I CAN'T HOLD BACK

Our mansion’s rear overlooks a warehouse.

As glass is the wall on two sides of our matrimonial room, we can see half the house’s front and half its back.

I often stared at the warehouse, sitting in my favorite leather chair and sipping hot or cold milk, depending on the weather. But I’ve never been inside it since I didn’t think it was important.

Except now.

Zeath brought me into it. And, as I thought, there’s nothing much to it: just darkness and echoes of the slightest sound.

For hours now, I’ve also been waiting for Zeath to break the silence. He doesn’t. But he’s here. His scent lingers, and so do the echoes of his footsteps whenever he moves an inch or two.

Fear dominates me now instead of the tears I shed at Mama Tia’s place. Each minute that ticks by with me here makes me scared to my livers.

I’m not used to the dark. I was never tossed into one either.

Darkness reminds me of stories that spread around the globe—of Gratfiend Lupin’s savagery—how he killed people in the most brutal way possible.

They say every Lupin house has a warehouse for a reason. People who have a history of badmouthing the Lupins pointed fingers, claiming that the warehouses were places of torture.

No one investigated these things. Am I mad? There won’t be any investigation, as the Lupins have the law in their pockets.

And now I’m scared that I might experience these stories myself. I mean, blood is thick. Really thick, but dries too quickly on the skin.

Who knows whether Zeath has the same characteristics as his father?

It probably stayed dormant in his traits, like the betrayal running in his blood.

The darkness in front of me moves as his footfalls echo. I don’t know if he’s coming or withdrawing.

That’s the beauty of whatever plan he has for sitting me in a chair without a gag, a blindfold, or straps.

It’s because he knew I wouldn’t dare move in the darkness. And he’s now using that against me, wanting me to suffer in terror as I wonder what action he’ll take next.

“I found Yolie...” his voice booms. Yet, I can’t figure out where the fuck he is. “...trapped in your lair of a house.” The footsteps stop. “Did you even think, ‘What if she starves to death?’”

There’s silence for a moment. Maybe the only loud sound is my heartbeat.

But in the next second, the warehouse grows colder. Zeath’s stomps start faster. Now it’s clear he’s approaching me as if rushing at me.

I can’t help my instinct pushing me backward. That only lifts my chair’s forelegs. And I nearly fell back if firm hands didn’t hold the armrests.

“What went wrong with your head?” Zeath shouts right in front of me. I feel his warm breath on my face. Still, I don’t see him.

His hands release the armrests before I sense him retract. Then the light switches on—a bright white light that captures my sight, causing me to let out a breath I don’t know I held.

Zeath’s tall figure leans against the wall near the warehouse entrance, arms crossed on his chest with one leg set in front of the other.

He looks relaxed. One wouldn’t know he yelled at my face earlier. And his smile can be likened to wickedness.

Even the light doesn’t embrace his eyes as he mumbles, “I love her more than anything. More than what you call a life.”

“You made that pretty obvious; don’t you think?”

“No.” Zeath shakes his head. “It’s not enough. I don’t think you really know how much I despise you or how I want to rid myself of you. Can’t you see what is happening?”

He grabs one of the metal chairs tossed around the warehouse before sitting in front of me, placing his elbows on his thighs to lean forward.

“I do not want you. I never have,” he whispers. “The least you could do for yourself is walk away.”

“Then why not serve me divorce papers if you hate me so? You know deep down you feel something for me.”

Zeath snorts, a smirk lying across his lips. “Where did you lock your shame while saying that?” He pauses for a second and then drags his chair near me so that my knees are between his thighs with his legs flanking mine.

That’s dangerously close, even for him. But he doesn’t seem to realize that as he sets his elbows on my thighs, his face only an inch away from mine.

“There’s this thing about revenge, not the lousy type you’re trying to get for yourself,” he says. “It’s like when you don’t want to stain your hands with blood, but you want to see someone gone for good. Dead, I mean. It’s the same for me. Knowing how much your survival depends on this marriage, I don’t want to have a hand in whatever happens to you later. You run on your own will.”

But at this point, it’s not much of my choice, is it?

“You think I can’t survive without this marriage?” I ask, my heart squeezing out blood and pain at the weight of Zeath’s words.

The man shrugs. “I think you should prove me wrong on that. Divorce me. I’ll pay for any damage, even though money is not an issue for you.”

“What if I say you pay with your life, or Yolie’s, or...” I smile. “...the life of your infant.”

Zeath's smirk instantly disappears. He doesn’t frown though. His expression is simply neutral as he looks at me for a while. Then he gets up and strolls toward the exit.

I watch him run his fingers through his hair, stopping a few paces from me with his back turned to me.

I don’t know how long he’s stood there. What occupies my thoughts is regret.

I shouldn’t have said that. I should have sealed my lips shut. Now I have to face his wrath—one I thought I was ready to see, but not at all.

When Zeath swings around, he closes in on me before posing contrapposto in my line of sight. He looks down at his feet.

But as he diverts those burning eyes to me, staring from beneath his lashes, I feel tingles rush from all around my body, heading to a single point—my vagina.

This man will always be sexy, no matter how I look at him. No matter the sharp claws he carved on my skin. And it doesn’t help matters when he’s nibbling his lower lip.

An abrupt ringing in my ear causes me to wince as my sight blurs and darkens. Pain stretches through my jaws, even itching in my bones.

I only realize what has happened when I find Zeath's hand withdrawing from my face.

He slapped me. He fucking hit me!

“Keep my wife and child out of your mouth!” he bellows. Maybe that’s all I need to get the fuck up.

“Wife?” I utter as I rise to my feet. Pushing Zeath backward with all my strength, he barely moves. “That woman is a mistress. I am your wife!”

Zeath grabs my neck and pulls me close. I swear he’s nearly even lifting me off the floor.

“No, you are nothing to me,” he hisses as he leans down, his lips curled in disgust.

“Why don’t we test that, then?” I choke out before moving closer. “For someone who claims he can’t stand me, you sure seem to stick by my side for over a minute.”

“That’s only because you keep clinging to me, suffocating me.”

“Am I now?” This time, our bodies are more than brushing against each other. And Zeath doesn’t shift from his position.

Somehow, it gives me hope that no matter how cruel he treats me, there’s still a little of the Zeath I once knew left in him. The Zeath that has his whole being clasped around my little heart, hurting it when he once flew with it.

“You’re a grown-ass man, Zeath. Maybe it’s time to fucking grow up and realize you can literally turn around and walk away if you want,” I whisper. Our faces are so close that even his fingers around my neck weaken.

“Go on, do it,” I mutter as our noses touch. “You can’t, can you? Or you won’t.” 

Zeath puffs out a shaky breath. He’s letting his walls down.

“Then all you’ve been saying are lies,” I purr with my lips against his. “You love me, Zeath, and you know that. You’re in denial because you feel you owe Yolie years of being together. You thought it was a dare, but it really wasn’t.”

“What are you trying to do―”

“Shut up and let me finish.” I look into Zeath’s deep-set eyes—proof that central heterochromia is fucking hot. They’re icy blue without, green within. And his brows are so thick one would think they’d sweep your mind from existence.

“You can’t resist the way I look at you. You just can’t. And it’s why you have a hard-on every damn time.” I peck his lips. “Even when you only sniff my scent while walking up the stairs.”

Zeath chuckles, but I cut him off by biting his bloody lower lip before mumbling, “Your whole fucking being wants me. You can smell the warmth of twenty-six years pooling between my thighs, and you desire a taste of it.”

“Stop brainwashing me, Mellow.”

“I’m not brainwashing you, idiot. I’m telling you what’s real. Obviously, you’ve been blind.”

Zeath claims my lips the next second. And he doesn’t give me time to breathe.

His hands roaming my body leave me with no idea how to feel. It’s just one sensation after another.

I can’t even pinpoint where they start. But they surely do end as moisture in my vagina.

My hand trails down his abdomen, heading for his belt—to undo it. However, Zeath’s faster. 

He lets his hands settle on my waists when he’s done, while mine fiddle with his zipper before tucking into his pants.

My fingers brush his aroused shaft. Of course, I’ve touched him so many times before. But this time, it feels different.

Like when you finally lay your hands on a piece of art you’ve been expecting for years and all you want to do is worship it.

“Fuck, Mellow,” he growls as I caress him through his underpants, tracing every vein and hard surface with my fingers, letting the latter cherish the pulsating movement of his dick.

But when I try to sneak those naughty fingers into the boxers, Zeath suddenly pulls away.

I look at him, confused. He also stares at me, standing some paces from me while breathing and sweating. 

He’s a fucking horny mess, his muscles contrasting with restraint.

“Why are we stopping?” I ask as I try to step close before Zeath thrusts his arms forward to stop me, breathing out words that’d sound better if they were moans.

“Mellow, I can’t hold back.” He shakes his head and puffs, “Not this time.”