The silence of the vehicle has only made the questions and the steady pulse of my clit louder. How long have I been left here? Still parked outside of Gentle Hands, Brixton left after he… kissed my hand. Turning it over, it feels better all wrapped up, but where did he even get the wrap from? I'm in trouble here. He's getting more and more possessive and something is going to give. I'm just not sure if it's my will to live, or his. There's something about him that makes me want to get closer, to find out what he's truly capable of. Not to mention that when I woke up… nope, I promised myself that I would let that go, and pretend it never happened. The vehicle jolts forwards, and my entire chest constricts. We can't leave here without him. I can't be alone again. Banging on the window between me and the driver does nothing. I only have one good hand and it’s hurting, so kicking it is. Two good thumps and the car is pulling over to the shoulder sharply, tossing me onto th

“I thought you said we were training?” “You can’t train without eating,” Brixton says, pushing the plate of food closer to me. The plate in front of me is full. Not a nicely put-together plate, but ‌a plate where all the food is touching. They roasted the chicken to perfection, and beside it the mashed potatoes have a pool of melted butter on top, leaking under the chicken and vegetable medley beside it. “Where’s yours?” I look up, but it's never easy to feel his full attention on me. There's already warmth spreading to my cheeks as he half barks out an order. “Eat, Devlin.” His eyes are still locked onto mine as the familiar weight of a utensil is shoved into my hand. The hand that’s still covered in blood. The utensil clinks against the plate as I press away from the makeshift table he set up in my room and dash towards the bathroom. Strong arms catch me from behind, pulling me into a warmth that's easy to get lost in. Luscious, delicious, juicy grape invades my space and m

*** Slap after slap, my feet hit the hard ground running. The silence is so deafening, yet so loud, as it calls out to me in the darkness. It's urgently pulling at me, propelling every step I take, but something else in the silence is there too… watching me. There’s a prickle along my skin, raising tiny bumps of awareness along my arms as it works its way to the base of my neck. I can’t pinpoint where it’s watching me from, seemingly everywhere, but nowhere all the same. Does it realize that I know it’s watching me? It makes no difference, giving me zero advantage to knowing when I can’t see a thing. Darkness layered with more darkness lies in front of me, every step a gamble as to whether it will land on solid ground or not, and yet here I am taking leaps of faith as I run towards the only thing giving me direction. Like a magnetic force, drawing me closer, it could be dangerous, and it just might be, but it doesn’t feel like I’m in danger. It feels like it’s calling me ho

My back hits the mat and hot embarrassment floods into my cheeks. My foot is still caught in the mesh, and the only thing that has me opening my eyes is the promise of his lick-able grape hands helping me out of this, but I’m met with hazel eyes instead. Heaviness in my chest lands harder than I did, my stomach twisting up my insides as the worry swirls around. “Trent!” I scramble to my feet, my heart racing with my mind as I hope ‌he didn’t witness anything that came before the graceful actions that landed me stuck in this mesh and still staring at the roof. “Dee,” he sighs, helping me up, untangling my foot for me, but letting go of me as soon as I’m standing on my own. “You’re back early,” I smile, moving toward him, but his face bunches up as he looks at me and backs up. “What… what’s wrong?” The shame I felt over my foot’s betrayal seems so minor compared to what's flowing through me right now. It’s uncomfortable as I shift on my feet and I wish I was anywhere but here. Th

My nose burns with the smell of rotten fruit. The acidity of it burns my lungs with every breath I don’t want to take as I look at Brixton.  He’s looking past me to where Trent is standing, and to anyone who doesn’t know him, he looks calm and collected, but I see the storm behind his icy blues.  I see the way his shoulders are flexed, holding more tension than they normally do, and how his mouth is open slightly, allowing room for if his canines drop, without revealing that to the room. I see the way his eyes are shifting shades of blue so subtle that it’s easy to miss. The storm in them is raging, begging to be unleashed as his hand flexes over an area I know he strapped a knife to earlier.  I know I shouldn’t be looking at him, watching to see what he’ll do, as his words from this week are on a