"Seriously? Where did you find these?"
She shows me the picture of me she had in her old room. The one she didn't tear to pieces.
"I picked it up when I saved your violin from the fire."
"Wow," she snorts. "Obsessed with yourself much?"
"It's yours, baby. And I was on a mission to save your most precious possessions." I wink at her, but her gaze is stuck on the picture. "Why the nostalgic look?"
"I don't know," she mumbles. "Those were such simple times."
I observe as she bites her tongue. Something she tends to do when she's not chewing gum.
"When I loved you from afar."
"You didn't love me," I say seriously. "You were obsessed with the idea of me you'd concocted in your head. You were in love with your imagination."
I stand to make my way to her, and she finally looks at me. Big brown eyes that are still half-filled with fear every time I approach her stare into mine.
I push her fringe out of her eyes with my index finger while grabbing the pack of bubblegum with my other hand.
"It's a painful realization, isn't it?" I ask in a low voice as I unwrap a piece of gum. "That I'm not the artist you thought I was?"
Pressing on her lower lip with my thumb, I caress it, pulling it. The hitch in her breath is more dangerous than a siren's chant. Is that what drove Chase crazy? Is that why he wasn't willing to let her go, because he’d rather see her dead than with someone else?
I get it. And that's why he had to go. There can't be two of us feeling like Nyx belongs to us and no one else.
I take a deep breath as I push the bubblegum into her mouth. Her tongue wraps around my thumb, her eyes blinking up at me before I pull my finger out.
"Tell me it's painful, Nyx. That it broke you to finally see the person you'd idolized your whole life was an egotistical asshole who takes and never gives anything in return. Who enjoys mind-fucking you until you’re putty in my hands."
My hand slides from her cheek to her left ear, my fingers sliding into her silky hair.
"And tell me the worst thing of all," I purr.
I dig farther into her hair, gripping the back of her head and tilting it until her eyes find mine again.
I lower my lips to hers to murmur, "That you love it. That it makes you feel like nothing else ever has before. That the high grips your guts and steals your breath."
Unable to help myself, I nibble at her lower lip, teasing myself with her taste.
"Tell me that your heart is mine,mon trésor."
"I'm a dreamer, Achilles," she repeats in a whisper. "You should try it sometime. If you let yourself dream, you might find that your own heart doesn’t belong to you anymore."
Crashing my lips onto hers, I force my tongue into her mouth and relish the flavor of bubblegum.
Fuck. It tastes good on her. So good that I steal it from her, our tongues playing a war together. I bite her lower lip, and her cry feeds the motherfucker inside me.
I keep her locked in place as I take what I want, and the way her hands come to rest on my chest without pushing tells me she doesn't exactly mind when I take from her. That's her problem, isn't it? She finds the danger exciting.
We break from our kiss, my forehead still resting on hers.
But instead of telling me the things I demanded from her, she says, "What happens when you're done writing your concerto?"
My eyes flutter shut, my voice refusing to answer her.
"What happens when you're done torturing me?"
