Kiss The Villain: Chapter 14

“Join us!”

I sidestep Niko’s hand as he tries to drag me into the pool.

“What a killjoy.” He narrows his eyes as he floats on his back, kicking Jeremy, who’s chilling in the water by the edge, hyperfocused on his phone. He doesn’t even pay attention to Niko’s attempts to start a fight.

Jeremy’s been more wound up than usual, which I would’ve paid better attention to if I weren’t stuck in my own head.

I walk to Glyn’s side and offer her a glass of her favorite pink grapefruit soda that my brother stocks in the mansion for her.

She beams up at me, her features softening.

Glyn is Killian’s new obsession. His only obsession, really. I’ve never seen anyone have such a deep effect on him—until her.

She’s pretty, I guess. Delicate, round face, long chestnut hair with blonde strands, and those inquisitive eyes.

But that’s not special, not for Kill, anyway. He’s had countless people, of all genders, throwing themselves at him, and he never gave a single one the time of day—especially Cherry.

But Glyn? She’s like a spoiled British princess, minus the pretentiousness, and there’s this innocence about her that someone like Killian would love to break.

I don’t understand it. I prefer being with my match instead.

At the thought of that asshole, I scoff on the inside and sit down, trying not to think about what happened two weeks ago. The pleasurable punishment and mind-blowing sex.

The type of sex that I can’t stop thinking about.

After which he disappeared.

For two weeks.

Sick leave, apparently.

Hope he dies.

“Thanks,” Glyn says with a smile. “You’re so kind.”

“It’s nothing.” I check my watch. “Kill has a late shift, I believe. He might not be here for a while.”

“I know. I just like talking to you.” She grins. “I feel comfortable around you and kind of feel camaraderie because we both have to deal with Kill.”

Right. So she’s that naïve.

I guess I did paint the image that I was struggling to deal with Kill my entire life, but I also tried to kiss her about a week ago just to mess with him, and he nearly killed me.

In my defense, it was right after the initiation night, and I was suicidal.

“But you’ve been dealing with him for longer, so it must’ve been hard.” She gives me a look of pure sympathy.

The girl who’s kind of trapped in a relationship with my brother actually has the capacity to worry about me.

I guess that’s…normal? This is how people who don’t have the constant thoughts of inflicting violence or just chasing after more pain feel.

But I think Glyn’s just that pure, in a way.

“Worry about yourself,” I say with no maliciousness whatsoever, staring at Niko splashing water at Jeremy.

She takes a sip of her soda. “Guess I’m used to it.”

“Used to it or used to the thrill?”

“Both?”

“The thrill eventually goes away, so search for another branch to hold on to.”

She swallows, her throat working up and down. “You know Kill would never let me go.”

“The real question is, are you willing to let him go?”

She falls silent, and I can see the unsettling realizations rushing to her wide eyes, darkening them, even making them glisten with unshed tears.

It’s one of my superpowers, I think—making people face things they never would’ve considered otherwise. I don’t waste it on anyone I don’t care about, and I don’t particularly want to hurt her.

She’s probably the best thing that’s ever happened to Kill. Since she entered his life, he’s less consumed by chaos and even stopped pestering me.

And I’m thankful.

Despite my flawless act, pretending to be all about school and maintaining the perfect GPA, I’m on edge. No one notices, of course. But there’s a fire building inside me, swelling, growing, threatening to burn everything down.

Like an inferno.

‘Come here, Gaz! Let me drown you!’ Niko splashes water our way, and I grit my teeth when some of it hits me.

But Kill rushes in, immediately shielding Glyn from the mess.

‘Should’ve mentioned you were coming. Miss me already?’ He grins down at her, still in his white coat. Wouldn’t surprise me if he cut his internship short just to be here.

‘Who says I’m here for you?’ She glares up at him. ‘I actually came around to talk to Gareth.’

Well, fuck me catching strays.

Kill tilts his head toward me, a murderous glint narrowing his eyes.

I lift my hands, smiling. ‘I plead not guilty. Not my fault I’m better company than you. Right, Glyn?’

‘The fuck did you just say?’ Kill growls.

‘I’m just repeating Glyn’s words,’ I tease. ‘She said I’m better company than you and that she’s more comfortable around me.’

It’s that suicidal mode again—the need to provoke, to get my head rattled or something.

Anything, really.

Kill starts toward me, but Glyn grabs his arm, and to my surprise, he stops dead in his tracks. He looks down at her, like he’s completely forgotten I exist—or that anyone else is around.

Then he drags her away.

To fuck, I suppose.

As I watch them disappear, my mind keeps circling back to that look in his eyes when she touched him. Manic…mixed with something else. Reason? No, calm?

She calms him? How the hell does she do that?

And why does he get that, while I’m left drowning in this raging volcano of emotions I can’t even explain?

Kill is the one person who resembles me the most. In a twisted way, I consider him someone who belongs to me. The other day, he was attacked and I felt murderous because I don’t like people touching what’s mine.

But right now, I’m more…envious.

Of what? Him? His relationship? His goddamn luck?

Fuck this.

I pull out my phone and frown at the thousand notifications I got on some stupid Reddit thread I made with a throwaway account.

All so I wouldn’t text that prick Kayden.

After the most intense sexual experience of my life, I woke up alone in his bed.

And he was gone.

Waiting for me on the kitchen counter, I found a strawberry smoothie, another bowl of strawberries, and a plate of breakfast food covered with plastic wrap.

The note said, “Eat so you’ll have the strength to handle me.”

I crumpled it.

But I did eat because I was hungry. Surprisingly, I was all clean and smelled like him, as if he ran a cloth with his shower gel all over my body.

I was fuming at the humiliation of it all, at him being right—that I might enjoy submitting and taking whatever he dishes out.

I hated how much it upset me.

And was ready to headbutt and punch him again. But not right away, because, honestly, my ass and jaw hurt, and I thought if he tied me up and touched me again, he might as well fuck me and erase my last shred of dignity.

So I stayed away.

For, like, three days.

And then I was pissed off because he didn’t get in touch at all.

I saw him on campus, so I knew he was teaching other classes and doing just fine, but he didn’t send any of his distasteful texts.

And I got more furious at myself for wanting his texts. It’s not like we’re in a damn relationship or anything, so why would he check in?

Anyway, even if he did text, I would’ve ignored him.

So I was looking forward to class to ignore him harder while I impressed him with my witness questioning skills.

But he called in sick on that day.

He wasn’t on campus the whole week.

And he wasn’t in his house. Yes, I went in again two times after he called in sick just to kick his face in and make him sicker.

Okay. Three times.

I don’t know where the hell he’s been, and I refuse to text him first. That’s just not going to happen.

Because, in reality, I should be elated that he finally fucked off out of my life.

And I am.

That’s all I wanted.

Right?

But somehow, the hole of emptiness I was born with has been burning at the edges like paper, slowly but steadily growing in size.

The PI, Nadine, wasn’t of any help. She just sent me what I asked for.

His yearbook picture in which he looked hot—kill me.

His favorite color is gray. Boring fucker.

He doesn’t have a favorite show or movie and doesn’t actually watch them.

His favorite music is classical, which I kind of knew, and his favorite composers are Bruckner and Rachmaninoff for some reason. Something I need to look into further.

The most surprising fact I learned is that he played hockey up through college.

His parents separated when he was nine and he chose to live with his father.

I’m paying Nadine more to dig further, although I considered asking her to locate him right now.

But then I thought better of it and made this stupid thread on one of those NSFW advice forums.

An impulse in the moment just to see what normal people think about this. I kept it generic.

Title: ‘I’m not gay, but I can’t stop thinking about my superior—Help?!’

Let me start by saying this: I’m not gay. I’ve never been into men or found them remotely attractive. But if I’m honest, I haven’t exactly felt that way about women either. I’ve just gone through the motions because, well, society. I can get hard when needed and make sure the girls have a good time, but truthfully? It feels like a chore. I don’t enjoy it—except for the climax and maybe a little of the power play.

Now, here comes the curveball: my superior. I won’t go into details about how we met or where, but let’s just say it wasn’t under ideal circumstances. I hated him on sight. Yet, somehow, this guy has unleashed a side of me I didn’t even know existed.

He’s the only man I’ve ever found attractive, and it’s driving me out of my mind. I can’t stand him as a person, but every time he’s near, I get this primal urge to push back, to defy him. And, of course, he loves the cat-and-mouse game. The whole dynamic is infuriating.

I’ll admit it—the oral sex was next level. He has this way of blending pain with pleasure, and as much as I hate to confess it, I liked it. It gave me some of the most intense orgasms of my life. But here’s where it all gets messy: I hate the thought of another man fucking me. It’s just something I can’t wrap my head around.

And yet when the tables turned and I had the chance to fuck him, I froze. Couldn’t do it. He says I like to be dominated, and that cut deep because I thought I was the one calling the shots.

Now, he’s ghosted me. Part of me is relieved, but the other part? Seething. Frustrated. He claimed he wasn’t into men either, but I don’t know if I buy that—especially since he always seems ready to…well, you get the picture.

So what’s happening here? Is this just some weird one-time thing, or am I heading for the mother of all sexuality crises?

It was flooded in the span of a day. I scroll through the comments, my frown deepening by the second.

Looks like y’all are having a bi-awakening at the same time. Go ride that dick, my man.

My bro is having both gay and masochist awakening. Pray for his ass.

Why the fuck does that look like something Niko would write?

I read through more trolls.

Bro, you’re describing a romance novel but with less love and more frustration. Maybe you’ve just found your ‘enemy-to-lovers’ kink.

I’m not saying you’re gay, but the fact that you can’t stop thinking about the guy who ‘ghosted’ you after giving you the best orgasms of your life kinda says otherwise. Just saying.

You’re not gay, but you’re definitely confused, my dude.

Someone hand this man a mirror so he can check if he’s ‘straight’ or just really into mind games and power dynamics.

Plot twist: you’re just really into mindfucks.

I pause at that one but continue reading the most awarded comments with more serious answers.

It sounds like you’re in a confusing place. Attraction and sexuality are complicated, and it’s normal to feel conflicted. Your feelings toward this guy might not even be about sexuality but could stem from power dynamics or unresolved emotions. Take some time to reflect on your feelings and relationships.

You seem torn between what’s familiar and something entirely new. Don’t shame yourself for your feelings, even if they’re confusing. If you’re unsure about your sexuality, explore it without pressure or labels. There’s no need to force yourself into a box—just feel and figure it out as you go.

You’re not necessarily gay, but it sounds like there’s a deeper emotional tension at play. Stepping back to examine your relationship with power, control, and submission might help. These dynamics can sometimes blur with sexual attraction, especially when they challenge your understanding of desire.

I exit the thread and turn off notifications when everyone starts asking about any updates and putting forth personal questions. One of them said, ‘Big dick?’ and I wanted to reach out and punch them and say, ‘So is mine. Your point?’

It’s not about dick size. Bunch of morons.

This was a shit idea in the first place.

Also, why is everyone talking about emotions and stupid shit I don’t even relate to?

Useless. Every last one of them.

A few people message me, and I ignore them, too, but one catches my interest.

I’m still rereading the guy’s text when my phone slips from my hand, clattering to the ground as I’m yanked suddenly.

By Nikolai.

Before I can react, he’s dragging me toward the pool. “Got you!”

I’m soaked in a second as he holds my head underwater and his laugh echoes in the air. “Told you to join. Should’ve listened!”

Instead of flailing around, I just float still, thinking about what the dude said on Reddit.

Should I just try another guy. Is that it? Taste someone else’s cum and touch someone else’s abs? And suck someone else’s dick?

Why does the mere idea disgust me?

“You’re gonna fucking kill him, Niko!” Jeremy’s voice reaches me first before he pulls me from the water.

I suck in a breath, gasping, only then noticing the fire in my lungs.

“Pfft, it doesn’t take that little to kill my Gaz.” Niko headlocks me, jamming his fist against my head. “Right?”

I grab him by the head and shove him down, holding him underwater as he tries to overpower me. Motherfucker interrupted my train of thought.

See, I can beat someone bigger than me.

You just choose not to with Kayden, you little slut.

Fuck off, demon.

“Gareth?” Jeremy looks at me as if I’ve been possessed and is considering whether or not to call the local priest.

I loosen my grip, allowing Niko to resurface again, but before he comes for the attack, I lift myself out of the pool.

“Boo!” Niko yells. “Come back here and fight me, you boring bitch.”

“Not in the mood for your antics.” I remove my shirt and shorts, remaining in my boxers, then dry myself.

I run a towel through my hair as I grab my phone and head upstairs. My steps falter in the middle of the stairs, a rush of electricity bolting through me when I see a text.

A shiver goes through me and I doubt it’s because of the cold.

The fire that’s been consuming me is so strong now, I feel like exploding.

My heart thumps so loudly, I’m actually alarmed. Note to self: find a heart specialist to fix this malfunction.

Instant boner.

“Seriously?” I mutter at myself, then frown because now, I’m turning into Niko, who loves talking to his dick as if it’s a person.

My throat closes when he sends a picture.

Of him fisting his cock through his PJ bottoms. Even though he’s not naked, the thin material leaves nothing to the imagination. The lines of his cock are clear in the picture and when I zoom in, I can see those veins⁠—

I release it as if I’ve been burned when another text appears.

He sends another picture, and in this one, his abs are on full display, his PJs pulled down enough to show his groin.

Cock-fucking-tease.

I hurry up to my room so no one sees me battling with a goddamn boner.

As I linger behind the door, staring at the picture he sent and winding myself up, something catches my eye.

Something that shouldn’t be there.

A red-patterned silk scarf lying by the foot of his bed.

It’s feminine, delicate—not his style at all. I’ve never seen him wear a silk scarf, and I know for a fact he doesn’t own any.

Yes, I checked his wardrobe.

My eyes narrow.

Who does that belong to, and why is it in his bedroom?

Not that I care.

An hour later, I punch in the code to his apartment.

Snooping around here is pointless—I’ve done it before. No matter how hard I look, everything is annoyingly in order. Just a typical professor’s place.

He doesn’t even have a TV, the weirdo. Just a record player and some vinyl records.

The scent of something delicious cooking hits me as soon as I step inside, flooding my senses.

Then, the cold press of a gun clicks against my shoulder.

I freeze, my hands lifting slowly as a petite woman with East Asian features, shoulder-length hair, and piercing dark-brown eyes steps into view.

“Who the fuck are you?” she asks in a no-nonsense tone.

I narrow my eyes on her. This is the owner of the scarf? So his type is middle-aged Asian women? What the fuck?

If I can reach into my calf holster and get my knife⁠—

“Jina!” a slender woman with shiny blonde hair calls in a soft voice. She walks into the living area, the red scarf wrapped around her neck, supporting Kayden.

He’s leaning on her, his face pale and complexion different.

So he is sick?

And who the hell are these women?

His gaze locks onto mine, emotions flickering through his gray eyes, shifting between light and dark. His jaw tics, but his face quickly smooths out as he detaches from the blonde and strides toward us.

“Honey, be careful,” she calls after him, extending her arms like she expects him to collapse, as if she could catch someone twice her size.

Wait a damn minute. Did she just call him honey?

“It’s fine, Mom,” he says with a gentle smile, placing a hand on Jina’s arm.

Mom?

I’m getting whiplash. Since when is he this soft? And wait—does that mean he’s half Asian?

“He’s an intruder who just walked in,” Jina says, not lowering the gun.

“Put the gun down, sweetie. What the hell?” Blondie says, throwing Kayden a distracted glance before gently pulling Jina’s shoulder.

“He might hurt Kayden, Rachel. You never know.”

“He’s just my student, Mom. You can let go,” Kayden says, calm but firm, removing the gun from Jina’s hand and clicking the safety back on with practiced ease.

That was smooth. Does he shoot targets or something? Most people aren’t that comfortable around guns.

The more I learn about him, the less, I realize, I know.

“Why doesn’t your student ring the bell like a normal human being?” Jina narrows her eyes at me like a stern teacher. “Where are your manners, boy?”

“Sweetie,” Rachel scolds.

“Ma Jina is right, Mom.” Kayden’s eyes stay on me, though he’s speaking to them. “He has no manners.”

I glance between the three of them. Two moms. Married, judging by their matching wedding bands that I didn’t see in my red haze earlier.

Rachel must be his biological mother—he’s got a faint resemblance to her. She must’ve married Jina after separating from Kayden’s dad.

Well, this is interesting. Finally, someone—two someones—who might shed some light on him.

“You can leave now,” he says in his usual firm tone, brooking no argument.

Too bad for him, I have other plans. I flash my most charming, golden-boy smile and address his moms.

“I’m so sorry for barging in. I was just really worried about Professor Lockwood. He’s kind of a star on campus, and his absence has been felt.”

His eyes narrow, but I ignore him.

“Oh my,” Rachel says. “Don’t worry about it… I didn’t catch your name.”

“Gareth,” I say, sidestepping Kayden and shaking her hand. “Old-fashioned, I know. I was named after my grandfather because my mom missed him so much.”

“That’s so sweet. I wish I had a story like that. I’m Rachel, and this is my wife, Jina. She can be overprotective over Kay, so don’t take it personally.”

Kayden’s mom calls him ‘Kay.’ Hmm.

“I understand completely. My apologies again, ma’am.” I offer my hand to Jina, who shakes it with more force than necessary.

“Don’t do that again, or you might actually get shot,” she warns.

“Jina!” Rachel says, exasperated, while Kayden smirks smugly.

“Promise.” I keep smiling and nod toward the oven. “I think something’s burning.”

Jina mutters what sounds like curses—Korean, maybe, judging by the dramas my cousin Maya forces us to watch—and runs off.

“What a shame.” Rachel sighs. “I was hoping to invite Gareth to dinner.”

“There’s no need, Mom,” Kayden says firmly.

“Nonsense. No one comes here and doesn’t eat. Give the kid a break, Kay.”

I smile at her. “I’m no chef, but I’m an excellent sous-chef—according to my mom, though that might not be the best endorsement.”

“Aw, bless you. But you really don’t have to.”

“It’s the least I can do after intruding.” I step toward the kitchen, but Kayden blocks my path, his pale face taut, jaw ticking.

“What are you doing, Carson?” he whispers, low and close enough that I can feel his minty breath on my lips.

“Figuring you out.” I jab a finger at his chest. “Brace yourself to see me in my full glory tonight, Kayde.”