Page 60

Vivienne

Why am I here in the middle of the night?” Vivienne’s voice is sharp and demanding, but it falters slightly as Zev steps out of the closet, grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips.

He demanded that she come out, or he would find a way to come in. And when he does, he would make her scream.

And she didn’t want to scream, not while Carla was having a night vigil in the next room

Throughout the ride to the apartment, he never uttered anything to her. And when they arrived, he ignored all her questions as to why she was here in the middle of the night.

He had slipped into the shower as soon as they arrived, as if desperate to wash something away.

Here she still is, fifteen minutes later, questions unanswered.

The dim glow of the bedside lamp casts shadows over the taut muscles of his arms, the inked lines of his tattoos gleaming like whispers of sin against his skin.

And for the past fifteen minutes, she has rehearsed exactly how she will handle this. She won’t waver. She won’t melt under his touch. She will demand answers, hold her ground, and maybe even get to walk away from him—this sham of a relationship for good.

But as he moves across the room, languid and predatory, that resolve splinters. She stares at him, unable to tear her gaze away. His hair is loose from the braids he always has one side in, damp curls framing his face and brushing against ice-laced lashes.

He is a vision—something unearthly, something darkly divine.

She swallows hard, trying but her gaze keeps betraying her. The way his waist dips and flexes with every step toward the table where a bottle of whiskey and a pack of Marlboro sits shouldn’t distract her. It shouldn’t distract her. But it does.

Lucan doesn’t smoke. He told her this himself. She thought that applied to Zev, too, as she has never seen him with a cigarette. But he picks the cigarette from the pack with the ease of habit, placing it between his lips before striking a flame to the end.

“It’s late,” she whispers, though she isn’t sure if she means to push him away or pull him closer.

“Patience, darling,” he murmurs, voice a husky rasp, settling over her like a warm shroud.

From the edge of the bed, she grips the sheet, willing her body to obey her mind. But the way his voice rolls over her, the way it seeps into her skin, makes it impossible not to think of things—wicked, corrupt things. Things he can do to her.

He finally joins her, the bed dipping under his weight.

He folds one leg on the mattress, the other planted on the floor.

He is close. Too close. His bare chest brushes her arm and heat licks up her spine.

Smoke and aftershave curls around her senses, blending with something faintly floral—his shampoo, maybe.

Her nipples harden beneath the silk top, and she doesn’t know if it’s the air conditioner or the simple, devastating presence of him.

“I have a lot planned for tonight,” he exhales, smoke curling in the air. He pushes his hair back, fingers threading through the damp curls. “Or rather, this morning. It’s like what? 3AM?”

“It’s late, Zev,” she whispers again, but the words crumble as his lips graze the shell of her ear, his breath hot, teasing.

“I know.”

Smoke spills from his lips, wrapping around her, choking her thoughts. She coughs, twisting away.

“Can you not?” She glares at him. “Secondary smoking is just as bad too. I’d prefer a cancer-free lung.”

He releases a breathy chuckle, but he doesn’t put the cigarette away, doesn’t even consider it.

“I couldn’t track your movement for hours,” he says, voice lower, edged with something unreadable.

His fingers ghost over her cheek, tucking her hair behind her ear before his lips graze her jaw. “Didn’t know where you were. If you were home.” A pause, a beat. “Or if you were with another man.”

His jaw flexes as if he can’t imagine the thought, his grip on her face tightening.

“Zev—”

“Why is the gift I gave you in another man’s house?” His voice turns sharp, the heat of his cigarette-tainted breath fanning over her skin.

“Are you serious?” Her irritation flares. “You put a tracker on me.” She wrenches her face free from his hold. “You have been watching me like a goddamn creep. Do you hear yourself? Does any of that sound normal to you?”

Unfazed, he exhales a slow stream of smoke, a smirk curving his lips. “You’re mine.”

“And you’re sick,” she spits. “Take me home.”

He watches her lazily through half-lidded eyes, cigarette returning to his lips as he takes another slow drag.

“Sit,” he commands.

“No—”

“Put your fucking ass down.”

The growl in his voice is enough to make her heart slam against her ribs. Her breath catches. Before she even registers it, she is sitting again, though as far away from him as the bed allows.

But she barely has time to settle into the new position as he is on her again. One hand grips her thigh, the other snaking around her waist, pulling her closer to his body.

“Come on, I’m exhausted, baby,” he whispers, and Vivienne shivers at the new nickname. “And I’m trying so hard to be nice to you.” His voice is smoke-laced with something darker.

His lips find the fluttering pulse beneath her ear, pressing a slow, intentional kiss. “Don’t push me tonight, ladybird. Don’t be naughty and make this harder than I want it to be.”

His teeth sink into her soft skin, sharp and possessive.

She yelps, the sting pulsing through her, her fingers clenching on his thigh. As if aware of the pain he has caused, he sticks out his tongue, soothing the burn with a slow, languid stroke.

“I don’t wanna flip a switch tonight,” he murmurs, lips brushing over the mark he just made. “I know you had a bad day. This is me trying to make you feel better.”

She shudders.

“Just take me home, Zev.”

“I will,” he grunts, placing open-mouthed kisses along her shoulder. “But not now.”

Dissatisfied with the limited access to her skin, he hooks the finger that holds the burning cigarette under the strap of her top, sliding it down her arm until the fabric barely covers her nipple.

“Zev,” she moans when his hand cups her full breast, her breath hitching as the glowing tip of the cigarette grazes her skin, leaving behind a gentle burn.

“Fuck, take it off.” He fixes the cigarette between his lips, hunger, and fire darkening his gaze.

“What?” she asks, breathless.

“Take it off or I’m ripping it.”

Her fingers hook under her hem, lifting the thin silk material over her head and tossing it aside.

Zev’s eyes trace the exposed curve of her body, lingering on her heaving breast. A slow, satisfied smirk tugs at his lips when he spots the faint burn mark left by his cigarette.

“Fuck.” His voice is a husky whisper as he lowers his head to her chest, tongue flicking out to lap at the burn. “You’re perfect.”

His fingers tighten around her breast, kneading with deliberate intent. “You know what I love about you?” His tongue flicks over the swollen nipple, dragging a moan from her lips. “Everything about you fits into my hands…and my mouth.

He kisses her, his free hand sliding into her hair, fisting it from behind. “Your lips.” He squeezes her breast again, tight, drawing another moan from her throat. “Your perfect pussy.” His fingers stroke between her thighs, his touch firm, knowing. Her breath shudders.

His smirk darkens. “You’re already wet, ladybird.”

“I need to—”

“Take the shorts off.”

“Zev—”

“Now!”

Lifting her hips, she wriggles out of her shorts, leaving herself bare to him.

“I hear couples do this thing where they watch movies together.” Something flickers in his eye, dark amusement laced with something more sinister.

She blinks, her body still strumming.

His fingers trail between her thighs, teasing. “I have the perfect movie for us.” His grin widens, wicked and hard to read. “Highly recommended. Something tells me you’ll love it.”

Then he moves to the large screen mounted on the wall across from the bed, grabbing a flash drive from the stand and plugging it into the TV.

Vivienne’s mind spins in questions. There’s something deliberate about this, something hidden in his tone. She isn’t sure she wants to know what it is.

“Done,” he announces, returning to the bed.

“Get on.”

How brows knit slightly, waiting.

“On all fours.” He steps closer, tilting her chin with his fingers, his touch gentle. “Do it.”

She climbs onto the bed, positioning herself as he intends—facing the screen, her body open to him.

The bed dips under his weight. Shadows shift around her. A low shuffle of material, then warmth pressing against her backside.

She glances behind her, and her breath catches at the sight of his cock—thick, veined, and aching.

“Oh god,” she whimpers when he drags his length across her dripping throbbing heat, teasing, tormenting.

A sound crackles from the television as he presses a button.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen.” His fingers dig into her waist, holding her still. “You’re gonna be my brave girl and watch every second of this movie, okay?”

She nods.

“And when it reaches climax, I need you to explode all over my cock.” He presses the head against her entrance, not quite. “Do we have a deal?”

“Yes,” she gasps, arching her back, desperate for more.

Finally, he thrusts inside, stretching her, filling her in one deep stroke.

“Come on, ladybird, eyes on the screen,” he orders, pulling out agonizingly slowly before driving back inside her.

She gasps, barely registering the flickering images on the screen. Glitching lights. Echoing footsteps. A ghostly soundtrack rises beneath her moans.

“The movie,” she pants, pleasure curling through her like fire. “Is it scary?”

“You don’t like them scary?” His thrusts are slow and deliberate, dragging out her pleasure with a cruel kind of patience. Hard. Hungry, but never quite fast enough.

“I—I don’t like horror movies,” she whimpers, her pussy clenching around him. “Or anything with ghosts. I’m petrified of them.”

Then, a scream rips through the speaker of the television, sharp and agonized.