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“I do.”
“Taking a life is not as easy as you might think,” I add, not that it applies to me. See, people are susceptible to the fallacy that taking a life is easy; when faced with that choice, though, they freeze up. “I don’t mind the bruises, baby, but do you really think you can actually take my life if given the opportunity?”
My words must strike him as a joke as he bursts out laughing, the thrashing beneath me ceasing at once. His body slackens, almost relaxed.
“Jesus,” he mutters as his laughter dies down, “get off your fucking high horse.”
My jaw clenches, face setting into stone as I peer down at the complete mockery he has turned me into.
“You really believe I haven’t killed anyone?”
Ah, fuck me.
Of course he has… Of-fucking-course Adrian fucking Summers has killed someone before. I don’t know whether I should be turned on or disappointed at the fact that I didn’t even consider the possibility. The misjudgment on my side is unacceptable. What is acceptable, however, is how hard the thought makes me.
“Who’d you kill?” I ask as a devilish grin returns to my face. “You finally had enough of that irritating friend of yours. Hm?”
“What does it matter?” he claims, hesitation flickering across his face, but I refuse to let him shut down now. I lean in, fist knotting in his shirt, dragging him closer until the air between us feels thinned.
“Don’t leave me hanging, baby,” I add, as the other hand grabs a fistful of his hair above his head, tilting it back as to expose his neck. “You really going to edge me like this and not tell me?”
Adrian lets out a strangled gasp he tries so hard to hide as my mouth connects to his skin. I patiently wait for him to spit back his usual lines like, shut the fuck up or get off me, you bastard. Instead, I’m met with dead eyes bursting with greenery so electrifying I swear the light boxes die out.
“My father,” his voice is almost a whisper but clear as fucking day.
I furrow my brows, pulling back slightly. “Thought that was suicide.”
“So they say,” he replies, still biting back the information before evidently spilling this apparently very well-kept secret. “He tried to get back in contact with me after he was released from jail.”
“You ran back to daddy with open arms?”
“The fuck I did,” Adrian protests, seeming almost offended by my notions, and it makes him so much fucking hotter. Shit, I can barely contain myself.
“I didn’t want to see his fucking face…” he continues, shifting at the wires still coiled around his arms, back arching to accommodate the limbs. “But he kept on reaching out again and again and fucking again.”
“Hm, then what did you do?” I ask, trailing the tips of my fingers down the side of his face and over his collarbone, mapping every dip in his skin, the way his pulse quickens.
Adrian sucks in a breath, eyes now following my every movement. “I agreed to meet up with him; I don’t know why. I just did, but when I got there—”
“Yeah, yeah. Details, details,” I scoff, “tell me how you killed him.” My thumb brushes over his Adam's apple.
He groans, glaring up at me, “You sick bastard,” but despite the insult, the corner of his mouth betrays him, pulling into a smile he tries very hard to hide.
Every time he tries to convince himself we’re nothing alike, his body quietly argues the opposite. The dry remarks. The way he never quite walks away. The spark that flashes through those toxic green eyes whenever I push him just a little too far.
He wants to believe I’m the anomaly. He has claimed me the problem, a monster even. But I’ve seen enough to know better.
Adrian isn’t repulsed by me. If anything, he’s fascinated.
More than that, he understands me, and that’s the dangerous part, because I understand him too.
“You really want to know?” he asks, and is that teasing I’m hearing?
“Pretty please,” I say, tilting my head and biting down on my bottom lip. I let my other hand glide languidly down my chest, my abdomen, until I finally reach my destination. Adrian shudders, pupils blown wide and gaze glued to where I lazily rub my cock through the fabric of my jeans. I can feel him swallow under my fingertips. He looks so mesmerized with his parted, spit-slick lips.
“Go on, baby,” I purr, and Adrian near damn fights between looking at my eyes and watching the show below. Nevertheless, he swallows again before speaking.
“I took his hunting knife.” His face falls to satisfaction as he continues his murderous tales while watching me rub myself. The corners of his mouth twitch, his heated gaze sliding up to meet mine. There’s something dangerous beneath them, like he’s melted back into the deepest, darkest corner of his mind. Like he has factory reset himself back to his most primal setting.
