Kiss The Villain: Chapter 7

The skin where he touches me burns worse than hellfire.

I latch on to his hand and try to pull it off, but I might as well be pushing a slab of steel. I’m not weak by any means. I work out and take great pride in my ability to squash people beneath my prim-and-proper looks.

But this asshole is different.

He uses violence as a method to exert power.

It doesn’t add up with the rest of his fucking boring life.

“Let me go,” I grind out from between clenched teeth.

He tilts his head to the side, his lips curling. “Say please.”

“Please go fuck yourself, Professor.”

“Why would I do that when I have you to fuck?”

I swallow and he can feel it, because those dead eyes spark. I noticed they only do that when he’s messing with me.

When he has me under his thumb.

“You obviously want to be fucked, too, or you wouldn’t have come here.”

“I don’t want to be fucked and will never allow it.”

“Never is a reach.”

“A definitive.”

“Nothing is definitive, Carson. You study law. You should know better.”

“You teach law. You should know better than to breach it so blatantly.”

“But that’s the whole point of learning law—it’s easier to get around the loopholes and violate it. But you already know that.”

There’s an undertone to his words I can’t quite decipher. His eyes stare deeper into me, attempting to penetrate the fabric of my soul and seep into a part not meant for the public.

A part even I stopped venturing into.

A buzz ignites my skin, and I hate it. I hate the feel of his fucking hand on me. It’s supposed to feel disgusting, not create this low hum that trickles down my spine.

“Stop touching me,” I say in a clear voice, as clear as I can manage. “I’m not into men.”

“I’m not into men either.” He rotates my head to the side. “But something about this pretty face makes me want to decorate it with my cum.”

I clench my teeth because now I’m remembering his cock pulsing in my mouth as he looks down on me.

The image of him coming down my throat makes me murderous.

But I flinch every time his skin rubs mine, gliding over the heated flesh like an ancient potent curse. Sweat trickles down my back, and my hoodie sticks to it.

Heat builds beneath my flesh, a slow burn that spreads through my chest, making it impossibly hard to breathe. My skin starts to prickle, the warmth intensifying with every second, and every inch of space is charged with something I can’t control.

Fuck.

I hate not being in control. Loathe it.

Despise it.

I need to leave.

Now.

“Not into men?” I smile, changing tactics. “You’re so gay, you’ve been fantasizing about me since you saw me, Professor. Not to mention that you were so jealous about the whole Yulian thing. You’d have a better chance with him than me. I can help if you let me go.”

I won’t. If anything, I’ll only use the Yulian angle to hurt him further, but I’ll make him believe that just so he’ll give up.

“Oh, you will help.” He shoves me on the bed and then he’s on top of me, his hard thighs pressing on either side of my waist, and he straddles my legs, pinning me to the mattress.

“Not like this.” I push at his chest.

“Then like what?”

“With Yulian, idiot.”

“Why would I wait for that when I have you under my thumb, wiggling powerlessly like a helpless fucking worm?”

I raise my fist and punch him. Maybe it’s the drug that’s making me lose my inhibitions, or maybe I’ve just wanted to break his jaw for a while now.

Because I bark out a laugh and say in my most condescending tone, “You truly disgust me like I’ve never been disgusted before. The idea of you touching me makes my skin fucking crawl.”

Something flashes in his gaze before it quickly fades away. “Seems I have to test just how much I disgust you, then.”

He reaches into his side drawer and pulls out black ropes. I’m wondering why the fuck he has ropes in his damn nightstand, but those thoughts vanish when he yanks both my wrists up and secures them to the metal headboard.

The motion is so quick and effortless, I can’t stop it no matter how much I wiggle. When he’s done, I can barely move my hands. He’s tied them so tight, the rope digs into my skin.

And now, he’s sitting on my thighs, his weight not allowing me to budge as he lifts my hoodie. I shiver as his knuckles brush against my abs.

“Let’s get these out of the way.” He retrieves a knife from his drawer of nightmares, and holds it close to my stomach, hovering it over the skin.

It’s another of his intimidation techniques—it doesn’t work, and I’m not scared.

I’m apprehensive, though, because I can feel the drug working its way through my veins.

The drugs I bought to humiliate him might be my downfall now, and once again, I have no way out.

The desperation is new, and I only feel it around this motherfucker. For that, I want to gouge his eyes out and slurp them the fuck out of their sockets.

His knife game stops as he starts to cut my hoodie right down the middle. Leisurely. Taking his damn sweet time. “See, this is what I like about you, Carson. You’re not easily ruffled, and you have an impressive door-slam technique. You can patiently wait until the discomfort is over and you also don’t rush plotting revenge. It’s why you only broke into my house after observing me properly. But that repulsive rapist habit of yours can’t go unpunished.”

“You’re the fucking rapist⁠—”

The words die in my throat when he lays the knife flat on my lips.

“Quiet. I told you, didn’t I? Your voice is off-putting.” He runs his knuckles over my throat, then down my chest, and I stiffen. “Besides, you’re the one who keeps using all these rapey drugs. I’m only indulging in your little fucked-up fetish by overturning the power you love so much. Doesn’t feel too good when you’re the one being toyed with, does it?”

I think I hear an edge to his rough, deep voice, but I can’t look at him straight. Not when my skin catches fire. Every inch he touches burns, a sick feeling rushing to my groin.

Fuck. No.

Not again.

Absolutely not.

He slides the tip of his finger across my nipple and I jerk, a zap settling at the base of my stomach.

“Getting sensitive?” He glides his finger over my nipple again and again, and to my dismay, it bunches up, getting harder. His finger sends another tingle down my spine and all the way to my balls.

And I hate that I find it pleasurable.

That his touch, something I despise to my very core, is causing a sensation I’ve never felt before.

A groan rips out of me, but it’s muffled beneath the blade.

“No skin crawling yet. If anything, you love this a bit too much. Hmm. You’re just a natural slut.” There’s a mocking edge to his tone as he pinches my nipple between his thumb and forefinger until it hurts.

But that pain does something unexpected.

Like when he squashed my dick beneath his shoe.

Jesus fuck.

Just when I’m hoping he doesn’t notice, Kayden removes the blade from my mouth and trails it down to my jeans and the tent forming there. “You do love this. What a seasoned whore.”

“Fuck you.”

“Is that your way of asking for my help?”

“Don’t touch me,” I say, but my voice is hoarse and it sounds like a moan, because he’s still playing with my nipples, alternating, pinching, and rubbing

My head grows dizzy as I practically leak into my boxers.

What the fuck⁠—

“Your mouth and body sing a different tune, little monster.” He cuts through the waistband of my jeans, then puts the knife on the nightstand and lowers my pants and boxers enough to release my hardening cock.

It jerks and pulses in his hand—like a fucking hormonal freak. Even with the drugs, I shouldn’t have this much of a visceral reaction to another man touching me.

And not just any man, but my professor who definitely enjoys overpowering and dominating me.

He squeezes me at the base and we both watch, me in horror, him in fascination, as it lengthens in his grip. “Mmm. You have a pretty cock. Huge, too. Not that I’m a cock connoisseur per se, but this is beautiful.”

My breath hitches, my head growing dizzy as all my blood rushes to my groin.

“Let me go. Now,” I growl, not really meaning it.

No, I do.

I don’t?

He jerks my cock from base to tip, circling the crown with his thumb. Sticky precum slides over the sensitive skin, down my length, on his hand.

Everywhere.

“Fuck.” A moan echoes in the air and I realize it’s mine.

“You’re weeping already. Want to come for me, baby?”

“I’m not your fucking baby—” I grunt as he pinches my nipple at the same time as he squeezes my cock. It hurts and I like it.

Why the fuck do I like it?

No one has ever touched me this way before, and I would never give anyone this type of power over me. But this motherfucker just snatched it away, regardless of what I think.

And I like it?

Someone needs to electroshock me.

“Mmm. You’re getting so hard, baby.” He smiles after stressing the word. “You’re making a goddamn mess.”

I am. My precum is all over the place and I hate it. I hate that he’s the one dragging out this part of me. I’m not even supposed to get hard when I don’t want to, let alone be…like this.

“You know why you’re making a mess?”

“S-shut up.”

“You like how I touch you. When I hurt you.”

He leans down and bites my nipple, and I grunt as his teeth sink into the skin so deep, I think he’ll draw blood. But then his tongue darts out, leaving a sticky trail on the assaulted skin as a dark chuckle leaves him.

“You do like it.” He bites the sensitive tip again as he looks at me, his eyes darkening when I groan.

He hums, the sound sending bolts of electricity through my nipple. “I have a fucking masochist on my hands. Interesting.”

“It’s the fucking drugs.” I let out a grunt.

“I don’t think the drugs can make you enjoy something you’re not into.” He jerks me again, rougher this time.

His fingers squeeze my length, and I shake. Uncontrollably.

His movements are controlled but firm. Painful, even. He times twisting the crown of my cock with biting and pulling my nipple between his teeth.

It’s driving me insane.

Pulling at strings I didn’t know I had.

The power behind his every touch leaves me breathless, gasping like a slut. I’m tugging on the ropes so hard, I’m surprised they don’t cut my skin.

“Enough,” I let out in a moan even as I buck my hips. “I hate this…”

“Correction.” His stubble scratches my areola as he flicks his tongue on my aching, sore nipple. “You want to hate it.”

I do.

I want to hate it and I can’t.

Because I’m falling into the rhythm as he jerks me up and down in long, powerful movements, like no one has ever done, not even me.

It’s the drugs, I think as my balls tighten.

There’s no way in hell I’m into men or this particular man.

He’s a disturbing motherfucker. I would have never looked in his direction under different circumstances.

The drugs.

It has to be the drugs.

My back arches off the bed as I buck in his hand, needing that last bit of friction.

“You want to come, baby?”

“Stop calling me that, asshole…fuck…”

“You need to ask nicer. Preferably beg.” He twirls his thumb along my crown and stars form behind my lids. “You look your best when broken, my little monster.”

“Shut…up…”

“Beg me to let you come.”

“Fuck you.”

I groan, my eyes closing as I give in to the most intense buildup of my life.

But it doesn’t come.

Pun fucking intended.

The friction disappears. Just like that.

I blink my eyes open, feeling disoriented. “Why…”

Kayden’s sitting back, no longer sucking and biting my chest like it’s a fucking dessert. And more importantly, my hard dick is up in the air, curving toward my stomach. Precum drips into my navel, forming a small pool, but there’s no actual cum.

I glare at his equally hard cock that’s resting on my thigh, then at him.

“Why did you stop?” I let the frustration translate into my biting tone.

His lips curve in a slow grin. “Didn’t you ask me to?”

“You fucking—” I buck, but I only manage to thrust in the air with no real friction. “Are you enjoying this?”

He wraps his veiny hand around his cock, giving it a rough jerk that makes my mouth water. “Very.”

“Fuck…just…”

“Just?” He jerks himself, not as powerfully as he did to me, but the view only adds to my agony.

I pull at the ropes, groaning in frustration. “You know what.”

“Why don’t you enlighten me?”

“Let me come,” I whisper between clenched teeth.

“Louder.” He taps his crown against mine, and it’s as if being touched by electricity.

“Let me come,” I say in a clearer voice, the last word ending with a moan.

“Now, beg me to make this beautiful cock weep.” He slides his dick against mine and glides his length up and down. We’re almost the same length, but he’s bigger in girth with larger angry veins lining his dick.

My mouth waters at the memory of him inside it, against my tongue and slamming into the back of my throat.

And he’s still rubbing us together, firmly, with a rhythmic friction that drives me insane.

No, it’s the drugs, actually.

That’s what’s making me writhe against the pillow, thrusting up and down against another fucking cock.

Then it stops—the rubbing, and the mind-blowing pleasure—because he wraps both his hands around our cocks, bringing the friction to a halt.

“This motherfucking…” I glare at him.

He only smiles, the motion never reaching his empty eyes. Though they’re not so empty anymore. An unfamiliar dark and entirely vicious emotion shines through the lustful haze.

“I said. Beg.”

My breaths leave in long, fractured spurts. I’d do anything to come right now. I’m de facto debasing myself to the subhuman hormonal fools I look down upon.

“Please,” I let the word fall in a whisper.

“Please what?”

“Fuck…just—” I swallow, breathing deeply. “Please let me come.”

“Say it again.” He jerks us up and down roughly, adding painful friction, and a renewed jolt rushes through me.

It feels so good.

Why does it feel good?

Kayden rubbing our cocks together in that firm rhythm shouldn’t feel like it’s the best erotic touch I’ve ever had.

I don’t even like jerking off, like it’s really hard for me to reach orgasm with handjobs, or oral in general, which is why I rarely masturbate.

And yet, right now, his large, rough hand and throbbing veiny cock are sliding me to an unfamiliar edge.

My senses are full of him, the woodsy smell, the striking eyes, the menacing snake. Our scents mixing into a hazy erotic fog.

All male.

Completely fucking male.

No flowery perfume, no soft touch, and no tits.

Just hard muscles and powerful, painful, and entirely controlled touches.

That should turn me off, but I’m grinding into him, groaning as he uses our precum to lube us up.

“I said.” He slows his pace. “Say it again.”

“Please.” My voice is so hoarse, I barely recognize it, but I don’t care. If he stops again, I might die of frustration.

My mind is in a blissful blur as I thrust into his hand.

He rubs us together harder, faster, and my eyes roll to the back of my head.

“Mmm…your cock feels so good. You’re leaking all over me.”

“Fuck…fuck…I’m…I’m…”

“That’s it. Fall into it. Feel what you do to me, baby.”

“Fuck…oh God…please…I’m close…please…”

“So impatient. So fucking beautiful.” He groans, his voice dripping with lust as he squeezes us with that sinfully good roughness. “Come with me, baby.”

I don’t know if it’s his words or the way he touches me, or all the above, but I can’t hold it in.

I wish I could.

If I weren’t on the drugs, I would’ve held out better and convinced myself I was disgusted, appalled, and downright creeped out.

I would’ve put up a fight.

That’s what I tell myself as I come the hardest I ever have. Against his dick. Spurts of my cum shoot all over the place, and he joins with a guttural groan.

Our cum mixes, covering his hands, and splashing my abs and his thighs.

I blink hard, but my head is complete mush.

But I still search my memories for a better orgasm. I do, thinking it’s imperative to find that and my sanity, but I come up empty.

I’m deeply disturbed and fascinated that this is the best orgasm I’ve had in my almost twenty-two years of life.

“What a mess. Always a fucking mess, little monster,” he muses, his voice rougher, deeper, and, if I were into men—which I’m not—attractive.

And for some reason, some fucked reason also called drugs, I can’t stop coming, staring at him as he continues jerking up, using the cum as lube.

It’s gross.

I tell myself that over and over, but then he does something.

The motherfucker leans down and wraps his mouth around my crown, sucking me dry of cum. The feel of his hot, wet mouth makes me moan out loud. “Fuuuuck…goddamn it…fucking hell…”

I come more in his mouth, unable to stop myself, because why the fuck does it feel good?

I never think about mouths when I’m being blown. So why…?

My question remains hanging in the air as he lifts his head and sucks cum off his hand, making a show of licking and letting me watch.

Our cum.

His and mine.

I swear to fucking God, I’m castrating my cock because even spent, the motherfucker twitches to life at the view.

My sore nipples and bitten chest hurt when he crawls over my body, but I don’t have the capacity to focus on that when he slides one cum-filled hand into my hair, then grabs my jaw with the other one.

Maybe because I’m spent and can’t resist him or because he squeezes my cheeks hard, I have no choice but for my lips to part.

Kayden leans down and spits cum right inside my mouth.

He spits my own cum—and his—in my mouth.

His eyes darken until they’re almost black. They have black flecks, I realize, as his face hovers so close to mine.

Amidst the gray, there are tiny, curious black patches that match his thick brows and hair.

And those flecks are overtaking the gray in a vicious invasion as he watches our cum pooling on my tongue, his grip not allowing me to swallow.

Then he thrusts two fingers in and pounds them to the back of my throat. “Swallow every last drop. I want to watch that throat stuffed full of cum.”

As I do, I accidentally swallow around his fingers. His groan drops on my skin like a fucked-up caress.

The taste is different from when it was only his cum the last time. It feels more fucked up, too.

Sick.

As someone who hates other people’s touch and fluids, I can’t seem to conjure a sense of disgust at his taste as I gobble everything he gives me the fuck up.

I can’t stop licking and swallowing.

The damn fucking drugs. It has to be.

Then all of a sudden, he pulls his fingers from my mouth and stands up.

I keep staring at him through a weird haze, my mouth dry and my body a hot, sweaty, and cum-covered mess as he frees my wrists.

They fall on either side of me, lifeless, with no power whatsoever.

Kayden’s long fingers tap my cheek. “You were a good boy today.”

A strange sensation happens.

It starts low, deep inside, and like wildfire, the smoldering spreads, quickly flooding my chest, my limbs, until I can barely breathe.

I blink as he walks into the bathroom with measured steps.

What the fuck was that feeling…?

My every nerve sparks with heat, my skin tight and flushed with warmth, and my mind is overblown with confusion.

We had the same drug and yet it feels like I’m the only laughingstock around here.

I pull my heavy body up, shaking my head when I stand and the room starts spinning.

Doesn’t matter if I die in a freak accident. I’m simply not staying here to find out what the fuck he’s planning to do next.

This man is more dangerous than his profiling suggests. Not because of his actions per se—though they’re unpredictable and disturbing—but what truly worries me is my reaction to those actions.

Pulling my jeans and boxers up in one hand, I stumble to the door, grabbing a jacket from the hanger on the way out and putting it on.

Forget about revenge.

I need to stay the fuck away before I get sucked into that disturbing man’s orbit.