Page 35 of Filthy Little Fix

I turn to leave the room, not daring to look back.

And I hear him laugh. A weak, broken laugh, unmistakably pleased.

It makes me want to scream.

I slam the door behind me, breathing hard, shaking with the aftermath.

Let Dmitry draft his contract. Let Svetlana see the beast. None of them would ever understand what it took to break a monster like Nyx.

But I did.

And I hate myself for it.

THIRTEEN

LEO

There'sblood and cum on my tongue. The blood is mine; a cracked molar, nearly split. The cum is his, and I taste it, bitter and thick as glue in the back of my throat.

Dante didn't even look at me when he slammed the door. Didn't pause, didn't ask. He just left me on the floor, on my knees, vibrating with the kind of pain that only gets better the more it hurts.

Fuck. He made me come untouched.

I spit into the trash can under the desk: pink foam. My mouth still works through the half-numb agony—my molar is definitely done for. Every time I bite down, the pain fires through my whole head and sets off a shudder down my spine that somehow ends in my groin. Turns out cum—and Dante's harshness—is inflammatory. The swelling in my gums pulsates like a heart. I give it less than twelve hours before my jaw swells up.

I stumble towards the en-suite bathroom. The mirror reflects a wreck: bruised jaw, red cheek, swollen lips, a smear of blood and cum painting my chin and neck. So this is what Dante brings out.

I lean closer to the mirror, opening my mouth and pulling down my bottom lip. A jagged shard like a tiny mountain peak, a fresh tear in the gum around it, oozing crimson. It looks bad. Really bad.

Hedid this. Dante. It's a brand. A physical mark of his control, his presence in me. My own fucked-up keepsake.

I turn on the faucet, splashing cold water on my face, scrubbing at the fluids. I clean—as I can—my mouth and teeth, I shower, but the phantom marks of his hands are under my skin.

I'm exhausted. The physical toll of the last day, coupled with the emotional whiplash of being back with Dante, has drained me.

I walk back into the main room, bare-chested despite the cold, toweling my hair dry. I eye the bed, stark white, pristine. Maybe a few hours. Just enough to recharge.

Just as I'm about to reach for the covers, I hear a soft knock on the main door.

Dante wouldn't be back so soon, and Luca doesn't knock.

The door opens, revealing a figure silhouetted against the bright hallway lights of the mansion.

I freeze. She's fucking beautiful.

She's a tall, elegant woman, with long, chemically straightened dark hair slicked back, highlighting her prominent cheekbones. Her ice-green eyes are hidden behind small, thin-rimmed, rounded elliptical glasses.

She scans the room. The desk, the made bed, the half-open bathroom door. And then she looks at me.

I feel a little self-conscious. If I had known I'd have a visitor, I would've gotten dressed.

She runs her eyes over my body without disguising it. The bruises, the random swellings. It's not hard to see with the paleness of my skin.

Only then does she look me in the eyes.

"Nyx, I presume?"

Her voice is clear and as icy as the color of her irises.