Page 48 of Nocturne
“Shut your mouth or I’ll—”
Before I finish, Hunter moves in. I try to get ready to fight back, but it ain’t a punch. He moves fast, and I feel his lips on mine. His body’s tense, frozen.
Everything around disappears, time stops, the world crumbles, and nothing makes sense besides that touch. My whole body tingles. I wanna shove him away, throw him on the floor, beat him until I’m done with him, cut his throat, shoot his head. But, fuck, I give in. Give in to that damn kiss. And then, I kiss him back.
It’s hot, urgent, visceral — like the air’s gone and only raw need remains, the hunger burning skin and dripping down to the bone. Every second of that kiss is an electric shock, burning, ripping, trapping and freeing everything at once. His tongue invades, fierce, commanding, pulling, like he wants to tear every last piece outta me. I return it, desperate, between teeth, hurried and furious — it’s a war and a refuge. His scent stuns me, his taste is an addiction I don’t wanna quit, even knowing it’ll fuck me harder.
His hands grab my face hard, pull my hair, hold me there, making the world vanish. My fingers slide down his waist, clutching, marking my territory. It’s all so wrong it hurts. And so right I don’t wanna let go.
Hunter grabs my dick over my boxers so hard my body arches into him. A moan slips from my throat, caught between our lips, muffled by a kiss that feels more like a fight than anything else. His hands roam my body, wild andrough, like they’re trying to memorize every damn inch, until he grabs my ass with a desperate urgency that sets my blood on fire.
I hate what he does to me. Hate how his touch disarms me, how my body betrays my mind without even asking permission. Hate that, for a second, I forgot who he is. I hate that I kissed him back. Hungry. Angry. Wanting. And the worst part? For one fucked-up moment, one dirty selfish second, I wanted him to keep going.
I wanted to drown in him until I felt nothing. Until I silenced the screaming inside me. And that’s when I break. Because there’s no relief when you touch your own hell and miss it.
How did I let this happen? This isn’t me. This can’t be me. But my body betrayed me faster than my mind could react.
In a snap, I shove him so hard he stumbles back, slamming into the hallway wall with his shoulder, chest heaving like he just took a bullet.
“Don’t fucking touch me.” My voice comes out rough, trembling with hate and desire, and a bit of disgust. Not at him. At me.
Hunter still has the nerve to look at me with that damn broken look. That half-open mouth like he’s missing me even while he still tastes me.
“Fuck, Damon…” he starts, voice cracking, eyes searching mine like they’re trying to find salvation where there’s only ruin.
I don’t let him finish. I step forward and punch him in the jaw. The crack is sharp, satisfying, louder than itshould be in the suffocating silence of the hallway.
He stumbles, spits on the floor, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and stares at me. His face streaked with red, eyes burning like fire.
“Don’t do this.” He says, voice low, almost a whisper. “Let me explain, fuck. We need to talk. I need to—”
“Fuck what you need.” I spit back. Each word scratches my throat. “You’ve done enough. Destroyed enough.”
He steps closer, eyes begging for something I don’t have anymore. Or maybe I just pretend I don’t.
I bend down, grab the two duffel bags full of cash from the floor — the perfect symbol of the chaos between us — and walk to my apartment door, hands shaking. I open it, step inside, and before closing, look at him one last time.
He’s still there. Standing. Hurt. Fucking beautiful. A living mistake, just waiting to be made again.
Then, without a word, I slam the door shut.
I lean against the door like my bones forgot how to hold up the weight of what just happened. My heart’s pounding out of sync, racing too fast, like it’s trying to bust out of my chest. My hands sweat, shaking, like they know something my mind still refuses to get.
Why the fuck am I feel like this?
I should be hiding Hunter’s body right now. Should’ve shoved five bullets into that arrogant, smirking, cocky face.
Should’ve.
But all I did was surrender.
I kissed him back.
His tongue invaded mine like a fire: fast, hot, desperate. He came at me like the world was collapsing behind him — hungry, furious, eyes locked on mine like he’s looking for shelter and revenge in the same goddamn place.
And for a second... just one damn second, I swear I saw pain there. Raw, silent pain, lost deep in the dilated pupil.
Maybe that’s it. Maybe it’s this weird mix of feelings that don’t fit any name, anger, desire, guilt, rage. Maybe that’s why, for the first time, I’m starting to see Abel. But how the hell can I see Abel when the whole damn world swears he’s Cain?
