Vicious
Page 53
I choked the little booklet I was holding to release some of the tension from my body. We stopped next to a picture of a real heart, sitting on a white cube. It was bloody and looked fresh, like it was still beating not long ago.
I saw the art in it.
Heck, I wanted to run back home and paint it.
“I was thirteen and all kinds of messed up. The brain just always seemed to me like the most important, intimate part of the human body. Maybe because that’s what was left of my mother after her accident. She was paralyzed from the neck down, but completely lucid. Still herself.”
I didn’t utter a word because it felt important to let him speak. We were both staring at the picture when he added, “I like the way you stare reality in the eye without looking away. You’re not a coward, Emilia.”
I nodded. “Neither are you. I mean, you’re crazy, but brave.”
We walked a few feet to our right, checking out the next piece. Time moved quickly, too quickly. Four hours into our day at the museum, and I was starving, so I suggested that we go get something to eat. Vicious nodded in agreement. I was surprised we’d gotten this far without him complaining about us being here so long. We walked toward the exit, but then he grabbed me by the collar of my coat and shoved me into a corner behind a wall leading to the bathroom. It was quiet and secluded. Just another dead weekday before Christmas.
His lips found mine quickly as he muttered, “Where’s that second base you promised me?”
I linked my fingers around his neck and waited for him to make a move.
I was a good girl.
He was a bad boy.
He knew what to do.
Vicious pressed his lips to mine, kissing me slow and long—teasing this time—before moving away and watching me through narrowed predator eyes.
“Refreshing,” he croaked.
I nodded. A good long kiss was better than quick casual sex. He ducked his head down again for another one, deepening our kiss, and sucked on my tongue hungrily, cupping my ass with one hand firmly, and brushing my throat with his thumb with the other softly.
“Did you think about this often? Kissing me like that?” My voice was husky. I felt him nodding even though my eyes were closed. The electricity between us was tantalizing. My body begged for more of him and chased his touch, desperate to be closer.
My obsession. My muse. My enemy.
“All the fucking time, Emilia. I wanted to squeeze this ass…” He clutched my butt, pulling me to grind into his erection, his lips hunting mine with leisurely, playful kisses that both intoxicated and soothed me. “To feel these tits…” His callused thumb dragged from my neck to my collarbone and before I knew it, he kneaded my right breast through my clothes while sucking on my jaw. “To kiss these goddamned fucking lips that smiled for him.” He kissed me over and over again.
It broke me.
It revived me.
It ruined me.
I didn’t even address the subject of Dean because my ex-boyfriend seemed to have moved on just fine. After I bumped into Vicious, I’d peeked at Dean’s Facebook, my curiosity and guilt getting the better of me. I saw that he was happy, content and, unsurprisingly, a manwhore. It made me feel better, somehow. That I no longer occupied his mind.
Unlike Vicious. I was there in his head. I was there and he hated it. That’s why we were kissing right now. Because he kept telling me he hated me, but I, I didn’t believe him. Not now, anyway.
“Then why were you so hateful?” I wasn’t sure if I was mad or smitten with him. My mind zigzagged in confusion every time he was around.
His hard-on was still digging into my “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” leggings when he lowered his kisses to my breasts, ignoring me, pushing my sweater down and sucking on my nipples through my bra. I felt him pulsing next to my inner thigh, and I wanted every inch of him to fill me. Craved it. But Vicious’s expression grew serious.
“Emilia…” he warned.
“No, tell me. How the heck does it matter anymore? You got what you wanted. I left. So why don’t you put me out of my misery?”
He sighed, pulling away and boxing me in with his body, his arms on either side of me trapping me against the wall. His eyes were on the floor. “I was scarred from head to fucking toe. Physically marred. Mentally disfigured. The beatings I took from Daryl Ryler ruined me. I couldn’t take my shirt off when everyone went to the beach. I couldn’t fuck girls with the lights on. I couldn’t breathe without thinking about what a monster I was underneath my clothes, underneath my flesh. And then, there you were. Pure and scar-free, with your big kind eyes and honest smile. You were so clean, and I was filthy. I guess I wanted to dirty you up.
“Then there was the Ryler shit. I thought you’d figured out what he’d done to me. I was afraid that you were going to tell people. I couldn’t risk that, so I scared you. Then I drove you away. I’m fucked up, Emilia. I know that. I’m not asking you to fix me. It is what it is. We’ll fuck. We’ll use each other. Until one of us finds someone else they prefer.”
He wanted casual. That was fine.
He was light in a dark fog. But I knew better than everyone how bad the gorgeous dancing flames in him could burn. If I treated it as a fling, my heart would be guarded away. His too.
“Have you ever dated anyone seriously?” I practically sighed the question.
We were cooling off. His body became tense and his posture straight. We swiveled toward the exit doors and resumed our journey to the subway. I followed. To say that I was content with his explanation was a lie, but it calmed me down. A little, anyway.
“Never,” he said, emotionless. “Have you? Other than—”
“Two serious boyfriends here in New York.” I nodded, cutting into his words before he could say his name. Dean hurt him, like Vicious hurt me. I got it now.
“Mmm,” was all he said. We slipped into the subway station and were lucky enough to catch a train that had just pulled to a stop. It was packed, but I had a feeling it wasn’t the only reason he pinned me to one of the yellow walls with his whole body so that nobody else would touch me.
“Were you in love with either of them?” His lips were dancing against mine.
I shrugged. “How do you really know for sure? They were very nice.”
“I see. Nice.”
That’s all his lawyer-self needed to say to rest his case. His cocky smile stayed in place the whole train ride.
I saw the art in it.
Heck, I wanted to run back home and paint it.
“I was thirteen and all kinds of messed up. The brain just always seemed to me like the most important, intimate part of the human body. Maybe because that’s what was left of my mother after her accident. She was paralyzed from the neck down, but completely lucid. Still herself.”
I didn’t utter a word because it felt important to let him speak. We were both staring at the picture when he added, “I like the way you stare reality in the eye without looking away. You’re not a coward, Emilia.”
I nodded. “Neither are you. I mean, you’re crazy, but brave.”
We walked a few feet to our right, checking out the next piece. Time moved quickly, too quickly. Four hours into our day at the museum, and I was starving, so I suggested that we go get something to eat. Vicious nodded in agreement. I was surprised we’d gotten this far without him complaining about us being here so long. We walked toward the exit, but then he grabbed me by the collar of my coat and shoved me into a corner behind a wall leading to the bathroom. It was quiet and secluded. Just another dead weekday before Christmas.
His lips found mine quickly as he muttered, “Where’s that second base you promised me?”
I linked my fingers around his neck and waited for him to make a move.
I was a good girl.
He was a bad boy.
He knew what to do.
Vicious pressed his lips to mine, kissing me slow and long—teasing this time—before moving away and watching me through narrowed predator eyes.
“Refreshing,” he croaked.
I nodded. A good long kiss was better than quick casual sex. He ducked his head down again for another one, deepening our kiss, and sucked on my tongue hungrily, cupping my ass with one hand firmly, and brushing my throat with his thumb with the other softly.
“Did you think about this often? Kissing me like that?” My voice was husky. I felt him nodding even though my eyes were closed. The electricity between us was tantalizing. My body begged for more of him and chased his touch, desperate to be closer.
My obsession. My muse. My enemy.
“All the fucking time, Emilia. I wanted to squeeze this ass…” He clutched my butt, pulling me to grind into his erection, his lips hunting mine with leisurely, playful kisses that both intoxicated and soothed me. “To feel these tits…” His callused thumb dragged from my neck to my collarbone and before I knew it, he kneaded my right breast through my clothes while sucking on my jaw. “To kiss these goddamned fucking lips that smiled for him.” He kissed me over and over again.
It broke me.
It revived me.
It ruined me.
I didn’t even address the subject of Dean because my ex-boyfriend seemed to have moved on just fine. After I bumped into Vicious, I’d peeked at Dean’s Facebook, my curiosity and guilt getting the better of me. I saw that he was happy, content and, unsurprisingly, a manwhore. It made me feel better, somehow. That I no longer occupied his mind.
Unlike Vicious. I was there in his head. I was there and he hated it. That’s why we were kissing right now. Because he kept telling me he hated me, but I, I didn’t believe him. Not now, anyway.
“Then why were you so hateful?” I wasn’t sure if I was mad or smitten with him. My mind zigzagged in confusion every time he was around.
His hard-on was still digging into my “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” leggings when he lowered his kisses to my breasts, ignoring me, pushing my sweater down and sucking on my nipples through my bra. I felt him pulsing next to my inner thigh, and I wanted every inch of him to fill me. Craved it. But Vicious’s expression grew serious.
“Emilia…” he warned.
“No, tell me. How the heck does it matter anymore? You got what you wanted. I left. So why don’t you put me out of my misery?”
He sighed, pulling away and boxing me in with his body, his arms on either side of me trapping me against the wall. His eyes were on the floor. “I was scarred from head to fucking toe. Physically marred. Mentally disfigured. The beatings I took from Daryl Ryler ruined me. I couldn’t take my shirt off when everyone went to the beach. I couldn’t fuck girls with the lights on. I couldn’t breathe without thinking about what a monster I was underneath my clothes, underneath my flesh. And then, there you were. Pure and scar-free, with your big kind eyes and honest smile. You were so clean, and I was filthy. I guess I wanted to dirty you up.
“Then there was the Ryler shit. I thought you’d figured out what he’d done to me. I was afraid that you were going to tell people. I couldn’t risk that, so I scared you. Then I drove you away. I’m fucked up, Emilia. I know that. I’m not asking you to fix me. It is what it is. We’ll fuck. We’ll use each other. Until one of us finds someone else they prefer.”
He wanted casual. That was fine.
He was light in a dark fog. But I knew better than everyone how bad the gorgeous dancing flames in him could burn. If I treated it as a fling, my heart would be guarded away. His too.
“Have you ever dated anyone seriously?” I practically sighed the question.
We were cooling off. His body became tense and his posture straight. We swiveled toward the exit doors and resumed our journey to the subway. I followed. To say that I was content with his explanation was a lie, but it calmed me down. A little, anyway.
“Never,” he said, emotionless. “Have you? Other than—”
“Two serious boyfriends here in New York.” I nodded, cutting into his words before he could say his name. Dean hurt him, like Vicious hurt me. I got it now.
“Mmm,” was all he said. We slipped into the subway station and were lucky enough to catch a train that had just pulled to a stop. It was packed, but I had a feeling it wasn’t the only reason he pinned me to one of the yellow walls with his whole body so that nobody else would touch me.
“Were you in love with either of them?” His lips were dancing against mine.
I shrugged. “How do you really know for sure? They were very nice.”
“I see. Nice.”
That’s all his lawyer-self needed to say to rest his case. His cocky smile stayed in place the whole train ride.
