Vile Boys: Chapter 4

I take a deep breath and close my eyes to calm my unsteady heart. It’s dark outside anyway, so there’s nothing to see. Just a few minutes away from the dance floor is all I need to calm down.

Suddenly, a hand snakes around my waist, and all the adrenaline comes flooding right back in.

“Are you afraid of death?”

My eyes burst open at the sound of his voice.

It’s him.

My body tightens as he moves closer, my fingers thrumming against the pocket in my dress, where I keep the small knife I’ve always brought everywhere since that night.

“You know who I am, don’t you?” he whispers into my ear, breath lingering near my skin, creating goose bumps all over. “Say my name.”

An air of darkness slowly envelops me.

“Ares.” His name rolls off my tongue like I’m summoning a demon from hell.

“Good girl. So you’ve heard what people say about me.” He grabs a strand of my hair and lifts it. “Yet you still smiled at me. Why?”

“Why … I smiled?” I’m flabbergasted that this is the question he’d ask.

“You’ve seen what I’m capable of. Why aren’t you terrified?”

I suck in a breath through my teeth, staying put despite his looming presence towering over me. “I don’t break for anyone.”

I’ve been broken too many times to let anyone shatter me again.

His fingers dig deeper into my dress. “We’ll see about that.”

I stick my hand into my pocket and grasp the handle of my knife.

“You can’t kill me in front of all these people,” I mutter, sweat drops trickling down my back.

I can hear him snort away a laugh. “You think I want to kill you?”

“You killed those men,” I whisper.

It’s out there now.

“I did kill them.”

How he so easily admits to it makes my blood boil.

“Aren’t you going to ask me why?”

I bite my lip, wondering what I should say. Every word feels like a maze, and each answer leads into his carefully laid out trap. “Does it change the outcome?”

There’s a pause. “You have a way with words.”

I grasp the banister of the terrace, ready to kick back. “And you destroy people because of the words they speak.”

“Don’t pretend to know my business,” he says. “I don’t think you understand what it takes to lead the Tartarus House. But I do.”

A knife suddenly prods into my waist, making my heart jump.

“You know my secret. But I’m not here to kill you, Crystal.”

My jaw drops.

How does he know my name?

“I don’t want you to die. Not this sweet, innocent soul who smiled so happily at a killer.” He plays with my hair, coiling it around his finger like I’m a shiny, new toy to play with. “No, what I want is something far more sinister.”

I hold my breath to stop his blade from piercing my skin.

“Your fear.”

I can’t breathe. Can’t swallow. Can’t even flinch without feeling the tip of his knife bore into me. But I will never give him the thing he wants most.

His free hand trails a line from my neck all the way down to where my dress covers my breasts, and when he hovers over it, I grasp his hand.

“Oh … so the little innocent girl does have some bite to her,” he murmurs. “Good. A chase isn’t fun without a challenge.”

The knife pushes farther into my skin with each passing second, as if he’s taunting me to see how far I’ll take it, until I can no longer hold his wrist. The moment I let go, the knife stops digging into me, and I let out a breath.

“Good choice,” he murmurs into my ear.

His hand lingers near my chest, electricity humming between us like he’s testing the waters, seeing how easily I’ll bend to his will. Just like everyone else in his world.

I should stab him. Thrust this knife into his cold, detached heart. He deserves it.

But then his lips suddenly come down on my neck, and all my thoughts of murder dissipate.

I’m frozen to the ground as his lips freely roam my skin, planting kisses wherever he goes, and I can barely breathe.

“You taste as sweet as you look,” he murmurs, his heady voice luring me into the abyss with him. “I wonder if your blood does too.”

His teeth sink into my flesh, and a strangled cry escapes my mouth, the sound blocked by his hand, which swiftly moves to cover it.

What the hell? He actually bit my shoulder.

His teeth retract, and my skin surges with blood and pain, but when his lips cover the wound, I gasp. His tongue dips out to lick the blood, kissing my skin before he licks his lips against my ear.

“Sweet as fucking sin.”

He’s sick. Completely deranged, and—

“Don’t scream. Unless you want this knife to make you bleed too,” he whispers, the tip of his knife reminding me of my precarious situation. “And I will certainly lick the blood off the blade as well.”

“You’re insane,” I murmur when he finally removes his hand.

“Insane … perhaps.” His hand moves down my neck. “Or perhaps you just haven’t seen anything of this world yet.”

His hand dips into my dress from the top where he cups my naked breast and squeezes.

“Perhaps you haven’t experienced enough of it yet to differentiate between pleasure …”

I suck in a breath to stop the moan from spilling out when he pinches my nipple between his index finger and thumb and rolls it around.

“And pain.”

He pinches it so hard I bite my tongue. “F-fuck.”

“Ah-ah. Quiet,” he whispers, pushing the tip of the knife into my side. “Or I will have to cut our little bout of titillation short.”

“Titillation?” I squeak. “This feels more like, like…”

My train of thought is interrupted by each twist he applies, as it’s sending currents of arousal through my body.

What is happening? Why am I letting him do this to me?

“Like you want to submit?” he says.

He pulls his hand out, only to slide it down my dress and creep in underneath. Within seconds, he’s reached my panties, and he slides them aside with ease.

“Have you ever been touched by a god?”

“What?” I mutter, confused.

But then his fingers slide across my slit, and I’m as much at a loss of words as I am at a loss of my thoughts.

Ares actually slides his fingers underneath my dress.

Right in front of everyone on this terrace.

“Wait,” I mutter, feeling delirious with need.

But he doesn’t stop. “Why? Afraid someone will see you squirm from my fingers?”

Shit. He’s trying to get me to feel the fear. I won’t let him.

He swirls his fingers around like he knows exactly what he’s doing, carefully avoiding the most sensitive spot like he wants to coax the pleasure out of me. And something about that makes me clench the knife in my pocket so harshly I worry the handle might break.

“I know you’re thinking of using that knife on me. It won’t stop me.”

What? How does he know?

“I can feel your hand tensing around the handle.”

I immediately loosen my grip.

“And I will definitely use it against you if you try.”

“How?”

His knife pokes into my belly. “You bringing a knife here makes for an awfully good story when people suddenly find you stabbed, wouldn’t it?”

I stay frozen to the floor, unsure what to do. But his fingers, good God, those fingers will be the death of me before his blade ever punctures my skin.

He swirls around, wetness pooling between my legs as I struggle not to moan. But he’s listening, waiting for the moment I cave in, and I don’t want to give it to him. All I can do is accept and let the pleasure slowly take over while my mind spins in circles, trying to make sense of all this hatred and lust mixing into one.

I can’t call for help. If he hears so much as a single word, he’ll kill me just like he did those men and use his charms to persuade people it was all self-inflicted.

He slides back and forth, stopping right before he hits the most sensitive tip, almost like he’s avoiding it on purpose, and I’m on the edge of just begging him to do it.

What is wrong with me?

“Go on, then … make a sound. I dare you,” he whispers, turning up the heat, fingers splaying before they dive straight in.

I gasp in shock when he enters me, feeling me up. Not just because of his sudden invasion but also because of the wetness that pours out of me.

“You’re so wet for me already,” he says, grinning against my skin. “You don’t stand a chance.”

“Fuck you,” I grit, trying to ignore the lust flooding my mind.

“Are you angry with me?” he muses, thrusting in a finger and keeping it there as if to remind me of the fact that he can do anything he wants to me as long as his knife pokes into my skin. “Or angry at how good it feels when I play with you?”

“You want me to hate you?” I hiss through my teeth. “Job done.”

A low, rumbling laugh emanates from deep within his chest.

“You think I will settle for that?” he groans, circling around inside me. “Oh no, I want you on your knees, begging for a break from the terror I will instill in your heart at the thought of being owned by me.”

He thrusts in another finger, making me swallow a mewl, and I clutch the banister of the terrace with both hands now to keep steady so I don’t fall.

“I refuse,” I mutter, as he keeps on filling me with his fingers until I’m dizzy with mounting arousal. “I will never give you what you want.”

He pulls out his fingers, leaving me bereft, wanting something I shouldn’t.

His fingers slide up and down achingly slow, lulling me into complacency with his groans close to my ear as his body leans into mine. He hardens against me. He’s thick and long as he prods into my ass, and I can’t ever imagine him being inside me.

“I beg to differ, Ambrosía,” he groans.

Ambrosía? What does that even mean?

I can’t focus on his words because of what he’s doing to me.

Right as the pad of his thumb touches my nub, his lips cover the wound on my shoulder, and he bites down again, his teeth even more painful than before. I can’t differentiate between the mounting pain and the aching pleasure between my legs as he slowly circles around, making me want to squeeze my legs together.

But the moment I flinch, there’s that knife again, reminding me of my place.

Knock his teeth out.

Kick him.

Punch him.

Stab him with his own knife.

Beg for more.

Every violent thought coursing through my head is replaced by desire with each stroke of his fingers.

His tongue dips out once more, circling the fresh wound, sucking up the blood as his fingers go faster and faster. And it’s becoming harder and harder to hold on. To resist. To exist without wantonness.

Too late.

“See how wet you are for me?” he whispers into my ear. “Even when I hurt you, you still want for nothing more than to come on my fingers right now.”

“F-fuck,” I groan, unable to keep the moan from slipping out too. “Why are you doing this?”

“You call me insane, yet you’re the one driven to insanity,” he muses.

“Toying with me isn’t going to make me fear you,” I say, breathing heavy breaths to try to keep the orgasm at bay.

“You think fear can only be achieved through terror and violence?” His finger circles around faster and faster. “I will make you fear the day you come for me. Because you will never want for anything more than an orgasm from my touch.”

I gasp as he suddenly retracts his fingers, my heart practically screaming at me when he pulls them from underneath my dress dripping with my wetness.

“See for yourself how badly you wanted that,” he whispers, bringing them closer to my face.

“Remember my teeth, Crystal. Remember how they felt as they sank into your skin. Remember what you felt when I penetrated you with my fingers, because the next time you feel it, it will be the cock of a god thrusting into your wet, aching pussy.”

“Crystal! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

Kayla’s voice makes my eyes widen, and I glance at her over my shoulder, pleading with her in my head not to get close.

What if he kills her too?

Suddenly, he steps aside, and the knife disappears from my waist. I look around, confused. He now stands next to me on the terrace, clutching the banister as though he was never messing with me.

And the knife is nowhere to be seen.

What the …?

“Are you okay?” Kayla asks. “You look a bit pale.”

My eyes flutter over to Ares. He glances at me over his shoulder through his ghostly mask, and my whole body heats from that one look.

Kayla hooks her arm around mine and drags me away from him. “What were you doing there? Did you recognize that dude? That was Ares.”

“Oh … I didn’t realize,” I lie.

I swallow back my pride.

But as we head back inside, my whole body feels like it’s about to combust.

And when I turn to throw a final glance at him, he’s turned around to face me. A devilish smirk adorns his face as he brings his fingers, the fingers that were just inside me, to his lips and actually licks them off while staring right at me with those smoldering gray eyes.

My eyes begin to twitch.

I hate him.

I’ve never hated anyone or anything, but I hate him more than anything in the entire world.