Page 153 of Fractured Devotion
He exhales like he’s been punched. “You don’t know what I need.”
My fingers slide through his damp hair. “I know exactly what you need. You just don’t like that I’m the one giving it to you.”
He grabs my hips now, breaking the rule. But I let him. His grip is bruising. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”
“So are you,” I whisper. “Only difference is I’m better at it.”
His laugh is bitter and breathless. He tries to sit up, and I don’t stop him. Our bodies shift, sliding apart, a shiver of aftershock running up my spine as I move off him and onto the table beside. The room smells like sweat and sex. It’s intoxicating.
He turns to look at me, his eyes colder now, like the mask is coming back. “Why tonight?”
“Because I needed to know,” I say simply.
“Know what?”
I meet his gaze. “If I still had power over you.”
His jaw tenses. “And?”
“You tell me.”
Silence blooms, thick and humming.
Then he says softly, “You scare the shit out of me.”
I smile. “Good.”
He stands and begins dressing. But his hands shake, just slightly.
I stay where I am, watching.
He doesn’t say goodbye when he leaves.
He doesn’t have to.
His fear is proof enough.
My control is intact.
And my war has begun.
The door clicks shut behind him like punctuation.
The silence he leaves behind tastes sweeter than his final kiss. My body is still buzzing, my skin flushed and wet between my thighs, the phantom throb of him inside me echoing against the edge of my nerves.
But it’s not lust that lingers.
It’s power.
I move, intentionally taking my time as I drag my feet across the room. I clean myself up in the small attached washroom—warm cloth, minimal fuss, and no lingering at the mirror. My reflection is unreadable anyway. My body aches in delicious ways. But my mind… it’s sharp now. Awake. Every part of me hums with direction.
I walk barefoot back to my office, the blue light of my monitor flickering like a heartbeat in the dim. The Heretic Loop is still open. Still breathing.
My fingers glide over the keyboard.
I adjust parameters, rewrite thresholds, and recalibrate emotional load-bearing metrics.
And I think of him.
