Page 54 of True Bastard
Why? Why does his raw intensity, his possessive hunger, still stir something deep within me, even now?I hated myself for the question.
He leaned in, his body a warm, solid wall against my back, a presence that was both a threat and, I had to admit with a sickening lurch, a potent reminder of something I desperately craved.
“I’ve come to claim what’s mine,” he murmured, his breath heavy with whiskey, the rumble of his voice vibrating through me, a physical echo of a claim I’d fought tooth and nail to reject. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic, trapped bird beating against its cage.
I seethed, my anger, a pure, undiluted force that should have been enough to propel me away. “You’re fucking delusional if you think I will ever submit to you. Now get the fuck off me.”
Yet, even as the words spat from my lips, a tiny, shameful part of me registered the warmth radiating from his body, the sheer physical power he exuded, and a forbidden thought, a whisper of doubt, crept in:Could I fight him? Really fight him and win? More importantly, did I really want to?
His thumb traced the line of my jaw, a feather-light touch that sent shivers down my spine, a betrayal I couldn’t control. It was a ghost of intimacy, a phantom caress that conjured memories of nights I’d barely survived, nights when resistancefelt futile and the lines between pleasure and pain blurred into something I still couldn’t articulate.
And the worst part, the truly soul-crushing part, was the sliver of me that didn’t entirely recoil. The part that, in the deepest, darkest corners of my being, still remembered the allure of his possessiveness, the thrill of his strength, even as it was being used to break me. This internal war raged, a silent scream against the physical reality, making me question not just my ability to escape, but my very own integrity.
“Am I?” He tilted his head, his gaze sweeping over my face, lingering on my parted lips. A tremor—that damnable, traitorous tremor—ran through me, a sensation I fought to suppress, to smother before it betrayed me further. “I saw the way your breath hitched when I fucked that slut?”
“It’s called nausea,” I retorted, my voice a brittle thing I barely recognized, trying to twist away, but his grip on my jaw tightened fractionally, holding me in place. To admit defeat would be to surrender, to become everything I despised.
His pressure was firm, demanding. And a part of me, a dark, rebellious part I loathed with every fiber of my being, a part that reveled in the transgression, leaned into it.
“No,” he corrected, his voice dropping to a seductive purr that was pure poison and honey. “You’ve spent your entire life fighting the desire that lingers deep within you, and you’re terrified of giving in.”
He was right, and the truth of it was a physical blow. He saw the cracks in my armor, the fissures I’d so carefully disguised, and he was pressing on them, widening them with every venomous word. Giving in meant admitting weakness, admitting a craving that was anathema to my principles, a betrayal of every ideal I held dear. But the thought, as horrifying as it was, also sent a dizzying thrill through me, a forbidden yearning that I fought tooth and nail.
To give in now, to him, would be to confess the deepest, most shameful part of myself, to let him see the wanton whore that lurked beneath my carefully constructed façade.
And the worst part? A sliver of me, a desperate, terrified sliver, wanted him to see it.
“You hate me, Kitten. You hate everything I stand for,” he whispered, his lips brushing my ear, sending a jolt through me. “And yet... you’re trembling.”
He was right. My body, traitorous and weak, was thrumming with a strange, dark energy. I did hate him. I hated his arrogance, his manipulative games, the way he had tried to crush me, the way he had forced me to submit. Every fiber of my being screamed against his very existence, against the perversion of the power he had over me. To acknowledge his presence felt like a betrayal of myself, a concession to the darkness he embodied. Yet, beneath that searing hate I desperately tried to extinguish was an undeniable attraction that terrified me. It was a sickness I couldn’t purge, making my skin prickle with a forbidden awareness. He was everything I should despise, a walking embodiment of my deepest fears, yet, in spite of myself, my body craved for the very danger he represented. My twisted desire felt like a stain on my soul, a sign that he had already broken me in ways I hadn’t even begun to comprehend.
“I’m trembling with rage,” I lied, my voice a little breathy. The lie tasted wrong, not just because it hid the truth of my arousal, but because the rage itself was a mere flimsy shield. What truly shook me was the terrifying thought of what I might do if I let his traitorous energy consume me, if I embraced the darkness he offered. To even consider it was a surrender, a choice I swore I would never make, yet here I was, teetering on the precipice.
He chuckled, a low, rich sound that vibrated against my back. “Oh, my scared little kitten,” he purred, his voice a silken trap.“You’re trembling because you know, deep down, that this is inevitable. That all your fight, all your stubbornness, will shatter against what’s going to happen between us.”
His words were a poison dart, striking at the very core of my resolve. My mind screamed no, a desperate, primal instinct to flee. I’d sworn I would never let anyone have this power over me, never let myself be so utterly consumed. This was everything I’d fought against, everything I’d built walls around. Yet, the traitorous part of me, the part that had always craved what it couldn’t have, was already loosening its grip. The thought of shattering, of yielding, was both terrifying and... undeniably seductive.
Before I could even summon the strength to push him away, his lips were on mine. It wasn’t a gentle kiss, nor a hesitant exploration. It was a brutal, demanding invasion, a declaration of ownership that felt like a brand seared onto my soul. My body recoiled, a violent rejection of this forced intimacy. This was wrong. Every fiber of my being screamed that this was a transgression against myself, against the dignity I fought so hard to maintain. But my lips, maddeningly, parted under his insistent pressure. His mouth was hot, hungry, tasting of power and something uniquely him, and a wave of heat, unwelcome and deeply shameful, flooded through me.
He angled his head, deepening the kiss, and I felt myself sinking, drowning in his dominance. I could taste my surrender, bitter and absolute, as a desperate, echoing plea for it to stop was silenced by a terrifying, illicit thrill that made my knees weak. This was a betrayal of everything I believed in, a capitulation I would forever loathe myself for. Despite that, I couldn’t tear myself away.
It was close to noon the next day when I slowly meandered my way downstairs, a knot of dread tightening in my stomach with every step. I knew I shouldn’t have come back here. I knew I shouldn’t have given in to him last night. The thought of facing him every day felt like a betrayal of myself. But a perverse sense of obligation, or perhaps a deeper, more shameful curiosity, had dragged me down.
Then, Anna Joy’s squeal shattered the tense quiet. “You’re back!” Running over to me, she gave me a big hug. “I thought he ran you off. That I’d never see you again.”
Her innocent assumption was a punch to the gut. He had run me off, in a way. Or rather, he had claimed me. And the fact that I hadn’t fought harder, hadn’t shouted, hadn’t run the second I saw him again, gnawed at me. My morals screamed at me to flee, to scrub myself clean of his touch, but some part of me, the part that was now irrevocably tangled with his will, held me rooted to the spot.
“Hello, Kyllian,” Helen greeted, tailing not far from Anna Joy. Her voice was calm, but her eyes—oh, her eyes. They were like a hawk’s, dissecting me, peeling back the layers of my forced composure. “How are you?”
My voice cracked as I forced a smile—an act that felt like putting on a mask made of shattered glass. I was trying desperately to banish the ghosts of last night from my expression, but they clung to me, whispering temptations and shame. Anna Joy’s warmth was a balm, yes, a desperate anchor in a swirling sea of self-loathing, but I could still feel the phantom touch of his lips against my throat, the echo of his dominance still humming on my skin.
It was a perverse comfort, a twisted echo of power I shouldn’t crave.
I hugged Anna Joy back tightly, my grip almost painful, afraid that if I let go, I might actually fall apart, revealing the raw, wounded thing I had become. “I’m fine,” I lied. My words, foul in my mouth, sounded hollow even to my own ears.
Helen’s gaze lingered on me, searching, her silence a heavy accusation, perhaps sensing the tempest raging beneath my carefully composed surface, the war between the person I was and the person he was forging me into. I had made a choice last night, a choice that violated every instinct of self-preservation, and now I had to live with its insidious, lingering consequences.
“I want to offer my deepest condolences. It broke my heart to hear you had suffered the loss of your family at the hands of that madman. I hope that if there is any justice in this world, the police find him soon.”
