Chapter 74 You need to go
KADEN'S POV
The first thing I register is the ghost of a touch...a hand tracing a slow, feverish line up my side before hooking around my waist and dragging me back. I shift instinctively, my body seeking the heat of him even through the fog of sleep.
I know that grip.
His breath is hot against the nape of my neck. I feel his hand tighten on me, fingers digging into my hip before easing up, then tightening again...firmer, more possessive. I take it as a demand for more contact, so I shift back until I’m tucked perfectly against him, my back flush to his chest. A sleepy smile pulls at my mouth when I feel how hard he is. The hard, blunt length of him pressing against me.
My eyes flutter for a second. Right... We’re still in the study. The fireplace he lit earlier has died down to a bed of glowing embers, but the rug beneath us is thick and the room is still heavy with warmth. The floor’s uncomfortable as hell beneath me, but I don't care. I don’t want to move. I don’t want to break the spell.
Then, his hand slides into the waistband of my sweatpants.
I’m not wearing anything underneath, a breath leaves me when his fingers close around my cock. Bastian mutters something against my skin...a rough, gravelly sound...but the words are tangled, lost to the haze of my exhaustion. His hand starts stroking me slowly, and my body reacts immediately, warmth curling low in my stomach.
Then suddenly, his teeth sink into my shoulder too hard. Pain flashes through me sharp enough to make me suck in a breath.
“Fuck!”
The sharp sting of his teeth makes me hiss, a flash of white pain jolting me awake. I start turning to face him, but the second I roll onto my back, a hand plants hard against my stomach and pins me flat against the rug.
“Stay still.”
I blink, my vision swimming. "And if I don't?"
"I said stay still."
My eyes snap open. The voice isn't right. It’s Bastian’s, but the melody is gone...replaced by a hollow coldness that makes the hair on my arms stand up. The overhead lights are too bright, stinging my eyes as I try to adjust. His head is bent near my throat, his hand moving on me faster now. The strokes turning rougher, almost frantic. Then in that same chilling, monochromatic voice, he whispers, "You wanted this. Don't pretend now."
I wrench my head to the side, looking at him. His eyes are shut tight, his brows knit together in a look of profound, agonizing tension.
"Bastian?" I murmur, my heart starting to thud against my ribs. The dread is immediate and visceral. His hand tightens harder around me, I grab his wrist and try pulling it away, but then he laughs. It's a dark, eerie sound that doesn't belong to this room. It’s low and it freezes my blood.
"Hey, Bastian,"
"You know what happens when you fight me," he says. Then his voice drops softer and eerily tender. “I’ll be gentle, hmm?” His mouth brushes my throat. “Don’t make me do something i don't wanna do.”
Every muscle in my body locks. Dread washes over me in a cold, suffocating wave. He’s somewhere else. I reach down, my fingers scrambling to catch his wrist, trying to pull his hand away from me.
"Bastian, wake up!" I shout.
I manage to pry his hand off, but as I go to sit up, he lunges. He pins me with the full weight of his body. The breath punches out of my lungs as my back slams against the rug again. He makes a frustrated sound low in his throat, pinning me down with terrifying strength.
“Why do you always do this?” he snaps angrily.
His hands fly to my neck. They wrap around my throat and squeeze. Fear explodes through me so fast it almost makes me dizzy. Adrenaline hits my system like a lightning strike. I’m gasping, my hands clawing at his wrists, but he’s possessed by a strength that feels inhuman.
My vision starts to blur at the edges. "Get off!" I choke out, kicking out blindly. "Bastian, get off me!"
"Stop pretending," he growls, his grip tightening. "You liked it before."
We’re fully struggling now, bodies tangling across the rug as I try getting free and he keeps forcing me back down. And suddenly I’m scared.
Actually scared.
Because this isn’t Bastian...Or maybe it is, and that thought’s somehow worse. His hand grabs at my waistband again, his movements frantic and blind.
"Bastian! Stop! Fucking stop!"
My voice cracks this time. Loud enough that something changes. His eyes open, bright blue locks onto mine. For two seconds, he just stares at me, one hand still curled around my throat. I watch the confusion in those blue depths flicker and die, replaced instantly by a look of sheer, unadulterated horror.
He lets go of me as if I’ve turned into red-hot iron. He staggers back on his knees, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he looks around the study like he’s seeing it for the first time. I scramble into a sitting position, my hands flying to my bruised neck, breathing like I’ve sprinted miles, throat burning where his hand had been.
Sweat clings to my skin despite the cold terror crawling through me. Bastian’s still looking at me like he’s trying to piece reality back together. His chest is rising too fast.
I don’t know what the fuck to say.
I don’t know what just happened.
He suddenly stands...I flinch backward automatically. The movement registers on his face instantly. Something flashes across his expression so fast I can’t even fully process it.
I try to find my voice. "What the hell was that? What just—"
"You need to go," he cuts me off. His voice is trembling, but the coldness is back....sharper this time.
"What?" I frown, wiping sweat from my forehead. "Hey, talk to me, you were—"
"Now," he barks.
He strides over to his desk, his movements jerky and stiff. I watch, completely perplexed and still reeling. He picks up his phone and dials a number. It’s answered on the first ring.
"Pull the car around to the front," he says into the receiver, his back to me. "You’re taking Kaden home. Now."
I stand up, my legs feeling like water. "What? No, wait a minute—"
He’s already hung up. He points a finger at the door, not even looking at me. "Go wait for George."
"Are you being fucking serious right now?" I ask, my voice cracking.
"Just fucking go, Kaden!" he roars, finally turning to face me.
The look in his eyes stops the breath in my lungs. It isn't anger. It’s a raw, bleeding shame so intense it’s vibrating off him in waves.
“Please,” he adds quietly.
I don't argue. I can't. I grab my phone and walk out of the room.
The walk to the front door is a blur. I don't even register crossing the threshold, but suddenly I’m standing in front of the house in borrowed clothes and house slippers, breathing like I’ve just outrun something feral. The cold air hits my face hard. Or maybe it’s not even cold. Maybe I’m just shaking.
The property is absurdly bright. Stadium lights spill over everything...the gravel drive, the orange trees, the massive stone exterior of the house. I drag a hand through my hair and force myself to breathe. My fingers brush my neck on the next inhale and I freeze.
It’s tender, my stomach twists. I pull my phone out with unsteady fingers and check the screen.
2:03 a.m.
Only two hours since I was convinced I was starting to see the real him. I run a hand through my hair, gripping the strands hard enough to hurt, and look back at the house. For some masochistic, godforsaken reason, a part of me wants to turn around. I want to walk back in, storm into that study, and demand he look at me.
Headlights cut through the dark, sweeping over the gravel. George comes to a smooth, silent stop right next to me. I blink, a lump forming in my throat that feels like a physical obstruction. The window rolls down. George is sitting there, his face illuminated by the dashboard glow. He doesn't say anything at first, just studies me, taking in the disheveled hair and the trembling hands. Then his gaze drops to my neck and something tightens in his expression.
"Are you okay?" He asks.
His voice isn't the curt, professional tone from the kitchen. It’s genuinely concerned. It’s the voice of someone who has seen this script played out before and knows exactly how the scene ends.
I give a small, jerky nod. It’s a lie, and I’m certain he can see right through the cracks of it. He doesn't push, just gestures toward the back door. "Get in, Kaden."
I numbly pull the door open and slide into the leather seat.
The leather seat is cold beneath me. I keep staring at the house through the tinted window...searching for anything to suggest he’s watching me go. Nothing moves. The engine hums softly. Then George's eyes meet mine briefly through the rearview mirror.
“Seatbelt,” he says softly.
The word snaps me out of whatever daze I’m in. I blink and automatically reach for it, clicking it into place with clumsy fingers. He shifts the car into gear, but he lingers for a second, still looking at me through the rearview mirror.
"It’s a long drive," he finally says. "You should try to get some rest."
I lean my head against the cold glass of the window, watching the house shrink as we pull away.
Rest....
As if my mind isn't a riot of blue eyes and bruising grips. As if i can do anything besides keep thinking about the look on Bastian’s face right before I left.
That panic.
That horror.
Like waking up was worse for him than it had been for me.