Heartless: Merciless Book 2

by Winters, W.

  “I start thinking things,” she says quietly, her gaze flickering between the pool of dark liquid in the glass and my own gaze.

  “Is that right?” I ask her, pushing for more.

  “It’s better when I don’t have a choice,” she admits solemnly. “At least, for the way I feel about myself.”

  “What’s better?” The question slips from me as a crease deepens in my forehead.

  “My thoughts are better,” she states but doesn’t elaborate.

  “How’s that?”

  “If I’m with you, I don’t worry about my family, the fighting…” her voice cracks and her face scrunches. “That’s awful, isn’t it?” She shakes her head, her flushed skin turning brighter. “It’s horrible. I’m horrible.” And with her last word she picks up the glass, but I press my hand to her forearm, forcing the glass back down to the table.

  “You’re many things,” I tell her evenly as I scoot the seat closer to her, “but horrible isn’t one of them.”

  “Weak. I’m weak,” she answers with disgust on her tongue. Her gaze leaves mine, although I will her not to break it. Instead, she stares at the stem of the wine glass. There’s still a good bit in her glass, but from what I can tell, this is her second bottle. “I’m so weak that I want to have no choice,” she says disbelievingly. “How fucked up is that?”

  “You’re in a difficult position, with few options and severe consequences.” I’ve never been good with comfort, but I can offer reason. “And deep down inside, you know whatever you do, it won’t change anything.” The truth that flows easily from me is brutal and it causes Aria to visibly cower from me.

  “Thank you oh so much,” she says with a deadpan voice as she lifts the glass and then downs all the remaining alcohol. “I was beginning to feel pathetic and like my life had no meaning whatsoever.” She raises her hand in the air and then slaps her palm down firmly on the table. There’s a bite of anger to her words that pisses me off. The glass hits the table before she looks me in the eye and tells me with an expression devoid of any emotion but hate, “Thank you so much for clearing that up for me.”

  “I do enjoy your fight, Aria. But you’d be wise not to speak to me like that.” My own voice is hard and deadly, but it does nothing to Aria.

  “Would I now?” A simper graces her wine-stained lips. “I’m not sure there’s a single wise thing I could do, is there, Mr. Cross? Other than obey your every command.”

  Her defiance is fucking beautiful and only makes me hard for her. My cock stiffens and strains against my zipper as I lean back to take her in. It feels as if we’re picking right back up where we left off and I couldn’t be more agreeable with that situation.

  My breathing quickens as she stares at me, daring me to disagree with her.

  “You love being angry, don’t you?” I ask her, although it’s not a question. “There’s so much more power in anger than there is in sadness.” The statement makes her lips purse.

  “You have no idea what you’re capable of,” I tell her a truth that could destroy me. “Women like you were made to ruin men like me.”

  “Oh?” she asks. “Us women who aren’t capable of changing anything?” She seems to remember her fight as she adds, “You’ll have to clear that up for me. I’m either too drunk or stupid to understand.”

  “Or too blinded by your past?” I offer her. “So consumed with changing something that’s meant to happen. That will happen, so much so that you can’t see what lies ahead.”

  “What’s meant to happen? As in?” she questions as she noticeably swallows. Her hands grip the edge of the table as if she needs to hold it in order to sit upright.

  “You know exactly what I mean, Aria.”

  “If it happens, if what I think you’re referring to right now happens, there will be no future for me. The willing whore of the enemy who could do nothing to save the people she loves. What kind of life is that to lead?”

  My blood runs cold at her words. Numbly I watch her reach for the remains of the bottle closest to her, only to find it empty.

  Would she kill herself? Is that what she’s saying? My blood pounds in my veins at the thought of her leaving me, let alone leaving me in such a manner. I can barely look at her as she sags back into her seat and turns to give me her attention again. “If you were me, what would you do?” she asks with genuine curiosity.

  I’m still reeling from her earlier confession to answer quickly, but I finally find words that have a ring of truth to them. “I’d take care of myself and my own survival.”

  “My own survival?” she asks with a sarcastic huff of disbelief. “If they’re dead, then who am I?”

  My breathing becomes ragged, tense, and deep at her question. “You are mine.” My answer is immediate, stern, and undeniable. Each word is given with conviction.

  But all they do is turn her eyes glossy. “And that’s all I’ll ever be. A possession.”

  The sadness is what destroys my composure. She unravels me like no one else ever has. She’ll devastate everything I worked for, everything I am, but so long as I have her, it will all be worth it.

  “I was meant to have you. I only fucking lived to have you.” I’ve never spoken truer words.

  Her breathing is shallow as her chest rises and falls. “Carter?” She says my name as if I’ll save her from what she’s feeling, from the truth breaking down every bit of her own beliefs.

  “You were made for me to have. To fight. To fuck. To care for,” I say as I lean closer to her, my grip tightening on the back of her chair as I lower my lips until they’re just an inch from hers. My eyes pierce into hers as she stares back at me with a wildness I crave to tame. “Do you understand that, Aria?”

  “You’re a very intense man, Carter Cross.” She speaks her words softly with tears in her eyes that I don’t understand.

  All I can do at this moment is crash my lips to hers, to silence the pain, the agony, all of the questions she has. The kiss isn’t gentle; it isn’t soft and sweet. It’s a brutal taking of what’s mine. What’s been owed to me for years.

  The instant I capture her lips, she gasps, and I shove my tongue inside of her mouth, pushing myself out of the chair and hearing it bang on the floor as I take her face with both of my hands. My tongue strokes hers swiftly and she meets my intensity with her own. Her fingers spear through my hair and her nails scratch at my scalp, pulling me to get impossibly closer.

  She moans in my mouth as I pull away, desperate to breathe. In one movement, I pull her down to the floor while shoving her skirt up her thighs, maneuvering her beneath me. Her belly presses to the floor and my erection digs into her exposed ass.

  “You’re such a dirty girl, not bothering to cover this.” I cup her already wet pussy as I ask her, “Aren’t you?”

  My other hand grips the hair at the base of her skull and pulls back hard enough to make her back bow. Her lips part with a sweet gasp of both pleasure and pain as I ruthlessly rub her clit.

  “You’re mine, and nothing else. You’ll let go of everything but what I command you to do and be.” My words are whispered against the shell of her ear. They mingle with her moans as I stare at those gorgeous lips. Desperate to take them again, I give in to what I want. Removing my hand from her cunt, I grab her throat from behind and crash my lips against hers.

  “Carter,” she heaves my name the moment I break the kiss and without thinking twice, I release my cock and slam inside of her.

  Feeling her hot, wet walls spasm the moment I enter her drives me insane. She’s so fucking tight, but she takes all of me to the hilt with a strangled cry.

  My hips piston with a relentless pace to claim her and everything she is. Everything she’ll ever be.

  “Mine,” I grunt out and release her throat and hair to grip her hips with a bruising force.

  Her arms barely bracing her as she cries out her pleasure.

  Over and over I fuck her as hard as I can. And each one of her strangled moans, combined with her hopel
ess scratching at the floor beneath her, only fuels me to fuck her harder.

  “Mine.” I push the word through my teeth as she cums violently beneath me. My own release follows, my balls drawing up and my toes curling as thick streams of cum fill her pussy.

  She lies there panting, her small body sagging as she desperately tries to support herself and breathe at the same time. Both efforts seemingly in vain.

  My cum leaks out of her as she whispers my name again and again. Bracing one forearm on each side of her, I rake my teeth up her neck and nip her chin before kissing her again.

  And she kisses me back, reverently and sweetly. Her hands find my chin and her fingers brush along my scruff to keep my lips pinned to her own.

  My chest heaves in air as I fall to the floor next to her.

  The cool air relieving my heated skin.

  The only effort Aria makes is to inch closer to me, to have both her bare and clothed skin touching mine.

  “I’ve been waiting for that,” she says softly as she nuzzles next to me, content with being held.

  “For what?” I ask her, still catching my breath.

  “For you to kiss me like that.”

  To kiss her. The memory of her lips hot on mine begs me to kiss her again, but her words stop me.

  “It was worth the wait.” The words fall easily from her lips, the same lips that look swollen and reddened from our kiss.

  The reality comes back to me in this moment.

  This isn’t what this was supposed to become.

  I don’t know what the fuck she’s doing to me, but it can’t continue like this.

  I’m ruining everything.

  Chapter 9

  Aria

  I’m surprised I slept as well as I did.

  No terrors, just a much-needed deep sleep. From whenever Carter brought me to bed, until nearly 2 p.m. this afternoon.

  There isn’t enough sleep to mend the exhaustion I feel, but I’m grateful I’ve gotten through one night undisturbed.

  As I shift on the wooden floor in Carter’s office, the ache in my muscles intensifies and I wince. I’m so fucking sore from last night. From this whole past week, maybe. I don’t know if this is normal or not, but I hurt. Every moment of the day, I feel him inside of me still and it takes me to the edge of both pleasure and pain.

  Both physically and emotionally.

  There’s no denying Carter is a broken and lost soul. And there’s no denying that I want to make all the wrongs in his past right.

  My mind is a whirlwind of what I wish could be undone, but there are no answers that take pity on me and provide me with clarity. All I can think to do is offer him kindness. To obey, to be good for him. And maybe he’ll feel something other than the anger and hate that cloud his judgment.

  I can only imagine the world he grew up in. The small pieces I’ve been given are jagged and harsh.

  I shouldn’t pity the monster he became.

  I shouldn’t love what he does to me.

  But I do.

  The short piece of chalk rolls back and forth between my fingers as I study the paper lying on the floor. I can’t remember what I drew at the park. The questions I had in my dream from not last night but the night before, are still alive and vibrant in my mind.

  I can’t help but to think there are answers in my subconscious. Answers in my dreams.

  But I can’t remember what I drew that day.

  Instead, I keep drawing the same thing, the house from the photograph in the hall. It’s quaint and small, with rustic features. It’s definitely a backroad setting but there are other houses beside it. Close to each other.

  The brick was old, and the mortar seemed even older. The weeds that grew up the side of it felt as if they belonged there like nature was intent on reclaiming the structure.

  Whoever took the photograph captured the beauty of the home perfectly, but why does it call to me? Why do I keep drawing it and only changing the flowers that grow around it?

  “There are four steps.” Carter’s voice breaks into my thoughts and I glance up at him, not registering his words. He takes his time rolling up the crisp, white sleeves of his dress shirt. I can’t help but admire the corded muscles under his tanned skin and remember how his hands gripped me last night, leaving bruises on my hips that still ache to the touch.

  He gestures to the drawing. “The front porch had four steps.”

  It takes me a moment to comprehend and I offer him a small smile before asking him, “This was your house, wasn’t it?”

  He nods and adds, “You make it seem more alluring than it was.”

  My heart tugs and a small knot forms in my throat as he returns to his laptop. Maybe if he grows to care for me, everything can be okay. It can be made right.

  What a naïve thought.

  “What are you thinking?” Carter’s question brings me back to the present again.

  “I keep drifting into thoughts I shouldn’t,” I answer him without much conscious consent. Maybe I’ve rested so much that the sleep refuses to leave me, making me drowsy and my thoughts hazy.

  “Like?” he prompts.

  “Like, wondering why I love this house so much,” I answer him cautiously although my gaze stays on the paper.

  “I hate that house,” Carter says after a moment and I move my eyes to his. The coldness in his eyes is ever present and it sends a chill down my spine.

  “You hate everything,” I tell him absently.

  “I don’t hate you,” he says pointedly, and his rebuttal sends a warmth flowing through me.

  “How do you feel about me then?” I ask him and busy my fingers with the piece of chalk.

  His words are softly spoken and it’s the first admission from him of any kind. “The very idea that you’re mine makes me feel as if there isn’t a thing I can’t conquer. But actually having you is… everything.”

  I don’t know if he realizes how powerful his words are. How intense he is. Just being around him is suffocating. Nothing else can exist when he’s with me.

  “What do you remember about last night?” he asks me, and I blink away the trance he held over me.

  “Everything,” I answer him as if it’s obvious. “You came home. We had a conversation and then more on the kitchen floor…” I trail off and my teeth sink into my bottom lip at the memory. “And then you took me to bed.”

  Carter nods slowly as if gauging my response. “You don’t remember what you told me when we got to bed? Do you?” My heart flickers once, then twice as I try to remember.

  But I don’t.

  “I fell asleep,” I tell him as if it’s an excuse.

  It’s quiet for a long moment and an uneasiness washes through me. Like I’ve said something that I should regret but I don’t know what it was. Swallowing thickly, I steel myself to ask, “What did I say?”

  But he doesn’t answer me, he only tsks in response.

  A pounding in my chest and blood makes me feel on edge until Carter rises and stalks toward me. He looms over me, owning me with his presence as he likes to do. My eyes close as he lowers his hand to the crown of my head gently and then twirls a lock of hair between his fingers.

  My heart races with his touch and I don’t know if it’s from fear or lust.

  “All I want to do is fuck you until there’s no question in your mind who you belong to.” His admission forces my thighs to clench and that tender ache returns.

  The tension and fear dissipate with each small touch he gives me.

  “If you gave yourself to me, everything else would fall into place.”

  His fingers trail lightly along my collarbone and up my chin then move to my lips, tracing them with a tender touch that I would have once found difficult to believe belongs to Carter.

  “Is that all? Just give myself entirely to you to use as a fucktoy? That would solve everything?” My comeback is weakened by the gentle way the words flow, the flirtation that I can’t deny in their cadence.

  His cock is right
in front of my face, obviously hard and pressing against his pants. My mouth parts and my fingers itch to reach out and take him.

  The throbbing between my thighs intensifies and I struggle to remind myself that I’m his captive, his fucktoy, his whore, and nothing more. All I can think is how much I want to pleasure him like he did me last night.

  I want to bring him to his knees and make him weak for my touch like I am his.

  “I want to…” I have to stop myself and swallow my words, feeling dirty.

  He crouches in front of me, his gaze penetrating mine with an intensity that begs me to lean away from him, to run from the beast of a man who isn’t hiding anything from me.

  His darkly said words are whispered from his lips. “Tell me what you want, Aria.”

  “I- I-” I stutter. Like an insignificant unequal.

  It takes every ounce of courage in me to raise my gaze to his, to inhale a breath, and on the exhale confess, “I want to suck you.”

  “You want to wrap these pretty little lips around my cock until I cum in the back of your throat?” he asks easily with a huskiness that comes from deep in his chest, moving his pointer to my lips and tracing them once again.

  I nod, forcing his finger to alter its path and graze against my cheek instead. I’m breathless, full of desire and want, numb to everything but him.

  What has he done to me?

  The thought hits me as he leaves me panting on the floor to grab one of the chairs in front of his desk and move it directly in front of me. He wastes no time, performing the task quickly.

  He doesn’t speak as he sits down, both of his hands resting easily on his thighs.

  My hand is shaky as I lift it to his zipper, but he catches me before I touch him. His grip is hot and demanding and steals my attention and breath just the same.

  I’m pinned by the lust in his eyes as he asks me, “Have you done this before?” He tilts his head to ask, “Have you done anything before me?”

  “Yes,” I answer him although it feels like a half-truth and just thinking that I’m partially lying to him makes my pulse quicken and body heat. It’s not the same. What I did with Nikolai wasn’t anywhere close to this. We were young, and I needed someone to offer me comfort. Nikolai was the only one there for me. I kissed him first, and I begged him to touch me.