to speak to her about it, but only when she is feeling herself. I don’t want her having another psychotic episode.
The way I was so rough with her when internally she has been so broken makes me shudder. I’ve done terrible things and hurt people without a second fucking thought, but with her, it’s different. I care about her in a way that fucking scares me. Yeah, me, the man who has never been afraid of shit in his life. The man who kills people for a fucking living in the most horrific ways without feeling a single ounce of remorse.
I run a hand through my black, curly hair, frustration bubbling to the surface. When she suddenly walks in, she doesn't see me, and I watch her every move while she leans over the bed, reaching for her small black bag with a shoulder chain. My eyesmove down her again, knowing I have been unfair by being so closed off.
“Going somewhere?” I say, my voice low and deep.
Her body jolts before she spins around to face me. She lifts a brow in defiance, clearly annoyed with how I have been.
“I'm going out for a few hours with Blush,” she responds, sliding the chain of her bag up her arm.
I push myself away from the wall and take slow, intimidating steps toward her, noticing how her breathing has picked up, but her chin is raised with confidence. When I stop in front of her, I take in her pretty face, the black makeup decorating her blue eyes, making her iris’s pop. Her full lips, glossed, draw my attention and I find myself wanting to slide my dick between them for looking so goddamn beautiful. She tries to pass me, but I grab her upper arm, pulling her back in front of me.
“Now you want to bother with me, Hell?” she asks, hurt flashing across her features although she tries not to show it.
I move my hand up the curve of her back until it's on the nape of her neck, and she cranes her head as I speak over her lips. “Tell me, Dolly, do you like the way I fuck you?” I ask, my voice a growl.
She searches my eyes, “Yes,” she whispers without hesitation.
“Why?”
She thinks about it for a moment, her eyes scanning mine. “Because you're the first man I've met in my entire life that I fully trust,” she breathes out honestly. “You're the first man who has ever given me not only the pain I crave but the beautiful bliss that comes with it. In your presence, the ache in my heart is replaced with your agonizing pleasure. I am safe, even if safety hurts like hell.”
My eyes close as I rest my forehead against hers, allowing her to continue. “At first, I was skeptical. I felt like it wasn't right, like I was wrong for wanting it as much as I did.” I open my eyes and stare into hers, the intensity of her words striking me. “But then I realized, it was okay to give in to your dark desire for the man you trust and...” She pauses for a moment, taking a deep inhale, “You show me there is a twisted form of good in you, when you don’t show it to anyone else. It makes me feel..”
I lift my head, my gaze scanning her face, wondering if this is the truth and she slides her hands up my chest. “You make me feel things my cold insides have never felt, Hell.Fire.When I feel dead, you have always made me feel alive again. You breathe life back into my soul every fucking time we're together and when you touch me.”
I take in her words carefully before asking something else that weighs heavily on me. “Why do you like receiving pain, Noir?” My eyes bore into hers, and she inhales sharply before facing aside.
“What makes you think there is a reason?” she responds, her voice barely above a whisper. I don't answer immediately, my gaze fixed on her pretty side profile as she tries to avoid eye contact.
