Page 86 of Property of Chaos

I snap my eyes open and stare at the small screen, ensuring I’m still framed perfectly for the final shot.

My abs clench, balls drawing tight, and I release my load as her light switches out in the distance.

What the fuck has she done to me?I stroke the last drops to the thought, then reach forward and kill the recording.

I’ve always been the one in control. The dominant one in the partnership. Every woman that I’ve fucked before Vanessa, came to me knowing that they’d be tossed around like a ragdoll and used in the best of ways. It’s expected that a guy is an alpha in our lifestyle—including between the sheets.

But she crumbled. She fell apart, and I knew she needed the safety of being in charge.

Of calling the shots.

I never figured I’d need to be her servant equally as bad.

“Jesus, fuck, man.” I run my clean hand through my hair and stare at the sticky mess webbing the fingers of my other. Hopefully, the water is on already.

I make my way to the adjoining bathroom and try the tap, praising whoever wants to fucking listen when liquid gold pours down the drain. Cleaning up without a washcloth is awkward but not impossible. I do my best and then lean on the basin, looking at my reflection in the half-light.

I have my parents’ eyes. One of each. My mother’s blue, and my father’s brown. I’ve often wondered if it’s some sign of my duality—the warring factions within. Half angel and half demon. It was only natural to accent the split with my hair color when it was all people could talk about.

Hand to my face, I cover my blue eye and stare at my father’s face, looking back at me. He was a good guy until he wasn’t, and it was that betrayal of trust that still knots my stomach when I think about the day he died.

I shift my hands and cover his side, looking at my mother instead.

Her side always brings the most sadness—the most regret. She forgave me for what I did, understanding that’s how things work within the club. But I know she regrets that she couldn’t save her baby—her boy—from the hell that would ensue after.

From the constant questioning. Of myself. Of my choices. Of who I am.

“Fuck this shit.” I turn the tap off and move back to the bedroom to tug my jeans back on, staring at the phone the whole time I do.

Do I send the recording to her? It could be argued that the clip could be used against me, but hasn’t she trusted I won’t do the same by saying nothing more about the cameras?

I started this. Who am I to complain?

It takes seconds for me to flick it through to her Messenger. I don’t rewatch it. Not caring to relive how fucking vulnerable she’s made me.

I want her happy, and if this is what will do it, fine. I’ll play.

Her small avatar slides into position to show she’s seen the message.

I pocket the phone and head downstairs. There are a couple of hours at most before everyone gets up for the day, and the bullshit starts. Before Selena needs another ride to school—whatever the fuck that’s all about.

My pocket vibrates with the chime of an incoming message.

You don’t look happy.

Of course I don’t. You blue-balled me.

What the fuck did she expect? Sitting up there on her goddamn throne, looking all pretty in pink, messing with my head?—

I gave you a reason to come back.

This woman…I heave a sigh and slam out a response using both thumbs.

When will you understand that I don’t need a reason to come back. YOU are the reason.

I pocket the phone, jog down the porch steps to where my bike waits, and tug on my helmet. What more do I need to do to make her understand that this fucking infatuation has no hope of fulfillment. I won’t ever get enough of her, and that is what fucking scares me.

I’ve never felt so out of control of something in my goddamn life.

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