Page 73 of Kiss the Villain

So it’s two punishments. Letting the cold numb whatever the fuck I was on and recalling dear old Dad.

My numb fingers struggle to hold the cigarette steady, but I take a drag, let it coat my throat, then exhale slowly. The smoke curls in the air, thick and heavy, before dissipating in the chill.

I inhale the scent of lavender, close my eyes, and feel every icy sting. My body is just a vessel of discomfort, floating in frozen silence. I let the cold wash over me, let it burn, let it pull at the edges of my thoughts, numbing the desire to get consumed by anything irrelevant.

And heisirrelevant.

And yet the shadow that appears behind my lids has deep light-green eyes and messy blond hair. He’s wearing a little grin, taunting dimples creasing his cheeks, and I want to stab them.

To drink his fucking blood vampire style.

But I also want to grab that lean waist and sit him on my cock. I want to feel him squirm and blush, to feast on his red ears and pinch his nipples.

I want to kill him as I fuck him.

That’s how much I hate to want the motherfucker.

A damnkid. Not technically, but he’s still over eleven years younger than me.

And I’ve never even looked at anyone who isn’t my age.

Never.

I’ve also never looked at a man with the intention to own him, but here we are. There’s just something about my new toy that’s making me a horny fucking prick at all times. The more I see him, the more I crave to do unspeakable things to him.

I want to break him as I own him.

To claim him.

Swallow him whole.

My cock twitches. In the middle of the goddamn ice.

The whole point of this punishment is to put that part under lock and key.

And yet here we are.

Full of thoughts of him instead of lavender.

What’s even the point of that smell anymore?

I should get up and call my brother so he doesn’t come after me. Should review what Jethro emailed me about a potential breach. Should keep up with the teaching curriculum.

But I stay still.

It’s not enough.

There’s room to get more numb.

“Is this some sort of kink?”

For a second, I think I’m imagining his voice. I’m obsessing over him so much, it’s starting to mess with my brain.

But when I slowly open my eyes, he’s standing by the side of the tub, dressed in his stalking attire—black jeans that hang low on his hips and an oversized hoodie that betrays his muscular frame.

Blond strands peek from beneath the hoodie, and his eyes appear darker under the dim lights. With high cheekbones, a straight nose, defined lips, and a sharp jawline, he looks like a true Adonis. A god that’s right beneath my shoe.

And I don’t want to squash him.

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