Semua Bab His Forbidden Muse: Bab 61 - Bab 70

They say devil has horns and hooves, but I’ve seen him in leather and sin, leaning against the wall with one hand in his pocket and jaw sharp enough to wound. Eyes darker than confession.He waits for me outside the library, cause I’ve been ignoring him. After class, I slipped into the cafeteria, and when he spotted me there, I ran to another class.He’s like a shadow with intention and like a storm that remembers your name.I know he’s there before I see him. The air changes often and thickens as if the sky before lighting shreds it open.He says nothing when I pass him, but the silence wraps around my throat. I barely make past him two steps before I hear his deep voice.“Running again, bambina?”His voice is not a sound. It is a feeling. A vibration beneath the ribs. It sinks into the cavities of my spine and plants itself there like a parasite that feeds on breath.I stop. Because I always do. Because I’m not brave enough to ignore him and not weak enough to submit.I turn.He’s a

Hell is empty and all the devils are here. Shakespeare was right. Hell was indeed empty, and one of them just pulled the chair out for me like a gentleman he is not.But there’s no such things as gentleman in my story. Only wolves with blue-grey eyes. Smiling as if he wants to devour me ever since he first laid his eyes on me. Inhaled. Bitten and consumed, so that this world could have nothing of me.Massimo Bianchi is not a man. He’s the sin. The temptation this world never taught me to resist. And tonight, he looks like all of it. More and worse.He’s traded leather for elegance today. Blazer with grey-stripes clinging to his broad shoulders. And hair neatly styled back, shaved, inky and unruly chaos behind his eyes. And don’t even let me start on those eyes….They’re stormy. Unapologetic and insanely merciless.A silver-blue wrath kissed by ice and blood and bad intentions.And still, I look.Still, my lungs forgets what breathing means.He could wear rags and I’d still crush on hi

The bathroom door slams behind me.My back hit the wood. My lungs heave as if I have sprinted a mile barefoot on glass. Heat prickles under my skin. My thighs rub together, restless, desperate, and I hate myself for it.I close my eyes. His hands are still on me. The curl of his fingers. The burn of his mouth. The bruising grip at my throat. The memory pressed into me and I slap my palms against the door, as if I can scrub the sensation away.“Stupid,” I whisper under my breath. “You’re insane. You can’t want this. You can’t.”But I do. My body screams the truth even as my mind try to choke it.I stumble toward the shower, fumbling with the knobs until hot water pours down. Steam rise, curling around me, swallowing my ragged breath. I step inside and let it wash over me, hoping it will burn him off my skin. But it doesn’t. His fingerprints cling tighter with every drop.I press my forehead to the cold tile. My nails digging into my palms. My chest heaves, caught between sobs and moans

The banging nearly cracks my fucking skull open. Whoever is at the door has a death wish, because if Krystina wake up screaming, I will put a bullet between their eyes without hesitation.I shove the door open, already scowling. And of course… it’s Nico.“Christ,” I mutter, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Not you.”“Good morning to you too, sunshine.” His grin is wide, obnoxious, too white for this hour. He pushes past me like the house belonged to him.“Fuck off,” I growl, planting a hand on his chest to block him, but Nico is already through, carrying a paper bag like it was the Holy Grail. The scent hit me immediately… bagels. Sweet, warm, goddamn cinnamon sugar. Something he munches on like a rabid dog.He plops himself on the couch and unwraps the bag like a spoiled kid on Christmas morning. “Hungry?”“No.” I cross my arms over my chest, muscles flexing with the kind of irritation only he can pull out of me. “Leave.”Nico doesn’t even blink. He stuffs half a bagel in his mouth,

“I…I’m sorry, Papochka, but trust me, I didn’t know he had these.” I shake my head trying to denying it. I should’ve seen the signs. I should’ve been careful. I was so into my own world, I didn’t notice what Rox was doing. He was always around, in places I didn’t know. And now he is dead. Because of me.I become the reason for someone’s blood.No matter the crime, my heart is till pounding anxiously.Papochka sighs, taking a step toward me and wrapping me in his protective arms. I let him pull me to his heart. “It’s alright, Solnishko. No one’s blaming you.”I know. But Judas does sound like he wants to blame me. He keeps saying I am too careless to see what was happening around me, that I was thoughtless, but how would have I known?I let Papochka’s warm embrace comfort me as he whisper sweet nothings into my ear. I know he’s comforting me, but he’s also glad Rox is dead. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s the one who killed him, but blood on Judas tells me otherwise.Papochka may seem