Page 21 of Filthy Little Fix
That's it. The last straw. The accusation. The ultimate insult. My vision turns red, a hot wave of pure, unbridled fury consuming me. He just pushed all my buttons.
My fist connects with his jaw. A sickening crunch echoes in the silence. Nyx's head snaps to the side, and, this time, he stumbles, his legs almost giving out. He hits the wall again, then slumps, sliding down until he's kneeling on the dusty concrete floor, bracing himself with one hand.
A thin line of blood trickles from the corner of his mouth, staining his pale chin. He coughs, and another crimson drop splatters onto the concrete. He looks at me. I don't know what that look means, and it disturbs me.
My knuckles throb with pain. The sight of his blood, the proof of my violence brings only a hollow, churning emptiness.He pushed me to this.He is broken, spitting blood. But thoseeyes… those fucking eyes. They still hold that twisted pleasure. That damned satisfaction.
"You're nothing but a nuisance. A headache I need to get rid of," I say, trying to convince myself more than him.
Nyx, still kneeling, wipes the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing it across his cheek. The way he looks at me isn't predatory as I remember. Now, it's just... lost.
"Then use me, mister," he rasps, his voice even hoarser and calmer. His eyes, though blazing with defiance, also carry a chilling emptiness. "If I'm useless, if I'm just a problem… then use me to get rid of that anger. Beat me. Punch me. I don't care. Just make me feel something. Anything. I'm a good punching bag."
My breath hitches. The words, so casually offered, are a grotesque perversion. He is truly broken. He's not just trying to provoke me; he has a genuine willingness to be destroyed. This is madness.
"You're asking me to hit you?" I manage, disbelieving, trying to understand the catch.
Nyx just nods. He gives me a half-smile, empty and eager, with bloodied teeth. "You need to vent, right? You can just... use me. Make me feel."
A raw rage, unlike anything I've ever known, begins to fester in my gut. This isn't the kind of challenge I understand. He fucked up my entire week, every hour of my days, only to culminate in this: an invitation to pure, unadulterated cruelty, offering himself as a tool for my rage.
What the fuck are you?
My boot shoots out. I kick him in the chest, and Nyx grunts, hitting his back against the wall. His breath is ragged now.
The sound that escapes his throat makes my blood run cold. A low moan, which I only hear because we are in completesilence. His eyes, though glazed with pain, fix on mine, reverent, and his pants…
Fuck. I see a bulge forming,pressing.
My jaw clenches so hard I think my teeth will crack. An unholy mix of disgust and fascination courses through me. He'shardbecause of this. I shouldn't be so surprised anymore by how inhuman he is—anightmare, a twisted reflection of my own rage.
I stride forward, grabbing a fistful of his messy black hair, pulling his head up until his body rises. His neck stretches, a vulnerable line, and a small, airy gasp escapes his lips.
"You want to feel?" I snarl, allowing myself a venom I detest. My thumb presses hard against his jaw, forcing his mouth open. "I'll make you feel. I'll make you beg to not feel anymore."
His dilated eyes devour my face with a feverish obscenity. That damned bulge in his pants presses harder against the fabric.
My other hand balls into a fist. I punch him in the stomach, below the ribs, and he doubles over, my grip on his hair the only thing holding him upright.
"You like that, you sick fuck?" I snarl, my voice overflowing with contempt. "You like being used? You like feeling pain?" I yank his head up again, forcing him to meet my gaze. That infuriating glint of pleasure. "This ismycontrol. Not yours. You feel whatIwant you to feel."
His lips try to form something, but only another low, broken moan escapes. A sound of absolute surrender. The sight of his raw, exposed need, the way his body trembles against my violence, sparked a terrifying impulse within me.
I want to silence that sound. To smother that disgusting pleasure. I want to drown him in my dominance, until he feels nothing but my will.
My hand in his hair tightens further. I stare at his parted, swollen lips, slick with blood and saliva.
Fueled by a mixture of disgust, fury, and an uncontrollable possession, I lower my head.
My mouth crashes onto his.
The kiss is rough, violent. I force my tongue inside, and our teeth clash as I swallow his moans. He grips my shirt so tightly his knuckles turn white.
His touch, his taste, his scent are overwhelming. They set every nerve on fire, and I have no words to describe this sensation. It consumes me, igniting a fury that's both lust and violence. I push him hard against the wall, crushing his body against mine. He arches into my touch, and his covered erection presses against my thigh, throbbing.
I quickly lower my hand to his pants, harshly shoving my hand inside. "Is this what you fantasize about, you disgusting whore? Is this what you dream about?"
His cock is hard, throbbing, a wet, sticky mess.
