Page 42 of Filthy Little Fix
His heavy breathing fills the room. He's watching me. I can feel it.
"Since you're going to fix it..." he says, still hoarse from the swelling and the throbbing in his mouth. "This will be my last chance for a while. Give me a real kiss. One that makes me bleed."
I see the plea in his eyes. He's challenging me. Pressing me to embrace the violence he craves. It's a coward's game, and I hate being seconds away from losing.
The request echoes in my head.
One that makes me bleed.
It's disgusting. It's insane.He'sinsane, and so am I for even considering it. He wants a bloody kiss like a fucking teenager wants a first kiss—a kiss stained with the coppery taste of his own blood.
And yet…
My hands clench at my sides. A muscle in my jaw twitches. I want to tell him no. I want to turn around, open the door, and let the fucking dentist deal with his sick fantasies. But I can't. Not when he looks at me like that, like I'm the only one who can give him what he wants.
I take a step. He doesn't move, just watches me. I can see the pulse in his neck, the way his chest rises and falls with each ragged breath.
I stop in front of him. My hand, without my permission, raises. I grab a handful of his messy black hair, pulling his head up, forcing him to look at me, exactly how I know he likes it.
"You don't learn, do you, you worm?" I snarl, and he moans in pleasure.
"No. I don't."
I smash my mouth against his, a violent collision of rage and desire. I force my way in, which he gives up immediately, and I slide my tongue over his. It doesn't take long for the taste of blood to appear, hot and coppery.
He doesn't flinch. He just moans, vibrating against my lips, and digs his fingers into my shirt in a frantic, possessive clawing. He's all in, and his surrender is so complete it feels like a victory.
I deepen the kiss, biting down on his lower lip until a fresh trickle of blood mixes with the old. He whimpers, pleased. The surge of heat is so intense that it almost burns. My hand tightens in his hair, and I use it to tilt his head, to dominate his mouth, to prove that I am in control, even when I'm losing it completely.
I pull away, breathless. His face is a bloody, ecstatic mess, with his swollen lips glistening with saliva and blood. I feel it on mine, too.
"About before, mister," he whispers. "Were you mad about the plant… or the girlfriend? Because I don't have one."
He leans in, pressing his bruised lips against mine again. This time, the kiss is different. It's softer. Possessive.
His hand rests on my chest, his fingers splayed over my heart, and he pushes me closer, his mouth moving against mine in a gentle rhythm. It's…new.Doesn't feel like a fight.
I want to pull away. I should. But my hands, still tangled in his hair, don't let go. Instead, they loosen their grip, almost caressing the strands. It's a complete inversion of everything that just happened, and it's a thousand times more unsettling.
This gentle touch, this soft claim, is a deeper violation of my control than any punch I've ever thrown. It's not about hurting him anymore, it's about…this. Whatever the fuck this is.
He groans into my mouth, and I feel a shiver of... something I refuse to name. It's not disgust. It's not rage. It's terrifying.
Then, a knock on the door. "Mr. Volkov? The dentist is here."
I rip myself away from him as if he were on fire. My lungs burn.
I look at him. He's a bloody, ecstatic mess, his mouth swollen and glistening. But the smile that creeps back onto his face is a knowing curve of his lips, filled with a triumphant affection.
"See you later, mister," he murmurs.
I turn my back on him, disgusted and electrified, and open the door. The dentist's professional gaze lands on me, then glances past me to Nyx.
I don't look back. I can't. Not after that.
CHAPTER V
FIFTEEN
