by Lacey Alpha
Poor guy. He's all man on the outside but inside he's still that boy, being reprimanded by his abusive father.
I run my fingers into his hair, resting my forehead against his. “You can change it. It's just a habit you've formed. All habits can be broken.”
He goes quiet for a minute, thoughtful. “Really? My therapist doesn't think so.”
I frown at that. What kind of therapist would give such an opinion?
“Well, he's wrong,” I insist.
“She,” he corrects immediately like he's jumping to her defence. Whoever this woman is, I can sense she's an important part of his life.
“How often do you see her?” I question, curious now, more jealous girl than intrigued psychologist.
“Depends.” He shrugs.
“On what?” I frown, pressing my lips together.
“On how bad a week I'm having.” His grip tightens on me.
I grind my hips a little, squeezing his waist with my thighs. “And how is this week working out for you so far?” I raise a brow, hoping to draw him out of his dark mood.
He lays his hands on my legs, gripping them and forcing me to grind against him again. “Good, Lise, thanks to you.”
It's the first time he's used my nickname, and it sets my pulse racing. I bite my lip and his eyes meet mine. He looks pained, squinting a little but continuing to stare.
I drop my gaze, my heart beating harder. I know he's trying, but this is hurting him. And I can't bear to be the one inflicting pain on him.
“I'm sorry,” he murmurs, half to himself, half to me.
“It doesn't matter,” I insist in a breathless whisper. “It's because of her, isn't it? The soldier?”
He nods, looking grim.
Leaning forward, I kiss his collar bone, moving along the curve, meeting the succulent muscle of his shoulder. I graze my teeth over it, tentatively placing my hands on his firm body.
He extracts my fingers immediately, gripping them in his fist.
“Turn around,” he growls, making my stomach flip over.
After a beat, I comply, scrambling off him and sitting backwards on his lap.
He takes my wrists in one hand behind my back, laying an impossibly gentle kiss on my neck. It sends heat rushing down my spine, the warmth spreading in a wave through my body, arriving right between my thighs.
Reaching boldly between my legs, I tug at his boxers, releasing his incredible length.
“Lise,” he sighs and I lift my hips, giving him permission.
He guides himself between my quivering thighs and I press my toes into the carpet, pushing up to give him room.
As he slides inside me, he hisses between his teeth. My eyes roll into my head as he fills me, my body stretching and absorbing him completely.
Laying his free hand on my belly, he takes control, rocking me up and down on his shaft.
He growls his approval, fucking me harder and faster. It's the first time he's done it like this and I can sense he needs a quick release.
Without warning, he stands, turning and bending me over the bed, my hair cascading around me.
He grabs my hips, forcing me back onto him, his enormity making me cry out.
“Ethan!” I warn, unused to this kind of ferocity.
He doesn't relent, pounding me until I'm losing my mind.
I throb with heat and know I'm going to have a mind-blowing finish. Alarming me, he bunches my hair in his fist, forcing my face into the mattress. He rocks into me relentlessly and I bite down on the sheets to bear it. I sense a wildness in him I haven't witnessed before: a dark, dangerous side that both frightens and thrills me.
“I'm not stopping 'til your spent, Lise. Understand?”
I moan again as he yanks my arms backwards, holding me in place. He's an animal, taking me so hard I've lost all ability to move. And it's impossibly...hot.
His harsh pants fill the air, the noise so sexual it alone makes me moan his name.
“That's it,” he hisses between his teeth and I'm lost, tensing around him, groaning and wailing in utter ecstasy.
He finishes with two sharp thrusts, sighing his relief as he fills me. He rubs my spine, staying inside me until we're both more relaxed. As he eases out, I roll over, blinking up at him dizzily.
I've never felt so well-fucked. This man wins outright over anyone I've ever been with. Trumping them ten times over.
He tucks himself away, tugging up his boxer shorts, taking in a slow breath as he surveys me.
“I shouldn't have been so rough.” He frowns, eyeing my wrists.
I glance down, finding his fingers branded on my skin in little dark circles. I run my hands over them, a twisted part of me liking them. This man is bringing out a side in me I didn't know existed. Have I always been into this stuff without realising it? My whole life, I've dismissed the idea of anything kinky without a thought. Now I want to discover more...
“I like it,” I admit, my voice husky.
He tilts his head, frowning. “I don't like to hurt you.”
“It doesn't hurt,” I insist, rubbing the marks to prove it. “Anyway, a little pain is worth whatever the hell you just did to me. I've got bloody chills.” I show him the goosebumps on my arms and he grins stupidly.
Oh gosh. He's at ease with me at last, all his troubles momentarily forgotten.
I draw my knees to my chest, feeling a touch timid. It's nice to feel this way, all butterflies and thrills. I spent most of my life longing to feel like this with someone. And now I finally do. It's a hundred, million times better than I ever dreamed.
“I'm going to make you some tea and spoil you all morning,” he says simply, turning and exiting the room without another word.
I raise my brows, giggling softly to myself and dropping back onto the bed.
Well, I can't exactly argue with that.
ETHAN
That was one of the hottest fucks of my life. That girl, she's...indescribable.
Having that power over her was the best high I've ever had. I'm still buzzing.
I make her tea the way she likes it, pausing as I move to bring it to her.
You shouldn't know how she likes her tea, creep.
It all comes rushing back.
Stalker. Psycho. Sicko.
I dump the tea in the sink, breaking the mug, my hands shaking.
Fuck.
I need to leave. What am I doing? I'm playing fucking house with the girl I've stalked for the last six months!
I fumble for my phone, heading to the bathroom, needing urgent help.
I call the only person I can, gently nudging the door closed and perching on the edge of the cream bathtub.
“Ethan?” Clarissa's sultry voice sounds down the line.
“Clarissa, I've really fucked up. I mean- oh fuck.” It hits me hard, like my chest is being ripped open by a crowbar.
“Calm down. Take a minute to breathe. Perhaps you should come to the office.”
I glance down at my bare chest, my Armani boxers. “I can't, Clarissa. I fucking can't.”
“Take a breath for me.”
I do, dragging it down into my lungs.
“And slowly release it.”
I obey, letting it out, my panic easing a little.
“Now, tell me what's going on.”
I grab at my hair, close to ripping a clump out. Should I tell her? Should I be honest? What will happen if I admit I'm in Annalise's house? That I've been fucking her?!
“Ethan?” Clarrisa says softly, her tone warm.
I'm at war with myself.
What do I do?
Tell her what a fucked up shit you are.
My hands tremble. “I just – I had another dream,” I decide on a lie.
Pussy.
“Alright, tell me about it.”
“I was...in a relationship with her. With Annalise.”
“Don't use her name,” she snips and I bite the inside of my gum, grinding at it. “This is very worrying, Ethan. You need t
o come and see me. Today. Preferably now.”
“Yes, right. Yeah.”
“I think perhaps you should come to my place.”
I nod, a lump growing in my throat. I know what that means, and I can't deny I relish the idea of punishing myself for this.
“Alright,” I agree, hanging up.
I stand, eyeing myself in the mirror.
Sordid, fucked up freak.
I run water into the basin, splashing my face, trying to calm down.
I can deal with this. I just need to get out of her life.
I'll just tell her it's over and she'll never find out the truth.
You still did it though, didn't you?
I glance at my reflection, catching the fierceness in my eyes. They're grey and cold, like an icy winter fog. I see him: my father. Why couldn't I have inherited my mother's eyes?
Can't even look yourself in the eye. How can you expect others to?
I blink hard, trying to force the voice away. The more anxious I grow, the harder it is to fight. I reach into my pocket, taking out the sedatives the doctor gave me. I take two, hoping the effect will be stronger.
Walking out of the bathroom, I find Annalise waiting there, her body clad in my shirt.
Her eyes find mine and I back into the door frame, my heart racing.
“Ethan,” she breathes, her fingers winding around my wrist. “Are you alright?”
“I can't do this any more, Lise.”
She falls silent for a moment then says, “Please...try to.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, blocking her out. Her fingers reach into my stubble, sliding gently upwards, encouraging me to open my eyes.
When I do, I steady my gaze on her mouth.
“This is agony,” I admit, hatred burning in my throat. At my father, myself.
Tell her the truth. Tell her what you are.
“I'll end up hurting you. It's best we end this now,” I press, practically pleading with her to push me away. If she ends this, it will make it easier.
“Why Ethan? Please, tell me.” Her eyes are wide and bright, strangling me.
I choke, turning away, shutting my eyes to evade hers. “I can't, I can't.”
Coward.
Silence stretches between us until Annalise finally breaks it, “How long have you shut people out for? Life's not meant to be lived alone.”
“I'm not sure that rule applies to me,” I mutter, side-stepping past her, heading to the bedroom and tugging on my jeans.
She's right about me. I've lived in isolation for years. I shut out my friends, the ones I had before I was discharged. I moved away from my home town, to London. I thought living in a city would help with the loneliness. But being surrounded by people in a world I don't belong to doesn't make it any easier.
I'm a wolf without a pack. And I don't know how to change that. I'm not sure I'm meant to.
Annalise enters the room, moving to her wardrobe without a word. She slips out of my shirt and I turn away from her naked body, not deserving the sight.
She moves into my periphery, holding out her hand.
I take the shirt from her, wordlessly pulling it on and doing up the buttons.
“If you're not going to see me again, at least tell me why.” She keeps her eyes averted to the floor.
I hate that I do that to her. This girl should never stare at her feet like she's not worthy of me.
I sigh, the breath leaving me in a harsh wave. The truth. She deserves the truth.
I want her to hate me, to force me from her house, screaming at me never to return. It's the only way I can never come back.
I go to say it, the words hovering on my lips.
Stalker.
“Actually, don't,” Annalise snips. “Just go.”
My heart beats like a drum in my chest. “Lise...”
“Go!” she snaps, moving past me, dropping onto the edge of the bed, wrapped in a gown.
I glance over my shoulder, my throat bone dry. My chest aches as I leave, heading out the door, promising myself I won't come back.
But somehow, deep inside, I know I haven't had my fill of her yet.
⊱✿ ✿⊰
“Make it hurt,” I tell Clarissa, my voice hollow as she straps me onto the cold metal frame.
“I will,” she breathes, near-seductive.
I shut my eyes, waiting, the voice in my head so loud, it's like my father's here too, joining the beating.
“Are you still seeing the girl? The one you went on a date with?” she asks, her question taking me by surprise.
I open my eyes, my gaze falling on the whip in her hand. “Yes,” I admit, though I'll never tell her the full truth.
“And does she keep your mind off of your obsession?” She never uses Annalise's name. But calling her 'my obsession' makes how I feel about her seem so sordid. And when I'm with her, sometimes it doesn't feel like that, sometimes it feels like I could really offer her what she wants.
I'm not sure how to answer the question, the lies running too deep, causing my mind to run in circles. I remain silent and she tilts her head to the side.
“Have you had sex with her?”
My mouth goes dry and I hang my head, dropping my eyes. “Yes.”
“What do you think about whilst you're having intercourse?”
I frown heavily, frustrated by the question. I'd sound like a twisted fuck-up if I said 'Annalise'. This story is getting out of hand.
“I dunno,” I mumble weakly.
She runs the whip down my abs, the leather sliding through the hair above my belt.
“I'm going to face you the other way today.” She takes hold of a winch beside me, rotating it so the frame spins too. My bare back is her canvas now, ready to be painted in blood.
“Tell me what you are,” she demands, her voice a high and ringing tone, filling the room.
“Spineless, coward, waste of-”
Clarissa strikes the leather whip across my back, the tip cased in aluminium. I grit my teeth, groaning in pain.
She whips me four more times, cutting into my skin so lines of blood trickle down my spine.
I gasp, relishing the sweet moment of pain, the moment when the voice is drowned away.
“Tell me what you are,” she repeats.
Dirty, filthy, psycho.
“Dirty, filthy, psycho.”
She whips me hard and my shoulders bunch, my muscles tense as I arch my back against the pain.
“Fuck,” I spit through my teeth.
Pathetic loser. Hurting yourself to escape your own mind. Who does that?
I screw my eyes up, feeling like a child again, my breathing becoming ragged as panic claws at my heart.
“Tell me what you are,” Clarissa whispers.
I remain silent, panting, blinking hard, trying to organise the chaos of my thoughts.
“Ethan?” she says softly.
Black-hearted monster.
“Clarissa, I don't know if this is helping.”
“Sometimes the symptoms can worsen before they improve. We're facing your darkest fears in this room. Once you grow used to it, you'll be able to gain control.”
I nod stiffly, setting my jaw. She knows best. This must be good for me. “Alright.”
“Tell me what you are,” she demands.
Why don't you just kill yourself, Ethan? Stop wasting everybody's time.
I grind my jaw, preparing to voice my thoughts, the fear in my chest so visceral it feels like it's living inside me.
And from my pain, a flicker of hope is born. I won't be beaten by this. I have to get better.
I think of Annalise, drawing strength from the vision. I can do this, for her.
CLARISSA
Ethan's magnificent, trussed up and howling his anger and pain at me. It's not the pain of my torture that sounds from his mouth, it's the pain of his soul, the voice in his head, the darkness of his past.
I know that pain, it lives in me too. And he's expressing it now, laid raw
and bare before me.
We're one and the same.
I think of Nick, of the man I used to covet, who I used to adore in the way Ethan adores Annalise. It wasn't love. We can't love, people like us. People like Ethan and I. We're not built that way. We're made for obsession and adoration, seeing beauty and attempting to own it.
That's why I didn't go to the police. When Ethan first came to me, admitting his obsession, his stalker tendencies. I was well within my rights to, but I saw something in him that I needed to see more of.
In my life, I've witnessed the dirty, grim look of a beloved man who thought I was vile. Who thought I was broken and messed up beyond repair. The look of absolute hate, from a man I revered. He regretted that in the end. He underestimated me. My strength. What I'm capable of.
My revenge was a sweet, delectable dessert, tasted in small doses. I took my time. I deserved to take my time. And I had him crying, pawing at my feet by the end of it.
When I've finished with Ethan, he's whipped bloody, speckles of his pain splattered across my skin.
“Is that better Ethan?” I ask, releasing him from the frame.
He shudders as he steps off of it, blinking slow, his eyes unfocused.
I run my thumb over his cheekbone, making him look at me.
“I think so,” he says, his voice low.
“Good.” I gaze into his eyes, wanting to see inside his head. “You'll bring your journal to me soon, won't you?” I want to see what he says about the girl he's seeing. I want to know what he really thinks when he's with her. Perhaps he thinks of me. I'd like to confirm that he finds me attractive, I've caught him eyeing my legs before. But would he admit it in his journal? Perhaps that's why he's reluctant for me to see it.
I send Ethan home, his head drooped, his shoulders stiff. I'm getting close. He's breaking. Soon he'll be mine, free to do with as I wish.
I grab a bottle of water from the fridge before returning to the basement, my chest swelling with hope.
Walking to the door at the back of the room, I unlock it, slipping inside.
I flick on the light, taking in the sight of him. Of Nick. His hands tethered to his ankles, curled up on the floor, a ball gag in his mouth.
