Awful Intentions: Friends-to-Lovers Romance (The Celestial Bodies Series Book 2)

by Elena Monroe

  I wasn’t the guy who knew how to even be in love, despite my heart having a mind of its own lately.

  Love was for pussies.

  Love was for the weak and lonely.

  Love wasn’t death or sex; it was the purgatory in-between.

  Grabbing the journal off my hood, I got back behind the wheel and tried to focus on connecting the dots.

  Why did Dorian have weapons and journals?

  What were the alarms blaring so loudly that I hated him out of sheer annoyance?

  I texted Jasper: Get anything on him?

  Jasper, who was still at game night and probably laughing it up at the awkwardness I forced onto everyone, texted back instantly.

  Jasper: Nothing out of the ordinary. Pays his taxes, owns his house, grew up here like he said. You ever think you’re just jealous because he got the girl?

  I tossed my phone on the seat next to me, fuming at another person blaming jealousy for my suspicions.

  Jealous? Me? I could take the torture. In fact, I enjoyed it.

  Let Dorian get wrapped around her finger, get twisted in the middle of our games. Either way, he would get crushed eventually.

  Luna

  N yx was perfectly MIA. Probably tending to his most recent wound made by Dorian.

  Nyx loathed him, and after game night’s outburst, he went dead to the world. I would think he abandoned us, but I had seen Cotton Candy come and go in the hallway.

  All signs pointed to a very much here and alive Nyx.

  I pushed open the door to the apartment I shared with Arianna, who had traded agendas with Nyx, finally living with me the way I expected all along.

  After hanging up my vintage briefcase, which I took to work out of desperation to be taken seriously by Dorian, I made a beeline for the bathroom.

  Working with autistic kids was rewarding. Every day I found some small way I helped make their life easier, and the smile it gave me was the most valuable thing I owned.

  It came at the cost of some bruises, bite marks, and tantrums I couldn’t heal. My powers of healing seemed to be dulled down since the bad had risen and demanded some attention.

  The only thing I was healing was my own wounds with a cotton swab and alcohol that stung so much I didn’t want to heal anything.

  Arianna was holding two mugs of tea, and I took a long inhale of the Earl Grey steam that was filling the space between us. Pushing the mug out towards me, she said, “I would say something about how the other guy looks, but I’m not that insensitive.”

  None of our friends, the circle, understood why I kept putting myself in compromising positions to help people.

  I used to think it was selfless, but now I just think it’s punishment for the bad things I had done, like I was trying to balance the scales.

  Plucking a yellow bandage with white daisies out of the cabinet behind the mirror I stuck it to the scratch marks along my forearm from one of my favorite students, Jamie.

  He was special in the way that he made you smile without trying. He was still strong, even if people told him he wasn’t, and he was very stubborn—hence my new war wounds. I would wear them with pride. They spoke for him, and the good parts of me wanted everyone to be heard.

  Arianna’s doom and gloom ringtone sounded, along with the vibrations against the kitchen counter. She nearly dropped the mug of hot tea in my cupped hands without making sure it landed safely.

  Coming around the corner, I watched her carefully before disappearing into the bedroom we shared in our cozy apartment. There were still sections (kitchen, bathroom, living room), but the lines between each bled into each other.

  “Dad, I’m fine. Bolton is keeping an eye on me,” I heard her say, before I sat down on my bed, thinking how unfair it was.

  She got to keep her parents after running away, getting us stuck here looking for her, and now we were all made orphans—except her.

  Her dad knew about Bolton? Us? The circle? How much did she tell him?

  The bad girl voice in my head roared, and I was listening. Shaking the voice down to a mumble, I sipped my now room temperature tea and scrolled through social media with the urge to check if Cotton Candy had a profile.

  I can't say I was shocked; the girl with pink and blue hair was asking for attention. Not having social media would be a certain death sentence for her.

  My head snapped up hearing Arianna question her dad on the phone, “What do you mean, odd things? Nothing weird is happening.”

  For a second, I wondered how she explained we weren't at Arcadia anymore, or if she did at all.

  Realigning my focus, I looked down at her profile again that read:

  Sloan

  21 | Seattle, WA

  So Cotton Candy’s name was Sloan.

  Her name alone shouldn’t have stirred up some anger in me, but it did. Now the bad girl voice was speaking louder.

  Look at the photos of the man in the background, trying to stay hidden and failing.

  Nyx.

  He was anti-relationships.

  He was anti public displays of affection, unless you were talking sex, and that wasn't exactly affection.

  He was all black, not pink and blue and letting people refer to her as Cotton Candy.

  I had zero reason to be jealous.

  Dorian was every box Nyx didn't check. The good girl in me was overjoyed. The bad girl in me was bored.

  Scrolling through her Instagram, I tried to find any hints to her birthday to see which set of stars was influencing her personality, motives, and desires.

  No luck.

  She was public, soaking in the attention, yet still private about the personal details I wanted.

  Half her feed was Nyx partially in photos.

  Arianna came in, stealing my attention and throwing herself on her bed. “He's so protective. It's like he doesn't know I'll be eighteen soon.”

  I wanted to smile and lighten the conversation. I couldn't.

  My parents.

  Nyx.

  The good girl parts of me for protecting Arianna.

  All had been stolen from me, forcing me to watch all the things I wanted, happily growing in someone else’s life.

  “He's a dad. That's their job. Does he think you're still at school? What if he shows up?”

  Laying on my stomach and letting my feet dangle in the air, I listened intently to her answers, both curious and jealous.

  “No, I told him the school closed because of mold, and we were moved to the college campus.” She scoffed. “He hates Bolton.”

  “Can you blame him? He looks like... that, and he's never met him. Probably works out in your favor.”

  “Luna, you are brilliant! He just needs to meet Bolton and see how good he is to me!” Her face was lit up with happiness at the idea, and she texted someone so quickly that even I was spinning.

  “Isn't he in the military? When will he be back?”

  “He was supposed to be back for the holidays, but his mission wasn't done. If I tell him I want him to meet a boy, he'll catch the next flight, mission or not.”

  Arianna had a devilish smirk in her eye, knowing neither of them wanted to meet each other.

  Bolton was made up of dad’s nightmares: too sexy, too dangerous, and not cut from the same cloth her dad was.

  I must have let the silence go for too long, because when she sat down next to me, she asked, “You and Nyx break the silence yet? You seem awfully distracted.”

  Arianna was the talking type, not the listening type. She'd call pensive “distracted,” as in from her and her problems.

  I never held it against her, but the bad parts of me kind of did. The bad girl parts held everything I didn't against people—petty or not.

  “Just tired.”

  Lie.

  Now I was lying?

  It came as a shock to me too.

  Arianna grabbed my blanket and threw it over me before leaning down to squeeze my shoulder. “I never got to thank you... for saving my life.”
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  I hugged her tightly from my awakened position. She was saving mine too.

  Turning off the light and closing the door behind her, she left me alone with my thoughts. After a few moments in the silence, my eyelids became so heavy I couldn't hold them up any longer.

  When I woke back up, feeling well rested and having an appetite I would kill over, I noticed her bed was empty.

  Again.

  Arianna certainly had problems staying still. Committing to our place seemed too severe for her. Remembering Bolton, I wondered if their shared memories truly kept them together.

  Caellum, Bolton, Arianna, and Nyx… they all had memories.

  I wanted mine back and was impatiently waiting.

  Texting Caellum or Bolton wasn't my first choice, and Arianna was as clueless as I was when it came to our memories.

  Nyx was the only one I could ask without the song and dance.

  Putting on my fuzzy slippers and actually changing into my granny muumuu that looked like it was from the 1600’s, I ventured into the empty hallway.

  It was quiet and dark; the hallway light was out again. Thankfully it was just a hallway, and Nyx lived at the end of the hall, so I knew I was avoiding stairs.

  He always lived at the end of the hallways, like they were designed for his isolation.

  Just probably walking into a trap.

  Knocking delicately on his door ,I heard him grumble a simple “Yeah?” not, “The door is open,” or, “Come in.” So, I did what any sane person would do: I shouted.

  “Nyx, I need to talk to you! Truce?” My eyebrows gave into being an extension of my emotions, even without him in front of me.

  He shouted again, “Luna?! What the fuck?” I was sure the last part wasn't meant for me to hear, as I heard rustling around and finally the door pulled open to a very shirtless Nyx.

  His golden skin pulled tightly over muscles made me swallow all my bad intentions.

  His hair was a mess and in his face, while I watched his forearm press into the door, leaning forward as his muscles contracted.

  He was damn near perfect.

  His Australian accent didn't help my mind steer itself away from all the times we had touched, kissed, fooled around. I wanted memories, so much so that I had just walked into a lion's den of memories that made an all too familiar ache creep up my spine.

  His black, ripped, and frayed jeans were undone and half unzipped, showing off his underwear clinging to his hips. Every vein and ab muscle popped out like an invitation to touch.

  “Luna? Hello?” He waved a hand in front of my face, pulling me back from feeding the ache that was increasing as my eyes looked him up and down.

  “Truce. I have questions.”

  “Am I the only one who can answer them?”

  I nodded my head silently into a yes, still half-focusing on what memories I did have. He shifted to one side and invited me in.

  His place was dark, but not the kind of dark that makes you uncomfortable or wonder about his religion. This kind of dark was romantic, lush, and particular.

  There were candles burning everywhere, with no artificial lights ruining the mood.

  His black silk sheets looked more than inviting.

  The pairs of boots tipped over, random girl’s clothing discarded on the hardwood floors, and even the free weights seemed like decorations instead of a mess.

  His room resembled the Arcadia dorms the most.

  For one second, I let the bad girl parts think for me when I started to internally panic that he wasn't alone again as I scanned the room.

  His hands clenched into my arms. “Kind of scaring me, Luna. You okay?”

  Me? A little lamb? Scare a wolf?

  “I just barged in here and you’re... busy? Sorry.” The panic took over and shook my voice like a cold bucket of water dumped over my head. Every part of me shivered with bad memories.

  “You knocked, and I let you in. Sit down. You want some water?”

  I nodded my head, sinking into his bed, feeling the slippery sheets against my pajamas, creating a cold tingle along my thighs.

  Handing me water, he continued toward me, looking down at me like the god he was, with his hands stuck to his hips.

  Looking up at him with my big eyes, wild brows, and emerald eyes… Instead of drinking my water, I drank him in.

  “What do you wanna know?” His voice was quiet and lazy, like it almost didn't come out of his perfectly raspberry-colored lips that perfectly contrasted his tan.

  “I want my memories back…” Without permission, my fingertips skimmed the muscles that created a v against his hips.

  I was playing with fire, a beautifully dangerous fire, and I was about to get burned.

  Nyx inhaled a sharp breath, then said, “Memories... or something else?” He grabbed my wrist, holding me still. No more tickling his skin the same way his flames to me every time he was in the room.

  “Memories. I want to remember. All of it.”

  “Fishing your hand down my pants isn't going to bring back memories, Little Lamb.”

  He loosened the death grip on my wrist that felt like a leash.

  Admiring his body was the price I was going to pay for whatever memories I could take back.

  “Admiration is a god’s weakness…” The way my words spat out felt they were tangled in barbed wire.

  “Not this god… I didn’t control my memories triggering and having the past being in the same place as my present.”

  “Do you remember me or just her?” Not wanting to taint our moment with any other girl’s names, I left him to decide who I meant.

  “You’re not easy to forget. Memories are like chains, all linked together.”

  My swollen lips trembled. Looking up at him, his hand was still leashing my wrist and holding me still.

  I let my fingers wiggle, like an impatient child against his hip, dangerously close to the band of his underwear.

  “I want my memories back.”

  “Your pretty mouth says one thing, but your hands say another, Little Lamb.”

  His grip on my wrist pushed my palm down, until my fingertips brushed over him lightly.

  He was teasing himself with me. I was his weakness— the girl who was too good to be bad.

  “Tell me, Nyx.” I was begging for one thing vocally and another with a shaking hand.

  Nyx dropped the grip altogether on my hand, and I felt his thumb brush against my lips, like he wanted to smear my innocence.

  “You were always too good for me. I never deserved you.”

  Something about him smearing the good out of me at this moment made me aware there was an ache between my legs.

  Rubbing my thighs together wasn’t providing any real relief. The only relief was worshipping the god standing in front of me and finally giving in to the bad competing with the good.

  I didn’t blink as I watched Nyx push down his boxer briefs, letting himself spring out inches from my face.

  The silence was tickling my skin, tortuous.

  My mouth fell open silently, wanting to ask permission, but he wasn’t granting any. If I wanted this, I was gonna have to take it.

  Wrapping my hand around his length, neither of us broke eye contact. The intensity was breaking everything in me, good and bad, only leaving behind this moment of truth.

  Slowly and carefully, Nyx’s fingers pushed through my hair and pushed my head closer to his body.

  He wanted me to taste him, and I needed to. We were both feeding the parts of each other we wanted most.

  I was the good that he needed to be more of.

  He was the bad that I needed to lean into more.

  “Don’t tease, Little Lamb…” I felt his fingers against my scalp, and I leaned into him, closing my mouth around his girth. He was perfectly pale pink, with veins under his silk-like skin, and he tasted like Heaven—not the Hell we all assumed.

  He groaned, while his chest exhaled, and his head fell back, taking in how my lips dragged alo
ng him.

  Once my mouth bobbed to an imaginary rhythm, he looked down at me, exactly how I remembered at Arcadia. I was bowing to him, worshipping him, adding to the legend that Nyx was hard to break, but I did.

  I broke him the minute he gave into me.

  “You were always there after I did bad things. Sacrificing yourself for me. Always trying to fix everything. Such a silly little lamb… You hold the power to heal everyone, and yet you kill yourself.”

  He tasted sweet, like another bad cosmic joke, making the resentful and sinister boy taste like candy.

  The piercing at his tip tasted like metal mixing with all the sweetness—a small reminder that I was chasing danger. The small nose ring was a warning sign. Clearly one I didn’t take…

  Nyx twisted enough to reach out and pull down the sleeve of my muumuu, exposing my shoulder. It was a silent demand for more, before his vocal one: “Luna... stand up.”

  I dragged my mouth along him one last time, until my mouth made a sharp pop as my cheeks caved in too much.

  Trading places, he slumped down onto his bed and guided my hips until I was standing between his legs. “I'm… a...”

  I knew he knew I was a virgin, but it felt necessary to remind him. Our past at Arcadia was messy, sneaking off to fool around and dancing around him taking my virginity.

  His hands smoothed up my thighs, forcing me to bite my lip or start whimpering. Inch by inch, he took my muumuu’s fabric and bunched it up, exposing my legs.

  “I know, Luna. Take this off.”

  I didn't feel naked when I let the muumuu fall off my shoulders, letting it pool at my feet.

  Thankfully I wasn’t wrapped in his shirt tonight.

  No, I felt safe with Nyx. It may be painful or awkward at some point, but I never felt more safe than right now.

  Moving slowly, his hands smoothed over my stomach, my upper thighs, squeezing my ass and then tits.

  He was moving painfully slowly in case I changed my mind last minute.

  “I'm not gonna change my mind, Nyx.”

  Looking up at me, he pushed the pile of clothes to the side and yanked me to his body, forcing me to straddle his lap.

  Finally, action.

  His eyes were so black, but I could almost make out a color, like I had injected hope into his veins, replacing all the malice clogging them up.