“Here’s a tip. Don’t be ridiculous. I asked you about your kinks just like you asked about mine.”
“That’s the thing. I didn’t ask for your kinks, I took you on a discovery journey. You’re welcome, by the way. There’s only one fair way to tell you about my kinks.” His lips curl in a sardonic smile. “Demonstrate them.”
“No, thanks.”
“You sure? Mine are a lot more colorful and fun.”
My lips part. He got hard as he chased me earlier; I felt it, and he didn’t attempt to hide it, so that means he enjoyed that. The whole scene was already too far out of my comfort zone. What could he possibly mean by more colorful?
But then again, why am I interested?
The ‘like what?’ question lingers on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it back down and focus on the food that I’ve been pushing around on the plate.
“Not interested,” I sign.
Landon abandons his statue and I stiffen as he walks toward me. Or more like waltzes, like a large cat who appears lazy but would snap you in half if given the chance. As he approaches, I notice a scar at the bottom of his stomach. I wonder what happened to cause that then curse myself for being interested.
It was so easy to just hate him to death a few weeks ago, but that’s, unfortunately, not the only feeling I have anymore.
After he destroyed my defenses and stomped over my limits, there are other morbid feelings lurking through me. I don’t understand most of them, but I definitely recognize the curiosity and the need for more.
Not to mention that I have to spy on this bastard for a long time if I want to gather anything about him.
My fingers tighten on the fork as he approaches. The light of the candles casts ominous shadows over his ethereal face.
His abs flex with every step, adding another edge to his cutthroat presence.
He stops in front of me and chucks me under the chin, then lifts it with a thumb and a forefinger. “Too bad you don’t get to decide, little muse. I’ll enjoy every second of discovering all of your kinks. Don’t try to run, you know exactly how much I enjoy the chase.”
I’ve fallen deep into a version of myself I don’t recognize.
It’s been two weeks since the day Landon unleashed a side of me whose existence I never imagined the magnitude of.
Since then, he’s shown me exactly how far I can go. How much I can do. How hard I can take it.
He started by threatening to show up while I’m with Maya or Niko, then he kidnaps me to the haunted house. So lately, I just text him that I’ll be there, which is usually met by Landon’s over-the-top gloating response.
You like me even more, don’t you?
Are you that excited about reuniting with my mouth and fingers?
My cock got in touch recently and he’d like to have a go. If you’d leave the prude nun act at home, that would be great.
Every time, he hints or tries to go further, but I either shove him, punch him, or simply say no.
Surprisingly, Landon doesn’t push after that.
He’s fine with the word no. He doesn’t get threatened or provoked by it. He’s definitely toxic and has red flags galore, but while he toys with the line of consent, he never crosses it.
He does like to play with me, though. He likes to chase me and see how far I’ll go into the cursed forest. I’ve been getting farther every day, despite the darkness. It has to do with the fact that I know he’s right behind me.
After all, only a monster can crush another monster.
We sometimes wrestle and I hit him. He doesn’t hit me back for some reason, but he does trap me beneath him, disable my movements and show me that his power will always be superior to mine, and if he chooses to, he could easily smash me to smithereens.
He loves playing with me, baiting me, making me think I’ll win (whether in chase or chess), then he pulls the carpet from beneath my feet with a sardonic smirk on his face.
It’s insane how intense the pleasure he gives me is and how it keeps getting worse, not better. I’m scared that one of these days, my heart will jump out of my chest or completely give out on me.
Still, I love the lustful, glorious look on his face when I wrap my lips around his cock and suck the life out of him. I’m a fast learner and have been training my gag reflex so that I can take him as far as possible. The more I make the effort, the harder he comes down my throat or decorates my face.
But most importantly, after we’re done, he wraps me in his shirt, hoodie, or jacket and buys me food, namely Italian and Turkish since he discovered they’re my favorites. He likes to sculpt while I’m munching on my food or working on my new mini garden opposite his art studio.
Landon is definitely a sight to behold when he’s working on art. A heart-stopping image no one could look away from—least of all, me.
The other day, after I was spent from wrestling with the asshole just so I’d lose and suck him off, he got out a brush and used a watercolor—blue, like my favorite color—to paint all over my face.
Then he stared at me for over a minute and nodded to himself.
He went to sketch something in his notebook, so I looked at the mirror and was horrified beyond measure. It looked like the kind of lines someone would make on the face of a patient for reconstructive surgery.
But then again, I shouldn’t be surprised anymore about anything that’s related to Landon. The more time I spend with him, the more I realize he truly is a narcissistic sadist and an insatiable anarchist.
I haven’t been able to get more information about the Elites, because we often meet here and he’s not the type to be milked unless his dick is involved.
Jeremy, who’s in a ‘we’ll murder Landon’ phase, told me he’s up to something, but I can’t figure out what exactly that something is.
So, my other option is going into the lion’s den.
Yes, I’ve been in the Elites’ mansion before, but only for Bran, and aside from doing some thorough research to pull off that blood bath episode, I didn’t snoop much when it came to Landon.
Time to change that.
So here’s the thing. My plan is fairly simple, but it requires a certain level of cunning behavior—without my actually looking the part.
I got Bran to invite me over—sorry for using your good hospitality so shamelessly, Bran—and we spent the last hour playing, but I said that I need to use the bathroom.
Obviously, that’s a blatant lie.
Because I’m heading to Landon’s room.
Snooping much? Absolutely. This is the only chance I’ll have since his studio is locked with his thumbprint and I’m not in the mood for dismemberment today—might change my mind the moment I see him, though.
Apparently, there’s a spare key for the studio somewhere, but neither Remi nor Bran is willing to disclose that information. Besides, I don’t think there’s anything different in his home studio compared to the haunted house one.
He probably doesn’t like having others look at his creations before he’s done with them, which is why he has all those half-finished statues in an unsuspecting place.
He didn’t seem to mind when I watched him, though. So who knows? Maybe, like with everything else, it’s up to his ever-changing mood.
At any rate, this is the perfect place to launch an investigation. Figuring out which one is Landon’s room is easy. The other day when I came over, Bran said he’d pick up something from upstairs and I followed. As we were passing by, he pointed at this room, “Stay away from that one. It’s where the evil twin hibernates before plotting everyone’s demise.”
Apparently, I’m blind to red flags, because I slip inside and slowly close the door behind me.
Landon’s room is as meticulous as his haunted house art studio. There’s an air of great detail put into the positioning of the furniture and the elegant masculine color scheme.
One corner is occupied by a tall platform bed with a leather headboard that’s as black as his soul. In the center, there’s a matching sofa and two elegant standing lamps.