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“Do it, prince.” And then he pushes forward.

I barely have time to react before the knife sinks into his side. My eyes widen as blood blooms dark against his shirt. “Kento—”

He doesn’t even flinch. Or if he does, it vanishes under his smile.

“There,” he says, voice rougher now. “Happy?”

I stare at him. He’s breathing harder, but still standing and crowding me, one hand coming up to wrap around my wrist just to hold my hand there where the blade is inside him.

What the fuck is wrong with him?

What the fuck is wrong with me that part of me is more shaken by how good he looks like this than by the actual stabbing?

His other hand rises and cups the side of my face.

“Kento,” I say again, but this time it comes out weaker than I want, because he’s dismantling me.

Then he grabs the back of my head and kisses me.

His mouth crashes against mine while his grip tightens in my hair, keeping me there as if he knows I might come to my senses and bite his tongue off. His lips are hot, and there’s something so wrong about kissing him with blood literally spilling between us that my brain gives up trying to sort disgust from want.

His tongue thrusts inside my mouth, and I let him even as I shove at his chest.

It doesn’t work, so I do it harder, furious at my own body for betraying me in real time, but he just presses in closer, the pain clearly there now in the tension of him and yet doing absolutely nothing to stop him.

He kisses me deeper.

His mouth curves against mine, then he drags his teeth very lightly over my lower lip, and I nearly lose whatever remains of my mind.

When he finally pulls back, it’s only far enough for me to breathe.

His forehead rests against mine. His hand stays at the back of my neck. The knife remains in his side, held between us like proof of mutual insanity.

I stare at him, breathing hard, mouth aching, thoughts completely destroyed.

And Kento, bloodied and grinning, whispers, “Worth it.”

Then I see his eyes fall shut and his body give way to unconsciousness.

***

Whoever made Kento this heavy owes me a new spine. I’m pretty sure he weighs approximately one metric fuckton, and I have no idea how I manage to get his unconscious ass into my car without throwing my back out.

Somehow, adrenaline carries me through the entire process, and I manage to drive him to my personal little hideout without killing either of us on the way there. The place is where I go when I need to decide which torture method would be most appropriate for whatever poor bastard has pissed me off lately.

I’ve never brought anyone inside, and Kento sure as hell isn’t going to know he’s the first. The second he finds out, he’ll get that stupid look on his face and start thinking he’s fucking special. He isn’t. This is an emergency.

Now he’s on my couch.

Bleeding all over it.

Because this fucker stabbed himself with my knife.

For a kiss.

A kiss that, by the way, is still burning on my lips.

Which is deeply irritating, because I would very much like to be furious about what he did without my brain replaying the moment every five seconds.