Page 107 of Nocturne

“Is it not clenching around nothing, crying for my cock to fill it to the brim? Until it bleeds and milks every drop of my cum? Is it not begging to be coated with my seed and fucked thoroughly until it remembers who owns it?”

I grow lightheaded from his words. My knees are weak, my vaginal walls clenching around nothing, wetness ruining my panties as I imagine the picture he paints for me. His grip on my hair tightens as his other hand squeezes my arse and pushes it into him, forcing me to feel his huge bulge.

“Next time you lie, make sure it isn’t pathetic.”

Twenty-Nine

Ara

There was a time when I thought I wouldn’t be here. This part of the city is only for the extremely wealthy, the people who are okay with spending 100 bucks on their coffees. I have known wealth, but Walius puts Phaga to shame. If Luxembourg and Monaco ever had a child, it would be Walius City. The place is crawling with the rich and also dirty, big criminals who live on the top floor of a humongous skyscraper with 86 floors.

Just looking at it is giving me vertigo.

“This way, miss.”

I kept insisting the man Zagan left behind—Yuri—to use my name. But he seems stubborn not to. He barely talks other than asking me where I’d like to go. Oh yes, he took possession of my vehicle as a chauffeur. He even stood outside my lab, drawing weird looks from my colleagues. He didn’t make me uncomfortable. Instead, the idea of having someone on the lookout for me gave me an odd sense of relief. Relief I shouldn’t be having.

I come here with only one clear thought, and I’m bent on seeing it through. No matter the means. Asking for his help in shutting down the organisation that does the horrors of human experimentation. The building looms in front of me, seeming to stretch into the grey clouds gathering around it like a thick fog.

Yuri opens the door for me, and despite the places I’ve been to, I cannot stop the sharp gasp as I look inside the opulent structure.

The foyer looks big enough to seem like an airport lounge accented with glass, dark walls, shiny black marble and deep green furniture. The reception area is oval, the counter is made of grey marble, and the wall behind holds golden glinting letters of ZD. There is a man behind the counter who gives me a customary glance and gets back to his work of vigorously typing something into the system.

A huge rectangular crystal chandelier drops down from the roof at the centre of the room. The crystals lay like a thin veil of spherical icicles, giving off an image of a sheen of rain pouring down from the sky.

The lounge area is void of anyone except for a man who is occupied with his laptop and the guards surrounding the floor. I walk to the elevator as Yuri presses the button, and the metal door opens into the rich interior of steel grey walls. There is a small L-shaped white couch that is attached to the wall in front of me. Yuri presses a code on the digital keypad and touches the letter T on the glass board on the adjacent wall before it glows.

“I’ll wait for you here, miss.”

I get into the elevator, the soothing music doing nothing to calm my frayed nerves.

How will I even approach the subject? A topic or situation about Zagan made as much sense as taxes did to me. I cannot understand why my body comes alive under his eyes or why I would even entertain him when I know next to nothing about him. He remains a stranger even after we kissed, and he made an asinine demand and tyrannical orders about me being his.

Is this common? It has been long since I had dipped my feet into dating life. After the disaster of the one-night stand that Ivy insisted I try after my break-up with Burke, I had bid adieu to men as a whole. But the way Zagan behaves, looks, and downright demands things from me throws me off my game. He always makes me wonder what is wrong with my head.

Even now, as I wait for a verdict that could influence many lives which also includes me and my family, all I can think about is facing him alone in a confined space and stopping myself from barging into his personal space as he did with mine and tracing his scars with my tongue. The thought has me turning bright red as the sexual goddess inside me rolls her shoulders in anticipation. I have no idea what she is preparing for.

To the wicked pleasures he painted in our heads.

Damn him. And damn his mouth, his voice, his eyes and everything. A man cannot be as well endowed in every department like him. It is downright criminal!

Before I can dwell deeper into my hormonal thoughts, the doors open. I see no men on this floor, and I hear no noise from any of the floors below. Either this building is soundproof, or the people who are working here are ghosts.

Despite the lack of guards on this floor, there is a certain darkness surrounding the area. It isn’t because of the dark walls or furniture but because of the man who is behind the set of double doors that loom in front of me like the doors to hell. I can almost feel the animosity of the man, feel his dark aura stretching out from his massive office and filling this entire floor with his raw power.

I take a hesitant step forward, trying to concentrate on the details of the floor, but I cannot. It takes a lot of effort to keep myself standing in front of the tall black doors and not bolt back to the elevator and beg Iblis or Eero to help us instead. Eero made it clear that he couldn’t help as he loved his private parts too much to be pinned to a wall, and Iblis, well, he not so subtly indicated that he didn’t care.

I know Iblis can help. But the premise of begging him was as appealing as a stinky sock to me. This devil is all I have, and I pray to the gods to take care of me, let out a shaky breath before I push the doors open.

It is heavy, too heavy for my hands, so I have to use my hips as well to push it open. For a moment, I revel in triumph as I step inside and lean on the door, breathing heavily. But when my eyes cut towards the figure that stands in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows in front of me, the temporary triumph leaves and nerves settle in.

Conversing or looking at Zagan in the morning is different than in the night. In the morning, if I squinted hard enough, I could pass him for a man who isn’t dangerous. I had to squint real hard, mind you. But in the night, in a confined space—even if it is larger than my home—when in his element, it is impossible not to see him as anything but dangerous. With his staggering height, heavy build and the Olympian personality that he fit in a custom-made suit, he looks like the ruler of darkness people whisper him to be.

He has yet to turn back to grace me with his face, and I am disappointed and grateful at the same time. I need a few minutes to gather myself before his handsome face makes me useless, especially after this morning. I take my time to gather myselfand prep my hormones so as not to go haywire before I clear my throat. When he doesn’t turn even then, I take a step forward.

“Hello, Mr Devlin.”

I keep referring to his second name just to antagonise him. He asked me to call him by his name when we first met, as if it pleased him when I referred him as Zagan. After witnessing his irrational behaviour, I decided not to do anything that pleased him.

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