Page 16 of Tainted Wings of Failure

"You're my priority, but guess what, I can't just fucking turn it off like you can!" He raises his hand and slaps mine away. The impact stings, a sharp jolt that travels up my arm and leaves a tingling sensation in my hand. I freeze, my eyes widening as I stare at him in disbelief. Did he just…?

"I don't care." I break out of my state of shock and push forward, slamming my hands into his chest. "Then find a way. You promised me," I repeat as I look up at him and bring my finger back to his chest. This time, I bore it into his sternum with more force. "You're not going!"

"You can't tell me what to do."

"Oh, I can."

"Is that so?" His eyebrows shoot up. "Last time I checked, I’m the one making most of the decisions, Little Dove."

"Hah," I snort, turning and heading over to his nightstand. I yank open the drawer and rummage through his belongings. My mind is clouded with anger and frustration, spinning out of control. Intrusive thoughts replace any coherent and rational ones. If he won't listen to what I say, then maybe he'll just have to feel.

"What are you doing?" His voice reaches me from behind and I hear his footsteps approaching.

Buried among his meds, tissues, and other junk, I find what I’m looking for. I spin around to face him and point the pistol at his chest. Immediately, his hands shoot up in surrender, his face morphing into one of surprise, his eyes wide.

"Put that down…" he says in a calm voice, trying to mask the irritating snarl rising from his throat.

"Shut up! I'm tired of hearing you talk!" I snap at him, and he immediately shuts his mouth. He takes a step closer, but I glare at him and he stops. "If you don't listen to me, I'm going to make you feel. I'll make you physically unable to go."

"Don't you fucking dare," he growls in a warning tone, slowly lowering his hands to the level of my shoulders.

"You leave me no other choice!" I yell at him, a small sob rising from the depths of my chest, my shoulders shaking from my struggle to breathe. My finger slips on the trigger, but my grip on the pistol weakens, my hands shaking.

Within the blink of an eye, his long fingers wrap around my wrist, and he forces my hand up, pointing the pistol at the ceiling. "Let me go!" I scream and my finger slips as I pull the trigger. The explosion echoes through our bedroom, the bullet ripping through the wooden ceiling. The kickback shoots through my muscles like a bolt of thunder and heightens my adrenaline level.

"No," he snarls, forcing me to step back, squeezing my wrist so tightly that the blood no longer reaches the tips of my fingers. I raise my other hand to his holding onto me, digging my nails into his arm. "You're not acting like yourself; you're being fucking irrational."

"Let me…" I squeal as my legs hit the edge of the bed and I topple backwards. His weight crashes down on me, trapping me against the mattress as he pins my hand holding the pistol to the bed.

My gaze lands on the new, clean bullet hole in our ceiling before I meet Noah's eyes staring down at me. His pupils are dilated, the beautiful green fading into the background. His heated skin from the shower seeps through the thin fabric of my nightgown and drapes over me like a warm, weighted, comforting blanket. But it doesn't calm the rage that's simmering inside of me.

"Let go of the pistol," he warns, moving his fingers from my wrist to my hand gripping the handle.

"No!" I scream into his face, my heart hammering against my chest. Not thinking clearly, I bring my knee up in one powerful swing and kick him in the crotch. He grunts, his shoulders hunching as his grip on my wrist loosens. Taking my chance, I rip my hand from his hold, place my palms flat on his chest and flip us over, straddling his hips, grabbing his wrists and pinning them to the mattress above his head.

"What the hell are you doing?" he says through gritted teeth, his face twisted in pain, his eyes narrowed and his brows furrowed.

"I'm not letting you go." I squeeze his wrists, pressing the metal of the pistol into his skin. He squints one eye shut as the edges dig into his flesh. My breathing quickens, my chest heaves with every breath, and my heart pounds with a mix of anger and frustration.

Noah's eyes leave mine as he glances between us. Following his gaze, I find the pervert peeking into my drooping nightgown, under which I'm completely naked. A deep grunt rattles out of his chest, sending a shiver down my spine.

His gaze meets mine again and we stare into each other's eyes. His lips part and his breathing quickens, the sweet cinnamon scent of his toothpaste tickling my nose. His eyes flicker to my lips and I catch the moment he makes up his mind.

It all happens so fast. In a heartbeat, our lips collide, fighting for dominance. His tongue forces its way into my mouth and I moan at the intrusion. The kiss is desperate, a release of all the pent-up emotions.

A familiar heat pools in my core, the adrenaline only making it worse. With every throb of my muscles, my hips buck, my clit firm and begging for attention. My eyes widen and my mouth falls open with a loud gasp as he thrusts his hips up, his hard cock grinding against my aching cunt. He takes advantage of the moment and manhandles me, slamming me back into the sheets and sliding between my legs, pinning my hands back above my head. My mouth is still open as he rolls his hips into mine, the rhythmic pressure against my clit sending electric shock waves through my muscles.

"Look, you're nothing but my slutty Little Dove begging for my cock." He rolls his hips again and I let out another throaty moan. His words send a thrilling shiver down my spine.

"Fuck you!" I collect saliva on my tongue and spit in his face, earning a disapproving growl from him.

"Dove," he says, letting out a heavy breath, his nostrils flaring up with anger. "Do I need to teach you some manners?"

"You're the one who needs to be taught manners." I tear my hand from his grip and raise the pistol to his head, pressing the still warm barrel against his temple. His eyebrows shoot up at the gesture and his lips curl into a devilish grin that follows a low chuckle.

"Huh?" he huffs as I press harder, then lowers himself on top of me, his forehead resting against mine. "Baby, you can point that pistol at me all you want. I'm not afraid. You know, when you threaten me, it only makes me harder and encourages me to fuck you until you forget your own damn name." I suck my lower lip between my teeth and stare back into his eyes, my core tightening with anticipation. "Come on, say it. Say you want to kill me." But instead I remain silent and drill the barrel harder into his temple. "Damn it, say it." He raises his voice and slams his fist into the mattress next to my head.

Keeping the pistol pressed to his temple, I fling my other arm around his shoulders and drag him down into another kiss driven by desperation. His response is just as eager.

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