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My heart pounds in my chest, a slow dread snaking up my spine as I chase a truth I’m not sure I can even handle.
“Where is he?” I say cautiously.
“Here. In the basement.”
“He’s here?” I yelp, my voice rising an entire octave. “He’s here and we’re justcasuallyin the pool having a midnight dip? What the fuck Byzantine?” I try to pull away but he wraps his arm around my waist, preventing me from moving. “What are you going to do to him?”
But I already know the answer, don’t I? Reality crashes into me, and I chastise myself for having forgotten, even for a second, what this man does for a living.
I can’t help but wince when he cradles my cheek with his hand, his eyes desperate as they search mine.
“What did you expect, Sunny? He could have hurt you. He deserves what’s coming to him,” he says cooly, his jaw hard.
“Which is?” I ask, already knowing damn well what he’s going to say but needing to hear it anyway. He doesn’t respond, his every intention etched into the scowl he’s glaring at me with.
“What happened to killing only the people who deserved it?” I say, a small tremble to my voice.
This time he answers. "He deserves much more than death, little sun. He put you in danger—and I protect what’s mine.”
A sick thrill zips through me, hearing him speak with such intent, prompting me to question every single one of my morals as I make space for this new reality glaring back at me.
Still I try to stand my ground but I can already feel my morality slipping through my fingers, especially when Byzantine is staring at me with such heat it burns to even look at him.
“So that’s it then? I don’t want you to kill anyone for me Byzantine. That’s fucking insane—”
“He’s dying either way, Sunny. Whether you agree with it or not. It’s done. No one threatens you and gets to live,” he declares, his voice final as he shrugs his shoulders, a movement so goddamn anodyne for what he just said.
I knew this. I’vebeenknowing this. But this is the first time he’s made me confront the truth since the first night we met. And while I wrestle with my own sense of virtue, I also understand why Byzantine is forcing this on me.
He’s forcing me to see him completely. Every ugly piece of him. I needed a reminder of who he is when he’s not being the Byzantine I've become so entranced with. Someone who’s convinced me and even proven to me that the last thing he would ever do is hurt me.
Fuck—am I okay with this?
What does it make me if I am? What kind of person condones this type of behavior and gets to live a happy life? Are those two things even mutually exclusive? I don’t even know if that’s how karma even works.
“So you just left him alone in the basement?” I finally say.
“I had more important things to do.”
“Which were?” I ask incredulously.
“Driving you home,” he says, pulling me into his hard wet body and my legs automatically wrap around his waist. “Having a taste of your sweet fucking cunt,” he growls, suddenly flipping us around and plopping me on the edge of the pool.
A million thoughts explode inside me but I can’t pinpoint any one of them as my brain melts from Byzantine’s thumb on my clit. God, I’m so fucked.
And what does that make him?
Equally fucked.
I peer down at him, his head now cradled between my open thighs.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I ask, my voice breathless.
He smirks as his eyes grow hooded.
“Distracting you,” he drawls, seconds before the flat of his tongue licks broad strokes against my pussy and I let out a low whimper, opening my legs even wider, my thighs already shaking with lust. I close my eyes, trying to catch my breath, my head falling between my shoulders, sinking into the sensation he’s administrating.
My body is wound so tight that it doesn't take long for me to find myself on the edge of elation. And as his fingers slide into me, I fleetingly promise to feel guilty about the man in the basement later. Byzantine makes me lose all sense of reason. And it’s then that I realize I will crave his touch for lifetimes to come.
