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“Exactly,” his nostrils flare, and as Manasseh inhales deeply, his shirt molds onto his shoulders and pectorals, as though the fabric's resilience is about to give way, no matter how expensive it might be. “All that's left for me is revenge, and it's no secret that I plan to play everyone like puppets until not a single one who wronged me remains standing.” I hear his heavy breath, and I feel the intensity of his massive body, which engulfs me, corners me like a wild, hungry animal. “I want everyone to know what awaits them. I want them to know that I'm ready and that they should fear me. I want you to know as well.”
“That's doesn’t sound like you,” I breathe through my lips, because breathing through my nose doesn’t feel enough. “Not long ago, you wouldn't engage in discussions when you were angry. Now, all of a sudden, you calculate every move, just to come out on top and win easily?”
He puzzles me.
Why would Manasseh want to take revenge on everyone?
He has always had everything he desired, he was a spoiled asshole. He didn't know what hunger felt like, bills, the weight of a job, what it's like to start from scratch every time things seem to fall apart around you. He isn't like that. He cares about his reputation and wants to be well-regarded by everyone, even though he has a darkness within, something only a few around him know. A few, including me... maybe better than anyone else.
Now everything has changed. Manasseh hates everyone, from one end to the other, and especially Samael, just like always.
At least one thing hasn't changed.
I've been confused ever since the night of the match, because I knew his fighting technique and impulsiveness used to define him, not this lethal calmness that terrifies me.
“Things have changed, as you’ve said. I’ve changed,” he looks directly into my eyes, and the certainty in his tone sends shivers down my spine, as if he had read my thoughts. “We're going to play a game.”
“I've had enough of your games!”
“I didn't ask for your opinion, I told you. What did you expect? That I would return to you without a plan?”
“Besides the plan to ruin my life? Sometimes I feel like you were born for this role.”
“You flatter me! If you had listened to me, maybe your agony would have been more enjoyable. When I came back for you, I knew you’d do the exact opposite. You're the queen, Becca. Congratulations!” He looks at me with such a somber gaze that I lose my composure and break eye contact.
“I don't want to be a queen. I'm fine the way I am.”
“The way you are? You weren't born to remain a nobody. Have a bit of ambition.”
“I don't want it.”
“It's not like you have a choice. That's why I chose you and waited for this moment for five damn years. I'm more ready than ever to play. I'm in the prime of my life. Young, wealthy, and with a libido that can fuck anything moving in that damn Matlock. There was a time when I didn't care at all who or how I had sex with. From fresh and legal students to devoted housewives, and even divorced women hungry for a good cock. Yet, I was so fucking bored. I always felt like something was missing... something I desired so much in the past. That's when I knew I had to find you.”
“So, you searched for me because you were bored and had no one left to screw?” I'm shocked by his candidness.
“I searched for you because I wondered if you were that missing piece. After the night of the match, after I felt your sweet pussy against my lips, the way you clung around my cock, I knew. It wasn't just sex; it was a revelation. Everything changed, and I realized I made the right decision.”
I'm perplexed. He is fully sober now? These are his thoughts, untainted by any alcohol.
“You're obsessed,” I shudder as his filthy way of speaking reaches my ears.
“Only with you,” he grips my chin and presses his lips against my cheek, trailing towards my ear. “I knew you had to stand by my side when I take my rightful place,” Manasseh whispers, nibbling gently on my earlobe.
My stomach clenches with a painful sensation, and the feeling of hunger irritates me so intensely that I instinctively place my hand on my womb. Manasseh catches it and reciprocates with a touch of his own.
“I've never understood your obsession, no matter how hard I’ve tried” I say as I let him touch my womb. His uncommon gesture carries my thoughts to distant places as his broad palm tenderly strokes me.
“After you find out, you won't be able to complain or smile anymore,” he muses, and I pull his hand away as a cold sensation sprouts in my chest.
“Why?” I stand my ground, looking at him with intrigue, lifting my chin and gazing up at him. I'm about a meter and a half tall, while he probably stands at around two meters.
He snorts loudly through his nose. I sense his breath, a blend of strength and tobacco, that I could tell from a million, and that I will forever associate with him. Marlboro, those strong cigarettes his father used to bring from Romania during our high school days. Manasseh would secretly steal them and smoke them at his window, conveniently located opposite my room. Back then, I frequently caught him, silently puffing away and staring in the direction of my bedroom. He would acknowledge me with a quick nod when our eyes met, and after I slid under the covers and drifted into sleep, I'd have this feeling that his gaze still trailed me, as if his chilly, inhuman, gray eyes had the ability to penetrate walls and be so close that I could almost feel his breath on the back of my neck.
“Because your mouth will be too busy with my cock, and I will fill it all with my seed,” he grins, satisfied and tickled in his pride, impatient for me to ask him. “Or maybe it would be a shame to waste it, and make you a kid instead. Someone needs to carry my name.”
“No way!” I cover my belly and his thoughts start to scare me. “Children are only made if you are in love. Are you in love with me?” my mouth talks before my brain could catch up and I sound like a dumb teenager.
Manasseh snorts.
