Red Thorns (Thorns Duet 1)

On catching me.

On making me helpless and at his mercy.

My harsh breathing echoes in the air as I squirm and hit, as I wiggle and arch my back.

“That’s it, Tsundere…keep fighting and clawing. It’s such a fucking turn-on.” As if to prove a point, he lowers himself so that a hard bulge presses against the soft flesh of my belly that’s exposed due to the struggle.

My eyes widen, but it’s not only from his reaction to the chase. It’s also due to the knot that slowly formed at the base of my stomach when I was being chased and has continued to grow while I’ve fought him.

Am I defective?

How could I…be this attuned to this sickness?

Just when I’m contemplating whether I should keep fighting and feed off Sebastian’s depraved side, he releases my wrists and eases off me.

For a second, I remain sprawled on the ground, bemused and shooing the remnants of disappointment scattered deep in my gut.

“Is it over?” My voice is choked, wrong.

“Nah. I won, remember?”

“So?”

“So you have to give me what I want.”

“And what do you want?” At this point, I only wish for this to be done so I can go home, curl up in bed, and have a conversation with my screwed-up head.

Sebastian reaches for the fly of his jeans and slowly undoes the button. “Your mouth on my dick.”

11

Sebastian

The day I dreaded is here.

The day where I can’t keep my mask in check.

The day where I can’t control my sick, twisted cravings.

I’ve gone through a million defense mechanisms to bottle it all in. I played the social game and the diplomat

ic one. I excelled at maintaining a façade and painting a different image in other people’s heads.

Not once have I let myself slip, despite the countless temptations. Despite the blinding urges and the compelling chances. Not even during my hot-blooded teenage years.

I’ve excelled at self-control. Having learned from my grandparents and Nate that the lack of it would only land me in trouble.

It’d make me end up like my parents. Disfigured in a foreign land.

For someone with a savage command over emotions, I can tell when I’m on the edge.

When my mask, that’s almost become a part of who I am, can no longer remain intact.

Because here I am, standing over Naomi as she lies on the ground. The moonlight and the car’s headlights cast a glow on her delicate features.

But there’s nothing delicate about the stupefaction written all over her face.

She’s on her back, her bare thighs locked in an awkward position, and her hoodie is twisted up at her sides, revealing her belly.