Page 3 of Fiend
Screams.
Death.
The smell of burning flesh.
I inhale deeply at the memory, but my eyes spring open when all I smell is the fresh rain falling around me, soaking me to my core.
The wet ends of my cropped hair drip into my eyes, and I brush my fingertips over my partially-closed lids. I let out a puff of air before I trudge inside, shaking off the memories that keep me prisoner.
Memories Essa can’t know I relive every chance I get.
Once I’m inside, I head straight to the kitchen, but when I reach the open floorplan of the rooms, I can easily see she’s not down here. Without thinking twice, I head up the stairs to our room, taking them two at a time. I’m suddenly desperate to see her.
I need her for everything.
To live. To breathe. To fucking forget.
My blood simmers to a boil, the monster in me trying to claw his way out. Whenever I think I have him buried deep enough, he manages to reappear out of thin air and make me second guess every single fucking decision I have ever made.
And I fucking hate it almost as much as I need it.
As I barrel into our room, I throw the door open. It smacks against the wall with a resounding thud, probably leaving a hole in the wall, but I don’t fucking care.
“Essa!” I yell desperately. “Essa!” I suck in breath after breath, straining my ears, but the blood rushing through them makes it impossible to hear a goddamn thing. I dart across the room and into the bathroom where she must be. My eyes land on the glass door to the walk-in shower, fogged over and covered in water droplets. I release the heaviest sigh of relief as Essa’s face and long, black hair under the spray of the water come into view.
Without thinking about anything other than my baby doll, I peel my soaked jeans off of my legs and drop them to the floor with a wet plop. I pull open the glass door and step into the warm enclosure, closing it behind me. The scent of Essa’s minty-orange shampoo fills my lungs as I lean against the damp shower wall, watching her rinse said shampoo from her hair. I take in every inch of her—from her smooth forehead to her small, round nose, plump lips, and rounded chin, down her neck and collarbones to her chest and extra-full tits, her round belly with a few stretch marks, her curvy hips and ass, and her thick, long legs.
I visually trace my tongue along every scar, along every tattoo—which she is now covered in, especially her arms—except for her forearm where she carved CREEP into her skin—and her legs, chest, and back. She’s covered in black ink with thick lining, and it’s fucking sexy as hell. They’re not connected. Instead, they’re placed almost seemingly haphazardly, but they look fucking good on her.
Jax did every single one of them. One, because I don’t trust anyone else to touch my baby doll. And two, because he’s gay, and I know he wouldn’t be checking her out while tattooing. A win-win to me.
“Baby doll,” I whisper, my voice lost in the sound of the water, but she still hears me. She wipes the water from her eyes, then opens them to meet my gaze. I observe as her brows pinch, and a frown pulls at her lips. Water drips from her forehead, down her nose, and to the floor. I follow the path of the single drop of water before meeting her gaze once more.
Her pale-greens lock on my deep browns, concern heavily marring her face. She doesn’t say a word—only giving me the smallest, most subtle nod, and I’m on her in one second flat. My lips lock with hers, and I thrust my tongue into her mouth.
Her breathy moans vibrate through me, and her warm, yet always cool skin, covers mine and brings my internal inferno to a more comfortable level—a level that is highly intoxicating still to this day.
I wrap my tongue around the barbell running through hers and suck it into my mouth. She shudders and presses against me in desperation. Her belly bumps into me, and she lets out a breathy chuckle as she pulls away. She pants, out of breath from devouring one another while she stares at me through a heavy-lidded gaze.
“My stomach makes this a little fucking difficult.” She sighs and drops her hands to her sides in defeat.
I grab her hips and pull her as close to me as I can to run my tongue along the left side of her neck, over one of her scars and the small, tattooed script there. I latch onto her skin and suck a mark there—fuckingneedingit before pulling away to look at it. A dark possession fills me at the sight of a hickey residing just above the two E’s in the tattooed word Creep.
Mylittle fucking creep.
After licking the bruise on her neck one last time, I pull her cold lips back to mine and sink my teeth into her bottom lip. I suck it into my mouth, lavishing it for another minute before ripping myself away from her.
I trail my hands down Essa’s body as I drop to my knees in front of her. My gaze meets hers to find her green eyes masked with lust, her dilated pupils staring hungrily at me. My hands circle her hips as I pull her against me. Her large stomach presses against my face, and I take a moment to just fucking feel her.
To remember why I’m doing this. Why I’m fighting who I truly am.
Her. This baby.
They are worth it.
They fucking have to be.
But even so, I stillhaveto do this. I know Essa is going to freak the fuck out on me when she finds out, but she can’t do shit about this. I won’t let her change my mind—which is why I refuse to tell her I’m leaving. Jax is going to be here tomorrow morning to stay with her while Leo and I are gone.
