Page 91 of Cursed

I hesitate, then lean forward and take the food from his chopsticks. The casual intimacy of the gesture feels more invasive than some of the explicit things we’ve done.

We eat in silence, the TV providing background noise. My body gradually relaxes.

I glance down at the pad Thai in my container, then back at Landon. A shift stirs in me—a dangerous curiosity about how far thisnormalnight can go. I twirl some noodles around my chopsticks, lifting them toward him.

“Try mine,” I request.

Landon’s eyes lock with mine, something unreadable flickering in their steel-blue depths. He leans forward, his gaze never leaving my face as he takes the food from my chopsticks. His lips close around the noodles, and I feel a flush creeping up my neck.

It’s such a simple thing—sharing food—yet it feels more intimate than many of our physical encounters. Those were about power, about Landon taking what he wanted. This is different. Mutual. Tender.

I watch his throat as he swallows, and an unwelcome heat pools low in my belly. The air between us thickens, charged with an electric heat.

Landon passes me a water glass, his fingers brushing mine. The brief contact sends an electric current through me. He’s had me, possessed me, broken me open—and still, this casual brush of his hand is the most perilous of all

We continue eating, the silence punctuated only by the TV and the occasional sound of chopsticks against containers. Our eyes meet, and each time it feels like a challenge.

I expect him to make a move, to use this manufactured intimacy as a prelude to sex. That’s our pattern—any vulnerability quickly turns physical, preventing deeper connection. But Landon simply continues eating, his posture relaxed yet alert.

The tension builds until I can barely breathe, my skin hypersensitive, aware of every inch of space between us. It’s maddening—this waiting for a move that never comes.

37

LANDON

The tension in the room is thick enough to cut with a knife. I can sense it radiating from her body, feel it in the careful way she breathes beside me. The electricity between us is nothing new, but this—this quiet domesticity—is unexplored territory.

I won’t move first. Not tonight. This isn’t about sex or the games of control. It’s about what lies beyond my understanding. Why her? Why does she reach into me past flesh and claim more than I ever meant to give?

We finish our food in silence. I gather the empty containers while she settles deeper into the couch, pulling her knees up to her chest. When I return, she shifts, making room for me. After a moment’s hesitation, she curls against my side, her head resting on my shoulder.

A strange warmth expands in my chest. I wrap my arm around her, drawing her closer.

On screen, the medical drama continues with its predictable storylines and manufactured crises. It’s mind-numbingly boring—people in scrubs running through corridors, talking about procedures I don’t care about. But Sadie enjoys it.

The mundane intimacy of the moment is more unsettling than any violent impulse I’ve ever had. I understand violence. I understand desire. This quiet comfort is foreign.

When the episode finally ends—thank fuck—Sadie reaches for the remote and turns off the TV. The sudden silence amplifies the sound of our breathing, the subtle shift of her body as she turns to face me.

Her eyes meet mine, questioning, searching. The air between us crackles with potential energy. Instinct claws at me—to pin her to the couch, to devour her mouth and body, to remind her exactly how this works.

I remain still, watching her, waiting.

Her expression shifts. Before I can read it, she leans forward. Her lips press against mine, hesitant at first, then with growing confidence.

Sadie pulls back from the kiss; determination mixed with desire flashing in her eyes. She shifts her weight, repositioning herself until she’s straddling my lap. The sudden pressure of her body against mine hardens my already semi-hard cock.

“Is this okay?” she asks.

I nod once, my hands finding her hips but not directing her movements. She rocks against me, and I feel myself harden instantly beneath her.

She kisses me again, hungrier now. I answer, but hold back from the instinct to roll her beneath me, to take what I want. This feels like more than that. I loosen my hold on her hips and let her set the pace.

Sadie’s breathing quickens as she establishes a rhythm, grinding against me with increasing urgency. Her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling as she breaks the kiss to trail her lips along my jaw to my ear.

“Fuck me,” she whispers, her warm breath sending shivers down my spine. “Please.”

I swallow hard. “That wasn’t the plan for tonight, little butterfly. Just food and TV.” My voice sounds strained even to my own ears. “But if you want to fuck yourself on me, you can. You’re in the driver’s seat.”