Because by the time he comes back, all my rage, all my pride, all the lies I told myself have been stripped away and replaced with a raw, trembling,achingneed.
And the only thing echoing in my skull—over and over, louder than blood, louder than breath—is:
Touch me.
Break me.
Destroy me.
Break me in half and devour what’s left.
Make me forget who I am.
Who I was.
Who I swore I’d never become.
Make meyours.
Worship me with your teeth.
Drag out all the rot, all the damage, all the filth inside me and take me anyway.
Because I’ve lived in the dark so long, I don’t know how to exist without it.
Because I don’t want gentleness. I want ruin.
I want him.
And the most twisted part?
The only person I’ve ever hated more than Nico Vitale… is myself.
So maybe this, being undone by him, piece by piece, is the closest I’ll ever get to salvation.
Or damnation.
At this point, I don’t care which.
Just as long as hetouches me.
“Did you have time to think?” Nico asks, his voice low, like he already knows the answer.
There’s blood on his shirt.
Small spatters, barely noticeable. Unless you’re looking.
I don’t ask whose it is.
“Yes,”I rasp. The sound of my own voice startles me. It’s wrecked, hoarse, like it’s been dragged across gravel.
He steps closer, like he’s circling prey. “And what is it you want from me, Julian?”
My pulse thrashes in my throat.
I should lie. Deflect. Bite back. But my pride is gone, and my body betrays me before my mind can protest.
“I want you to touch me,” I whisper.
