Page 16 of Heirs of Havoc

But his voice layers so well under his chords that it soothes me. And if you know Feliks Ivankov, “soothing” isn’t a word he’s usually associated with. Sure, he’s calm. As calm as a python waiting to strike when he’s pushed enough. And I’ve seen him pushed.

By him.

* * *

Slam!

A loud thud comes from the far end of the room. It stirs me awake out of a way too intimate dream with Feliks.

“Fuck …”

The garland of lights around my dorm greets my fuzzy vision. Rolling to my side, I expect to see Chaya lying next to me, but she’s not in her bed. My coils fall to one side when I sit up on my mattress. My wrists are sore but I’m free, my blanket covering my naked body. One of my SAA t-shirts lays at the edge of my bed and I pull it on, squinting around the space. My eyes fall to the guitar on the dorm floor as a sting burns my tongue. Sticking it out, I’m reminded of what happens when I mess with these men.

Havoc.

“Feliks?” There’s still a lisp on my tongue when I say his name. He doesn’t answer, but the Chucks and vodka at the edge of Chaya’s bed tell me he’s not far. A stream of light comes from under the bathroom door, confirming it.

Hopping out of bed, I move towards his guitar. His black bag sits beside it and I crouch to its level. If he’s in the bathroom doing his business, this might be the only chance I have.

Zzi-ii-ip!

I’m careful not to make a sound as I pull the zipper back.

“Fuck …Bunny …”

My body stiffens, Feliks’ voice coming from beyond the bathroom door. Turning my neck to the cracked door, it’s not wide enough that he can see me. Can he? A grunt comes from the bathroom, my hands still on the zipper. Then another.

Standing, I take my time moving towards the door. I’m careful not to make a sound, my toes on the cold wood as I peek inside.

Woah ...

My hand slaps over my mouth as I take a step back.

Feliks sits on the toilet, his hoodie to his chest revealing his shredded abs. While the twins have tattoos spiralling all over their body, Feliks’ are like stamps on a well-travelled bag. Cartoon characters, knives, guns and other random symbols decorate him. Like his eyes and his platinum hair, his skin reminds me of a golden Greek god. And his royal staff? Well, that sits in his hand, his fingers wrapped around his girth. He pumps his shaft as he bites on that thick bottom lip.

Look away. Look away. Look away.

This is my chance to get the hell out of here. This is my chance to rid myself of being a hostage.

So why am I still standing at the door?

A glistening drop squeezes from the tip of his thick mushroom head. It rolls down his shaft and my heart pounds, my hand pressed against the wall. “Fuck, yeah, Bunny,” he lets out another soft grunt. “Right there.”

My brows lower, my nipples pebbling under my shirt. Is he… is he thinking about me? Or does he call all the other girls that? He works his shaft faster, his eyes closed, chin to the ceiling. Those little freckles on his cheeks dazzle under the bathroom light, his abs tightening. My stomach twists and when my fingers land between my legs, my cheeks heat.

You got my jeans wet, Bunny.

Is that what’s on his mind? Feliks on top of me earlier is the closest we’ve come, even with that day in my mind. Did it do something to him?

Did it do something to me?

With one hand pressed against my lips, my fingers travel south, remembering Feliks' hands on my body. Watching him jerk one out is mesmerizing and not just thanks to his sculpted figure.

The way his hand tightens around his shaft, the way he strokes himself at a steady pace makes my hand drop from my mouth to my hardened nipple. Relief flows through me when I squeeze, remembering the way Vlad and Lev handled them. Rough. Perfect. And when I remember Feliks’ crotch pressing against me, my fingers slide over my clit before fire fills my core and a moan escapes me.

Feliks’ golden eyes shoot open, locking on mine.

Shit. Shiiit.

---