Page 25 of Twisted Cage

He gives me a wide berth, but it is only a matter of time before he’ll be forced to take control. After all, his army had moved aboveground months ago. Soldiers settle, hidden in plain sight, in safe houses, only retreating down here to move about the city secretly.

I have my own safe house, a massive modern space with every convenience. Luxury even. Yet I can’t help but retreat here to wallow in my memories–my regrets.

Silence envelops me, the isolation of it only making the roaring in my ears louder, rivaling the harsh beat echoing behind my ribs. My gaze lands on the claw-foot tub she bathed in that long ago night and the black dress I’d cut from her skin now draped over the edge.

I haven’t allowed myself to touch it since. I’ve hovered over the material in an effort to draw her scent from the supple fabric, but I never let myself touch.

Madness pulses with life here. With my singular focus on her. It crowds the edges of my reason and threatens to drag me from the reality I fiercely cling to as I circle this tub over and over. The urge to caress and the fear of losing the little bit of her still clinging to the fabric creates a war within me that leaves me on the brink of insanity every night I come here.

Tonight, though, I need to see this all through her eyes. How that night played out in her head after I sliced through her clothing and left her bare before me. On the one-year anniversary of taking her virginity on the altar, only to lose her moments later. I need to immerse myself in my last memories of her and pray for relief from the pain of letting her slip through my fingers.

Stepping into the tub, I lean back, bending my legs, fitting my six-foot-six frame in the space as best as I can. My cock strains against my waistband in this position so I drag the leather from the buckle and peel open my belt.

Then in an act of depravity disguised as comfort, I go a step further and release the button and draw down my zipper.

Flexing my hips, I settle in with my pants low and my cock lying hard against my abdomen. I glance down and a memory flashes, of my cock, wet with her arousal, streaked with her virgin blood.

A glistening drop of pre-cum leaks from the tip and I squeeze my eyes shut, struggling to clear the haunting image from my mind.

Shame. There is always shame. Perhaps there always will be. But a tsunami of pure fucking heat and longing sweeps it away every time, telling me when I find her, I’ll be helpless to keep myself from touching her again.

With a final deep breath, I flick open the journal. Her scent, just a hint of jasmine and lemon, an intoxicating combination of maturity tinged with innocence, ripples in the air as I fan the pages.

Colors flash past, the paper carved with a rainbow of shades with cool and vibrant themes throughout. Blue, silver, and black bleed her sadness onto the page. A fight with her father. Fear of Vlad. Her confusion and grief when her mother died.

Pink, teal, and purple paint her excitement for summer, spending time with her friends, her absolute awe looking up to her older brother Nikolaj, and dreams of adventures to come.

And in between… the red strokes.

Heavy and crimson.

A bold K at the beginning of my name. The kind of looped movement in the letters indicating a profound excitement to pour out every salacious detail.

Pcholka, why would you expose yourself like this with my name right out there in the open? How could you not realize the danger of this?

I snap the journal shut before I can read more than a few words and drop my head back on the edge of the tub. Fisting the journal in one hand and squeezing the porcelain with the other, I let out a torrent of expletives. My knuckles scream with the force on my clenched fists.

Blood sizzles through my veins, my heaving breaths filling the thick silence as I fight the urge to read her every fantasy. Rolling my head to the side, my cheek brushes against her dress and my mind flashes to that night. Nikoletta submerged in the warm bath, steam billowing in the air, and her dress floating around her. So much fabric, but because of the design, it covered so very little. The way my blade sliced through the bodice like soft butter.

Her gasp. The heat flaring in her eyes. The way rivulets of bathwater streaked along her lush curves when she finally stood.

When she challenged me to kiss her and I caved.

My cock throbs, the tip helplessly leaking until glistening beads of pre-cum roll along the head onto the skin of my abdomen.

Fuck it.

Every crypt in the catacombs, save for this one, holds the dead.

This crypt… holds secrets. Secrets that will surely have Nikolaj putting a bullet in my head himself if he ever finds out.

As long as what we’ve done and what I’m about to do stay here within these walls, they cannot bring ruin.

Stopping at the first crimson page, my heart thunders in my chest as I devour Nikoletta’s words.

Hey, it’s me again…

I saw Konstantin swimming in the pool tonight. I’ve only ever seen him in suits. This was waaaayyyy better. Not that the suits aren’t hot. They are. I’m just used to them.

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