Kiss The Villain: Chapter 12

Cold.

Somehow not cold enough.

Somehow too cold to breathe properly.

The ice surrounding my body is biting, an assault that numbs every inch of my bare skin.

The sharp, merciless water clings to me, the ice cubes scraping against my legs like jagged stones.

My breaths rush out in shallow, controlled gasps, the cold seeping into my bones, sinking deeper with every passing second.

The icy grip on my muscles makes the black-and-white bathroom fade into an indistinct blur.

My hands tremble slightly, but I force them still as I bring the cigarette to my lips. The acrid taste of tobacco fills my lungs, a sharp contrast to the icy burn.

I quit smoking a long time ago, when I thought I had everything I ever wanted.

Until I didn’t.

Until the life I’d made for myself crumbled to fucking pieces.

I didn’t relapse then.

But I am now. After today.

After I was punched in the gut by the reality and the fucking reminder that I let myself get too close.

Too personal.

I’m not supposed to enjoy this.

Which is why I’m indulging in this punishment. My father’s favorite way to discipline me and my brother was throwing us in an ice bath—a room, actually—and not letting us leave until we were about to die of hypothermia. He had doctors on board to make sure we were pushed to our absolute physical limits.

So it’s two punishments. Letting the cold numb whatever the fuck I was on and recalling dear old Dad.

My numb fingers struggle to hold the cigarette steady, but I take a drag, let it coat my throat, then exhale slowly. The smoke curls in the air, thick and heavy, before dissipating in the chill.

I inhale the scent of lavender, close my eyes, and feel every icy sting. My body is just a vessel of discomfort, floating in frozen silence. I let the cold wash over me, let it burn, let it pull at the edges of my thoughts, numbing the desire to get consumed by anything irrelevant.

And he is irrelevant.

And yet the shadow that appears behind my lids has deep light-green eyes and messy blond hair. He’s wearing a little grin, taunting dimples creasing his cheeks, and I want to stab them.

To drink his fucking blood vampire style.

But I also want to grab that lean waist and sit him on my cock. I want to feel him squirm and blush, to feast on his red ears and pinch his nipples.

I want to kill him as I fuck him.

That’s how much I hate to want the motherfucker.

A damn kid. Not technically, but he’s still over eleven years younger than me.

And I’ve never even looked at anyone who isn’t my age.

Never.

I’ve also never looked at a man with the intention to own him, but here we are. There’s just something about my new toy that’s making me a horny fucking prick at all times. The more I see him, the more I crave to do unspeakable things to him.

I want to break him as I own him.

To claim him.

Swallow him whole.

My cock twitches. In the middle of the goddamn ice.

The whole point of this punishment is to put that part under lock and key.

And yet here we are.

Full of thoughts of him instead of lavender.

What’s even the point of that smell anymore?

I should get up and call my brother so he doesn’t come after me. Should review what Jethro emailed me about a potential breach. Should keep up with the teaching curriculum.

But I stay still.

It’s not enough.

There’s room to get more numb.

“Is this some sort of kink?”

For a second, I think I’m imagining his voice. I’m obsessing over him so much, it’s starting to mess with my brain.

But when I slowly open my eyes, he’s standing by the side of the tub, dressed in his stalking attire—black jeans that hang low on his hips and an oversized hoodie that betrays his muscular frame.

Blond strands peek from beneath the hoodie, and his eyes appear darker under the dim lights. With high cheekbones, a straight nose, defined lips, and a sharp jawline, he looks like a true Adonis. A god that’s right beneath my shoe.

And I don’t want to squash him.

Yet.

I lift the cigarette to my mouth as I watch him, letting my eyes linger on his lips. Lips I have the urge to kiss again.

Lips I shouldn’t have tasted in the first place, because one taste was enough to convert me.

My little monster is one of those obscure niche religions that revolve around pain.

And dominance.

And goddamn forbidden desires.

He clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable with my staring, and that makes me smile.

I truly find pleasure in seeing him squirm.

I release a cloud of smoke and wait until it ripples in the air. “Your unlawful conduct is spiraling out of control. Breaking and entering again?”

“I didn’t break anything. I just put in your code and got in. You should’ve changed it if you didn’t want me to have access. Besides, you’re the one who said I could drop by since I already know where your place is.”

He talks a lot when he’s out of his element. I suppose it’s because he’s not used to having someone mess with him. Though I don’t think he enjoys messing with others either since he disregards them too much to waste his time on them.

But he is giving me his time.

His attention.

He’s here because he can’t not mess with me.

When I continue watching him in silence, he narrows his eyes. “Aren’t you cold? Your lips are blue.”

“You’ve been looking at my lips?” I let my mouth curve in a grin. I can’t help it.

This little fucker merely exists in my vicinity, and no amount of ice can numb me.

“Observing your sorry state,” he says with that natural condescension, and the arrogance he hides so well in public rushes through in warm waves against my freezing skin.

“And you do that by watching my lips? If you want a kiss, all you have to do is beg.”

“Get over your fucking irrelevant self.”

“Language. And if I were irrelevant, you wouldn’t be standing in my bathroom like a lost puppy looking for his master.”

His lips lift in a snarl, and I wait for him to attack me so that I can yank him into the depths of the bath. My fingers twitch around the cigarette, and any trace of fucking numbness disappears.

It must be the look in my eyes that gives me away, because his widen a little, and he presses his lips in a line. The dimples appear in his cheeks, but they’re not deep, not like when he smiles.

And he does that a lot on campus. With his fake friends and fake acquaintances. He smiles like it’s a sport.

He never smiles around me, though.

I wonder why.

I know exactly why, but it doesn’t make me despise the others any less.

“Just come out. I’ll wait outside. If you faint, I’ll let you die.”

“Ever thought of writing a How-to Tough Love book?”

“No, but I’m thinking of writing a How to Murder Your Professor for Dummies, though you might not get to read it.”

I laugh, and he pauses, a curious look lightening his bright greens, but then he seems to shake off his thoughts as he stalks out the door.

I tilt my head, watching the way he walks. He’s confident, but it’s not that. It’s the posture.

The upright, perfect posture. I want to break that fucking spine so he never lifts his head again.

But maybe I should have a picture of that posture first.

I kill the cigarette in the ice, then get up and go into the shower, turning the water on full blast. My muscles protest and the lavender scent is barely there, now overshadowed by sandalwood and bergamot. The smell is so male and him, I drive my fist into the wall as I stand under the hot shower.

The pain does nothing to expel the foul energy rippling my abdominal muscles and twitching my cock.

Because he’s outside.

And I can’t stop thinking that he’s outside. In my space.

Around me.

Because he also couldn’t stay away.

I close my eyes and summon every ounce of control I have, but that only lets me stand in the shower for a couple more minutes.

“Fuck this.” With a mutter, I step out of the shower and dry myself.

After putting on a pair of silk pajama pants, I cast a glance around my bedroom and then focus on the nightstand’s drawer. I wouldn’t have noticed it if I weren’t anal about fucking details, but there are fingertip traces. Not mine, because I haven’t touched that drawer. Not since the night he was first here.

Someone was snooping around.

Trying to figure me out.

Good luck with that.

I walk into the living area and pause. Carson is in the bar-style kitchen, sitting on the stool with a bowl of strawberries in front of him.

He tilts his head in my direction as he wraps his lips around a large strawberry, the red flesh parting under his teeth as he bites down. My gaze zeros in on his mouth as the juice stains his lips, his tongue flicking out to catch the remnants.

And my cock is noticing it, too, getting all fucking excited as if he’s that strawberry.

A rush of awareness flickers in Carson’s gaze, and he licks his lips as he pulls off the cap. “Stop looking at me with those eyes.”

“What eyes?”

“You know exactly what eyes.”

“If you don’t want these eyes, maybe you shouldn’t seduce me.”

“I was just eating strawberries.”

“That’s subject to interpretation.” I walk toward him and sit on the stool beside him.

He recoils a bit. It’s barely noticeable, but I put him on edge.

Good.

Can’t have him getting comfortable. He’ll be miserable for the rest of his short life.

“Were you rummaging through my fridge, Carson? That’s inappropriate behavior.”

“We have that in common. Inappropriate behavior, I mean.”

My mouth twitches in a smile. “You like strawberries?”

“What made you think that? I could’ve picked them randomly.”

“They were tucked away at the very back of the fridge, hidden among all kinds of fruit, which means you were deliberately searching for them.”

He purses his lips. He really doesn’t like it when I read him.

I should do it more.

“Why strawberries?”

“Because. Why does your house smell of lavender?”

“Because.”

He narrows his eyes and picks up another strawberry but doesn’t eat it. “Don’t own any shirts?”

“Now, you’re looking at my chest, baby?”

“It’s disturbing.”

“The snake?”

“Your nakedness.” He cocks his head to the side. “What does it mean? The snake?”

“Should it mean something? Can’t I have a tattoo because I think it looks good?”

“I find it hard to believe you’d do something without purpose.”

Now, he is the one reading me. I like this game.

Mostly because I have more cards up my sleeves than he’ll ever have.

“I’ll disclose the meaning if you tell me the story behind your tattoo.”

“How do you know I have one?”

Well, damn. It’s on his upper arm and I haven’t seen that yet. And of course he remembers that I haven’t seen it.

I keep my expression neutral. “Don’t all kids your age?”

“I’m not a kid. I’m almost twenty-two.”

“Almost?”

“Yeah, my birthday is in four months.”

“Is it important to you that I see you as older than you are?”

“What?”

“I’m thirty-three.”

“And?”

“Does an eleven-year age difference really feel any less significant than twelve? Trying to narrow the gap, are we?”

His lips part and he soon presses them in a line. “I don’t care.”

“But you do. You didn’t like it when I called you a kid.”

“That’s because I’m not.” He pops a strawberry into his mouth, and I fight to keep my attention from lingering on the red tinting his lips. “And I’m not falling for your changing-the-subject tactic, by the way. Why do you seem to know a lot of things about me? Like my brother being diagnosed? My relationship with my dad? Are you stalking me?”

“Wouldn’t you love that?” I drag my gaze from his mouth to his eyes. “It didn’t take much effort to piece it together. Your brother is an attention whore, and plenty of professors are aware of his diagnosis. A quick dive into both his and your social media gave me all the pieces I needed. In case it’s not obvious, I have a knack for spotting patterns.”

“So you are stalking me.” Another strawberry. And another. He stuffs his mouth with three at the same time, and I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows them down. “You have IG?”

“Show some respect for your field of study and articulate your words fully. Don’t lower yourself to the brainless habits of your peers.”

“IG is Instagram, you dinosaur. You know, this app on which you can upload photos and videos so people can swoon and drool at your fake life?”

“I know what Instagram is, and I don’t use social media.”

“Hmm. Sus af.”

“Carson.”

“What?”

“Full words.”

“Suspicious as fuck, Professor.”

“Language.”

“You’re the one who wanted full words.” He lifts his shoulder in a small shrug and eats more strawberries, one after the other, like a ravenous kid.

His mind is so sharp and criminally cunning that I often forget he’s only twenty-two.

Twenty-one.

“So tell me, little monster, why are you here? Don’t tell me you made the trip just to steal my strawberries.” My voice lowers. “Unless you had another thing in mind to wrap those lips around?”

Carson shoots me a glare, pushing the bowl with only three strawberries left across the counter as he stands up, sliding between me and the stool.

He wants to tower over me. And I let him. Because I love how the lines in his face harden, and I want to see what the little menace is up to.

“Speaking of lips, how many other students have wrapped theirs around your cock, Professor?”

“How many do you think?”

His hand shoots to my neck before I can stop it, and he squeezes the flesh. It’s strong enough that my breathing is cut off, but I allow him to choke me.

Who would’ve known his psychotic side was this adorable?

And a turn-on.

Because my cock is lengthening by the second.

But then again, I happen to be in this state whenever he’s around.

This is turning into a serious problem.

“You seem to think I can’t kill you just because I didn’t last time.” He lowers his face, speaking so close to my mouth, I can taste the strawberry off his lips. “You’re right, I do repress that part of me, but it’s such a hassle whenever I see your fucking face.”

“Language,” I strain through a smile.

“You—” He exhales sharply. “Did Zara suck your cock? Is that why you were singing her praises?”

“If that were the case, shouldn’t I have been singing your praises as well?”

His lips part, and he narrows his eyes, clearly contemplating the meaning behind my words. “Why…didn’t you?”

“Is that important?”

“My opening statement wasn’t bad. It was clearly better than hers.”

“That’s debatable.”

“No, it’s not! You were just playing favorites.” His pupils dilate and a manic look slips into his eyes, darkening them faster than an eclipse. “Is Zara that good at sucking cock?”

“I wouldn’t know, considering she probably prefers women. She’s got a thing for that girl who’s always clinging to you and begging for your attention like a low-rent whore. Maybe you’d notice the way Jones looks at you with pure envy if you weren’t so pathologically self-absorbed.”

His grip loosens a bit and that calculating look rushes to his eyes, making them a darker green.

Rainy forest green.

Dead green.

He probably comes to the same conclusion as he connects patterns. Jones is so obvious that anyone with little analytical skills could tell. It’s a pity she’s crushing over a dumb girl, but smart people are usually stupid as fuck in these types of situations.

“Finished with the jealousy fit, baby?” I ask with a grin.

Carson’s fingers tighten again, so hard, I cough, my airways closing and my lungs burning.

“I told you to stop calling me that. I’m not your baby!”

“Whatever…you…want…baby…” I battle to speak every word.

“This fucking…” He rolls the stool and shoves my head against the counter, the sharp sting reverberating in my skull, but I’m smiling up at him.

At his harsh breaths, his rising and falling chest as he leans close with that manic look in his eyes.

I love it.

The loss of control.

The confusion.

The chaotic fucking mania.

Honestly, he could kill me—maybe even by accident—but none of it matters when his strawberry-laced breath fans across my face, brushing against my lips like a forbidden whisper.

“Who else sucks your limp dick, Kayden?”

My vision blurs at the edges, but I reach out a hand and grab his face. He tries to pull away, his mouth falling open, but I tug him close and feast on those lips.

I shouldn’t.

Kissing him is a boundary I’m not supposed to cross.

But fuck if I care.

I thrust my tongue inside his mouth before he can clamp his teeth shut, then slurp the remnants of strawberry off his tongue. I’ve never cared that much about the fruit, but now, mixed with him, it’s an aphrodisiac that shoots straight to my balls.

He shakes, my little monster. He’s losing all fucking control, shuddering like a goddamn leaf as a small noise escapes him.

And I use that noise to fucking devour him.

Nipping on his tongue, lips, eating his goddamn beautiful face until it’s etched inside me.

He tastes like forbidden fruit—something I shouldn’t even be near, let alone touch. And yet here I am, licking his skin, devouring and consuming him whole.

“Mmmf…” Carson tries to stop me, his fingers tightening, but it only lasts a second, one measly second of fight, before he bites my tongue.

Hard.

A metallic taste explodes in our mouths.

The menace sure loves to draw blood. I do, too, because my cock is thrusting against the thin fabric of my pants.

And I bite him back. He grunts, his hold loosening, and his taste exploding in my mouth.

Fucking beautiful. I can swallow him whole, both literally and figuratively.

He acts so disinterested until I touch him, and then he’s putty in my hands.

A toy to play with however I goddamn please.

I wrap my arm around his lean waist and slam him down on top of me. We groan in unison as his bulge rubs against mine, because he’s also hard, my little monster.

The line of his cock glides over mine, eliciting a shudder from him.

“Love it when you’re hard for me, baby,” I whisper against his lips, then sink my teeth into the pillowy surface of the bottom one and bite.

He grunts, the sound vibrating against my chest and rushing to my cock.

“Shut…the fuck up.”

I bite harder until the skin breaks, then I lick on the small droplets of blood, wiping it clean. “Language.”

“Fuck.” His bulge grows hot and heavy, rubbing unconsciously, chaotically, like he can’t control his hips.

“I said.” I lower my hand from his waist and spank his ass over his jeans. “Language.”

That makes him shake, his breaths coming in quick, fractured puffs. He truly loves the pain. It makes him lose inhibition and become such an adorable little slut.

He blinks, struggling to regain control of his thoughts. “Stop doing that.”

“This?” I slap him again and he jolts, his neck growing red. “But you crave it far too much.”

His lips tremble, but he chokes me again, shoving my head back on the island. “Don’t touch me with hands you’ve had on other students.”

“You’re my one and only, baby.”

I don’t know why I say it. In reality, I shouldn’t give a fuck what he thinks, and I certainly shouldn’t be exclusive to the asshole, but I’m glad I said it, because something mesmerizing happens.

Red creeps up his neck, forming a hue over his fair complexion and tinting his ears red. The reddest I’ve ever seen.

And he all but loses strength in his hand. It’s still around my neck, but it’s unsteady and weak, so I lift my face again, darting my tongue and licking those ears.

The lobe, the shell, even thrusting my tongue inside, and he shivers. He’s so hot and hard, it’s driving me absolutely insane.

Because I can’t get enough of his muffled noises.

His little twitches.

The way his green eyes brighten up until they’re as clear as the Caribbean Sea.

The way his hand rests on my chest, tentatively, like he doesn’t want to touch me, but he can’t not do it.

Look at that. We really have so much in common.

“S-stop,” he stutters and then puffs out a long, fractured breath against my face.

“Say it again and mean it, baby,” I whisper right into his ear, and he jolts, muffling a noise. “You can’t. Want to know why? Because you’re desperate to see what I’ll do next. You’ve been rubbing yourself against my cock, making it nice and hard so I can fuck you.”

“You’ll never fuck me.” He headbutts me weakly, out of breath.

“Care to place a bet?” I wrap my hand around his throat and flip us over so fast, he blinks up in confusion as he half lies on the stool, his back to the island and I’m half lying on top of him, my knee jammed between his legs, right against his cock.

“There. Much better.” I stroke his clean-shaven jaw, not really choking him. “You look stunning pinned beneath me.”

Gareth’s wide eyes lock with mine, a sharp flash of what seems like panic darting across his face. The air thickens with charged tension as he whispers, “Let me go.”

“You know the exact answer to that.”

His breaths quicken, turning shallow, and I can feel the pulse racing in his throat like he’s on the edge of something he can’t control. It’s the power, the idea that he has to give it to me—and he does have to give it to me—pushes him to the edge.

I expect him to try to hit me like he usually does when he’s pushed, but he doesn’t—he’s trapped in the storm of his own confusion, exposed in a way I haven’t seen before.

The shift in his energy pulls at something inside me, something cold and calculating, but also unsettling.

And I find my voice softening—as much softening as I can manage. “There’s no need to fight the inevitable. I’ll make sure you love every second of it.”

“I don’t want this.”

“You’re rock fucking hard. Stop lying.”

“I…”

“What is it this time, Carson? Another one of your back-and-forth tactics?”

“No, it’s…”

“It’s what? Use your words and articulate clearly.”

He gulps at the command, his eyes widening a bit and then says, “Let me do it, then.”

“Let you do what?”

“Let me be the one who fucks you.” His voice is so low, it’s not like him.

He’s just grasping at straws at this point.

It’s obvious that Gareth isn’t proactive but enjoys being devoured. The fact that he still can’t see it—or more accurately, admit it to himself—after so many encounters is a bit concerning, but I must deal with this carefully so he doesn’t balk.

“Do you even want that?” I ask, stroking his jaw again.

He gets distracted, his nostrils flaring and his eyes drooping a little as he speaks in the same quiet tone. “Yeah.”

“Do you truly want it or are you just saying that so you don’t have to surrender control and let me fuck you?”

“I won’t be fucked,” he snaps.

I see. So that’s the problem.

“All right. You can fuck me.”

His eyes widen, his body losing the tension, but that unsure edge still lingers on his pretty face. “Really?”

“Really. If you manage to flip us over so you’re on top, I’ll let you do it.”

Most people would have a moment of hesitation, a few seconds where they think of the meaning or derive the best strategy.

Carson, however, doesn’t waste time.

He bucks his entire body and grabs my arm to flip us. Unfortunately for him, I’ve already tightened my grip on his throat, my hand on his waist as I shove my knee further into his cock until he groans.

But he doesn’t give up. Not when his face turns red or when his cock pulses against my knee, enjoying the wrestling a bit too much.

“We both get off on violence,” I whisper against his ear. “You’re just playing with fire now.”

“Fuck you.”

I bite down on the lobe. “Language, baby.”

“Ugh—” He flails and even tries to knee me, but the position doesn’t allow him to.

It doesn’t matter that he works out and has a vigorous archery practicing schedule. I’m a trained killing machine he’ll never win against.

That’s why I made the offer—to make sure he loses, gives up, and sees there’s no other way.

“You done?” I lick his lower lip, and it twitches, the wound oozing blood again. “Ready for my cock now?”

A shock goes through me.

Literally.

The next thing I know, I’m holding on to the island, then he kicks me and I’m on the ground.

Bolts of electricity surge through me, and I look up to see him holding a Taser, his chest heaving, hoodie pushed up to reveal a sliver of his waist.

“I should’ve electrocuted you in that tub, but then again, I don’t want you to die yet.” He pants, a little grin spreading across his face as those deep dimples make their first genuine appearance.

Deep. Mischievous. Malicious.

“It’s time I play with you, Kayde.” Then he grabs my arms and starts dragging me across the floor.