ALEKSANDER ‘CHRISTIAN’ VOLKOV.
I choked her.
I choked her.
I…
“C—cold”, she stutters, her limbs falling on her sides, her body falling to my chest.
“I know but you have to keep your eyes open for me, little one. Can you do that?”
I strangled her.
No easier way to even say this but I strangled my maid. Cut off her air. Went for her a neck like a sick motherfucker raging in a bullring.
Were it not for the bulky man in the rain snapping me out of it, I would have killed the woman in front of me.
And that?
That eats me alive so much that I can’t breathe properly myself.
But I force myself to, anyway.
The situation calls for it.
My asshole-ness put her in this predicament and said predicament injects a copious amount of pain into my body it physically hurts.
She stands on the tiles on wobbly legs only for her brows to furrow in pain.
“Feet… hurt”, she mumbles.
My eyes rake over the tiles lining the bathroom and sure enough, there’s blood near her feet.
Fuck, she was barefoot.
She might have stepped on something.
I’d look at her feet were it not for the fact that once I let her go, she’ll fall because she’s running a high fever that has her delirious and out of it.
“Here’s what we are going to do, Melissa. I need you to hold on while we get rid of this, okay?”
“Mmmhmm.”
She nods, eyes still closed.
I grab the edge of her nightdress.
Same night dress that led to this mess. I saw her in my library and instead of minding my own business, I watched her kiss her phone, I yanked her phone away only to find out she was kissing West’s text.
Then I snapped.
Jealousy consumed and ate me raw.
And here we are minutes later.
I pull the nightdress up her body as gently as I can.
I can’t hurt her. Not again.
“Arms up, little one.”
I want to say her name but saying her name right now feels more brutal of me.
She raises her hands; I pull the nightgown out of her body before said hands can fall.
Her tits kiss my chest and my hands glide down to her panties sliding them down her legs.
An act that feels like I’ve done it so many times.
Melissa doesn’t flinch. She gets comfortable in the skin of the same wolf that bit her. That choked her. That gave her red angry marks around her neck.
My hands grip her thighs and I pull her off the ground making sure her legs entwine around my waist.
Her feet are hurt. She can’t stand.
I’ll have to carry her and hold her while we both get rid of that fever with a cold shower.
I turn the shower on and cold water strikes us both from above with no mercy.
“C-Christian…too cold…too…”
“We gotta stop the fever. I know it’s too cold, baby but hold on.”
She’s been calling me ‘Christian’ since she opened her eyes when I sprinted up the stairs to get her to my room.
I’m not thrilled by the name or whatever thoughts she has inside her head about another guy but I’m not in the position to be…jealous.
I’m the boss who choked her.
As soon as she gets better, she should sprint the other way and leave. That’s what a woman with scruples should do.
Yet…
“S-stay.”
Her hands choke my neck.
I push her wet hair behind her shoulder and because I still can’t see her neck, I grip her hair in my fist lightly, grabbing it in some sort of messy ponytail.
“I’m here, little stalker. Right here and I’m fucking sorry for this.”
My fingers…
My fingers… all of them line around her neck in red-purplish marks.
Her pale milky skin looks like it was assaulted by some brute.
I am that brute.
Same brute she’s touching, same brute that sinks his face into the crook of her neck getting engulfed in her lavender scent.
As soon as my lips touch her neck, obsession takes over and my need to protect her, protect her from myself even becomes as detrimental as breathing itself.
I lick the first red mark I see on her neck.
She shivers.
“Good.” Her voice cracks.
I chuckle enough to assure her I’m not going to do anything bad to her.
I’m never doing anything bad to her again.
“You like that?” I ask.
She giggles while her fingers grip the hair at the back of my head pulling it.
“It …tickles.”
She chuckles faintly.
And that faint chuckle does something to me.
Thunder quakes outside and every time it does so, her hips jump against my torso and I hold her close.
I lick every mark I put on her like it will erase what I have done.
I kiss what I think is the pain away when she holds me close mumbling the word ‘stay’ over and over again.
When her body temperature drops and her fever seems to have subsided, I walk out with her in my arms taking a towel and wrapping it around her.
Then I place her on the bed.
And I wipe every inch of her skin making sure not to touch her in ways my fucked-up brain would want to, because this woman, fever or not trusted me enough to let me bathe her, to let me touch her after what I did.
I put one of my shirts on her.
Once she’s out. Completely asleep, I kneel near the footboard examining her feet.
There’s a small cut on her right foot so I do what any man like me does when I have a cut, I take out a first aid kit, wrapping bandage around her foot.
She snores harder when I cover her and the urge to jump in that bed has never felt so great as it does right now.
I don’t let any woman in my bed. Poppy has never been in my bed.
Yet I want to keep the nosy little maid chained to my bed for a few days. Or more.
Even if it means hurting her in the process.