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What is love. Love is pain. Love is butterflies and stomach aches
MACHINE GUN KELLY
Killian
Itook her chin in my fingers and gently lifted it, staring into her eyes. They looked endless in the dimly lit VIP room of my club. The club that loved her while it fucked with my head. The men, the money—it had tripled since she arrived four nights ago.
The color of the emerald green of her irises was almost black in this light. A ribbon of dark red wrapped around the edge of the room. I placed her down on the curved leather couch. Crouching over her, my eyes blazed into her broken orbs. I fucking knew this pain and it was dark, violent and she had to embrace the carnage of it to survive.
“I need you to cry,” I told her plainly. “Cry for me, you pretty little broken doll. I want to taste your beautiful tears.” She blinked against the tears brimming in her eyes, and a single, fat drop of salty liquid slid down her cheek. My cock tingled inside my dress pants. Pain was violence and my body responded to the beauty inside the violence.
I leaned closer to her, my mouth parting and my tongue dipping out between my lips, licking at her cheeks and tasting her. Desperation and fear mixed with lust in a delicious cocktail I just couldn’t resist. She looked back up at me as I smiled down at her. She raised a shaky hand toward my face as a sole, lonely, broken tear rolled from the corner of my eye, matching her own. She swiped her thumb over it as my eyes closed. Her thumb stayed pressed to the tattooed green teardrop just under my eye. “This,” she breathed out as I opened my eyes and reached for her face. The need to feel her inside the darkness as fear rippled up my spine. I had never wanted to tell anyone about my pain. I had never wanted to share the violence that broke me and made me into this dark and dangerous monster. I had never wanted to share my screams with anyone else before. Then she stumbled in and stole all of my reason. I wanted to give her a direct line to my mind, so I could get it all off my chest while she fought for her life. I wanted to talk to her for the escape she gave me.
“This is for her.” I shook my wrist side to side in front of us, still holding my weight over her tiny body.
“Her is who?” The curiosity in her voice was magical. It wasn’t demanding or laced with jealousy at the mention of a her.
She intrigued me. The veil of mystery around her made me want to break my own rules and let her in. To fall apart and let her see my fucking broken core.
“Her is my sister and she killed herself.”
“That’s devastating,” she murmured, her fingers drew little lines over my features, which were stone cold but woke up under her touch. She was waking up the monster and that would be dangerous. For us both.
“I’ve wanted to kill myself many times. I’ve wanted to die and never come back to life because life is violent, and I can’t control the darkness that lives inside.” Her lips rolled over the tumbled words, her face peaceful. Her lips were full but her words, even quiet as they were breathed between us, were also loud, screaming and so violent.
“I wish I could have made her come back to this life. I wish she trusted me enough to know I would have always tried to keep her alive. The monster inside of me would always seek her safety inside the chaos and fight for each one of her troubled breaths.”
“I feel the same. I run over all the minutes where I laid with her in my arms and wish I could turn back time. Take the pain that crippled her away, yet she always smiled through it… never wanting me to feel a ounce of what she was. Now I am running for my fucking life in a club lit in red, dancing to numb it all.” I ran my finger over the tear rolling down her cheek. She allowed them to fall freely, never ashamed to express the hurt inside. It was beautiful. She knew what it was that tormented her, and she embraced it.
“Nothing compares to the pain darkness brings and we all find our own way to numb the voices that dance over our spines, baby.” Her beautiful green eyes blinked up at me as I lowered myself closer to her lips. “I kill to numb the voices inside my head. Does that scare you?” I ask her, wanting for it to in a sick way. I wanted the chase, I wanted her to run so I could steal her, lock her away and fucking use her for my own gain inside this power trip that was me and her family.
“I’m not a game, Killian. Don’t treat me as a pawn. I will bow at your fucking knees if you asked me to because I believe in your name and signs.” She fucking wrecked me with that sentence. I pulled back away from her lips that were so close to mine. She rolled her tongue over them as my hand scrubbed through my black hair and a growl left me. I watched her transform in front of me—a butterfly with devil horns. A wife fit for a monster.
“Killian Kinahan means born by several Irish saints and I knew you would be the saint to save me from the vultures.” I watched her as she pulled her body up from the couch. Resting on her knees in front of me, her massive eyes pulled me in, and I found myself running my hand over the side of her cheek.
“And Brenyn means teardrop,” I breathed out. Her lashes fanned over her cheeks as she shut her eyes and a tear dropped from her eye, trailing slowly down her cheek. It splashed over my thumb and spread over the lines of my skin as I watched it in awe. Her eyes flicked open and the Brenyn I had just been with was gone. Enigma was in her place. Like a click of the fingers or a flick of the switch she changed, and I felt lonely. I pressed my body back into the leather of the couch as she moved over me, straddling my lap. Her hands took the side of my face in them.
“The stage is calling. I’ll be back.” She kissed my lips, hungry and fleeting, leaving a tingling burn in its wake.
“Don’t,” I snapped out as she threw her leg off me, looking at me over her shoulder. Her long black curls fell like a tidal wave over her back.
“Telling me not to would be like telling the monster in you not to kill. Now where’s the sense in that?” She raised her eyebrow at me. I smiled an evil grin at her.
“Check mate,” I muttered out as she walked from me and out into the main club. Men whistled at her and my knuckles clenched at my side. I didn’t want her to dance for them. I wanted her to dance for only me.
My drink arrived on a tray with a pack of smokes and a lighter. I twisted it through my fingers as I leaned back on the couch. My legs were hip-length apart, and like the rest of my club, I waited for her to enter the stage. The lights dimmed, the fog began, my announcer announced her arrival. The room erupted into shouts, whistles and with the click of fingers stopped, just like that. It was silent. A flash of light erupted through the room. Like lighting flashing out over a thunderous sky. Again and again—white, purple, white, purple. Meshing with the fog it gave off an eerie stormy scene. Then came the music, a new song tonight, one that matched the somber mood. A song for just us two. She knew I would feel the meaning inside it.
She fell from the roof, wrapped in soft pink silks, plummeting into the fog to the gasps of the crowd, all watching on bated breath. I watched my own devil dance for them. “Butterfly Garden” was the song, but heartbreak was the scene she set.
No pole tonight. She climbed through the silks and swung, dropped and moved like it was one with her. Absolutely fucking insane and hotter than any strip show I had ever seen. She was dressed in black fishnets, black panties and a black lace bra. She didn’t take any items off and the men were mesmerized.
I was fucking turned on and my cock was hard. Her eyes caught mine through the crowd and fog as she climbed back up the silks to hang halfway up over the stage. I watched her watch me.
Her body silhouetted with light and fog, made her feel almost dream like. An illusion of the mind. A fantasy of men hungry for lust. My fist wrapped around my cock, and I tugged on the tip. I was hard. Painfully fucking hard. My dick throbbed desperately, begged me to relieve it of a load of hot cum—squeeze it out, dump it all over the red leather of the couch I sat on. To pump my cock and with it release the fucking voices inside my head. To release the filthy thoughts of stringing her up and fucking her so hard she would cry for me to stop. I wanted to embed myself into her. Brand her with my sickness and place my evil thoughts into her mind, so that she only knew me as her home. Bad intentions with her seemed like secrets I wanted to seek. I worked my cock with fast, manic motions. I let my mind wander, as my eyes watched her watch me. She could see what I was doing, and she loved it. She knew it was for her. I was thinking of ruining her. She didn’t blink, she didn’t look away. She danced for me, teasing my orgasm from me with her mind and her body without even touching me. She was a mystery and I wanted to fucking sink my teeth into her flesh. She wanted to play games, the same games I did, and that was hot. I exhaled roughly, my palm working, pulling, tugging, getting ready to blow my load all over my hand and the leather couch of my VIP room. Fuck her, I wanted to fuck her. Right here, in this fucking dirty red room where men paid for lap dances and blow jobs. Who did just this, as I am now. Whacked off while watching my dancers tease their minds. I wanted to push her against the wall and take her pussy with my fingers first, my cock second, and my mouth third. I wanted to know what she tasted like with me inside her. I wanted to know how sweet that cunt was after I’d forced orgasm after orgasm out of it. I jerked faster. My cock felt impossibly hard, throbbing in my fist, desperate to unload. Desperate for my little devil. Desperate for her pussy, her mouth, her body. The way she flew through the fog like a fucking broken angel had me tipping over the edge. And then I was coming. Coming for her. Hot cum mixed with the cold sweat rolling from my forehead and down my spine. I groaned my release and palmed my dick into a fucking frenzy. After I was done, I cleaned myself off with the handkerchief inside the breast pocket of my suit jacket. Her music stopped and she walked toward me from the stage. Men moved for her, parting like the red sea. I fucking hated that all eyes were on her and she would be the vison inside their heads, when they closed their eyes and whacked off to her, or fucked their wives, tonight. I hated that she needed this to feel nothing, where I could have made her feel so much more. But the pain of loss was far too deep for her to see anything right now.
Don’t obsess. Don’t get attached. Don’t think you need her. Don’t make it into a problem.His voice hit my ears. A voice I hadn’t heard in years. A voice I drowned out with the screams of men that I killed. Yet, here he was, this night as she walked, a glass in her hand and a smoke sitting on the edge of her lips. His voice was warning me off the only thing that had me feeling anything. I wasn’t about to fucking listen, but he sat on the edge of my mind taunting me. She sat down across from me on the only chair inside the room. She watched me zip my cock back into my pants. A smile spread around the tip of her cigarette. Her skin glowed with sweat like glitter, dancing on her flesh as she breathed in and out moving with her.
“So, what do you like....?” I asked her, cocking my brow and pulling a smoke from my own pack next to me.
“I like butterflies and getting high.” I raise my eyebrow at her.
“And...?”
“Drinking tequila and staying up all night.” She crossed her fishnet encased leg over the other, her killer black heels sweeping through the air between us.
“And I suppose you like roses and gold.” I eyed her with heavy lust-filled eyes. “Ha.” She laughed out, snapping her eyes to mine while twisting a long lock of hair around her finger. “No, sweet boy, I like lilies and daggers.” She stood, her movements were exotic, feline like. I'm frozen in place. I watched her walk from the VIP room of my club and already I'm shaking for more. She was a fucking drug and I'm addicted.
