I'm very eager
1596 Words
ADRIAN
My heart slams so hard it feels like it’s trying to punch its way out of my chest. I try to gasp some air into my lungs, but I might as well have forgotten how to breathe.
The doorknob is right there. Freedom is a twist away. But then my palm slips on the metal, slick with sweat.
Run.
Every instinct screams it. But I can’t bring myself to just obey.
I know what this looks like-I'm a coward who bolts from his f*****g plans anytime a mishap presents itself.
I have been planning…dreaming, going against Graves for a long time, but not in a million scenarios had I ever dreamed of the plan backfiring on me like this, and instead, a psychopath in a human form who looks like he is ready to chew my brain off appears on my radar.
I take in a calming breath and grab the doorknob, twisting it, but, something cold presses beneath my ribs.
Steel.
My breath locks in my throat.
“Running already, little tiger?” the voice murmurs behind me, calm and amused. “I promise I’m not that frightening.”
Little tiger?
The nickname sends a strange ripple down my spine — irritation tangled with something hotter. I hate that my body reacts at all.
“Let's get this over with, turn around,” he nudges the sharp object, which I am sure as hell feels like a knife or a dagger, further into my ribs that it nips my shirt.
Maybe if I make a run for it, I’ll be able to get out of here—
“Hurry up!” He barks, and I find myself whirling around on unsteady legs and come face to face with him. .
Up close, he’s worse.
Too big. Too composed. Ocean-blue eyes track every flicker of movement like he’s cataloging weaknesses. There’s no panic in him, no uncertainty. Just control.
“Mask,” he orders.
“No.”
The word slips out on instinct. His hand flashes forward, and I react just as fast, knocking the knife from his grip and sending it skidding across the floor.
For half a second, I think I’ve won.
Then he’s leaning casually against the closet, arms folded, watching me with a small, unimpressed smile — like I’ve just performed a mildly entertaining trick.
“I see you prefer complications,” he says lightly. “Should I call Gabriel and his friends? Or will you save us both the trouble and take it off?”
My pulse thunders in my ears.
Thump
Thump
Thump
If he calls them on me, I will be dead, and since an early death has never been on my cards, I'd better take off the mask.
“No,” I flutter my eyes closed, swallowing the knots down my throat. “I mean, I will take off the mask.” Irip the mask off and meet his gaze.
“There. He says softly as if negotiating with a toddler. “That wasn't so painful. Now was it, little tiger?”
“Hi,” I manage, and instantly want to punch myself.
I hope I don't sound like a f*****g sap. What on earth has gotten into me?
Calm down, for f**k sake.
I push down the knot in my throat.
“Hello.” His smile remains the same, exuding an awkward politeness. It’s even welcoming. “May I ask what you’re doing here in this room in particular?”
“Obviously, I came here for the party.”
“I could tell. Why?”
“I…I’m a fan!” I scramble for a lie “a huge fan ofGraves here!” I force an awkward smile.
Gag
As if being in this position isn't rock bottom. I have to admit to being a fan of my enemy.
“Aah…I see,” he fixes me with a gaze that says more words than the two words he just muttered.
“If we're done here I will get going,” I shift on my feet, “it was nice meeting you Mr-”
“None of you business,” the ocean blue colour in his eyes glistens, devoid of any emotions.
“Now why don't you tell me the reason why you are here, Adrian Cross?” Something flickers in his expression — amusement, maybe. He steps closer, invading my space until the heat of his body bleeds through my shirt. He smells clean and sharp, like cedar and cold air.
My hands pause mid-motion, and I lift my gaze to meet his, which seems to have been overshadowed by an icy emotion; his earlier awkward politeness long gone.
“Y-you know my name,” I ask more like a statement.
“I do. You the captain of the little team, the Revenants here just crushed,” he smirks before his frown breaks into a little smile.
“And you must be one of his bodyguards?” I ask, trying to be more concerned.
“Told you that is none of your business,” he warns, his voice low, steady, the kind that rumbles in your bones.
“Minions?”
Instead, he steps forward until his chest brushes mine, and suddenly the air between us feels heavier.
Unsettling.
My pulse kicks up.
He’s close. Too close.
I’d thought I was huge. Hell, at six-foot-two, most people looked up at me with a hint of fear or respect. But this bastard? Standing in front of me now, he makes me feel like a damn rookie on skates. My head barely tips high enough to meet the shadows of his face. He’s enormous—broad shoulders, carved muscle stacked on muscle, like he was made to dominate any space he walked into.
“f**k…” I mutter under my breath before I can bite it back.
The bastard smirks, catching it. “Now tell me what you were planning on doing to Graves after drugging him,” His words curl around me, mocking and dangerous.
I clench my jaw, fists twitching at my sides. I didn’t come here to feel small, to feel cornered—let alone being drilled.
“Nothing harmful. Just teaching him a simple lesson,” I whisper, “maybe a little scratch on his ego,” I chuckle.
“You believe yourself to be funny?”
“No,” I lift my arms in surrender, “just want to show the cocky bastard his place.”
“Now the tables have turned,” he presses the dagger from earlier further into my chest before drawing it over my chin, leaving a trail of crimson red beads.
“I could end this badly for you,” he says. “Or…”
He lets the word hang for a moment before murmuring, “you could get on your knees.”
“Stop,”
“I said on your knees,”
“No f*****g way! If you going to kill me do so while am on my feet,”
“Believe me, killing you is the last thing I wanna do,” he places his palm on my shoulder and forces me down on my knees.
“Now let's get your wagging mouth to do some work,” he unbuckles his belt with his right hand, freeing his half limb d**k off his boxer briefs.
Holy s**t!
Did this psychopath just get aroused by making me go on my knees?
I dart out my tongue to wet my lips before my throat bobs as I swallow hard.
“Enjoying what you see?” He fists his massive, veiny c**k in his fist, stroking it a few times.
“Don't just stare, you can have a taste,” he slaps it on my mouth.
Remind me to pry that d**k and feed it to him like some well-seasoned steak!
“You’re…sick,” I move to the side, “I'm good,” I move to get on my feet, but his hands on my shoulder yank me back down on my knees.
“Is that a no?”
“f**k Yes. You are a sick psychopath who thinks I will suck your limp c**k, so you can just have some fun,” I angrily spat out.
“Then it's better because this isn't a request.”
Open up now, my limp c**k is dying to use this mouth like a mindless slut,” he nudges the soon-to-be steak c**k on my lips.
What?
Did he just threaten to use me like a w***e?
Me? Adrian Cross? I'm used to shitting on my s*x toys regardless of their gender. Now he wants to make me his little w***e?
I think he just signed his death certificate. I will hunt this bastard and mutilate his body piece by piece!
“Clock is ticking Mr Cross. Open wide,” he tsks.
“Let's just spare each other's time and pretend like this never happened,” I suggest, only that I will not forget. I will hunt him down.
He places the dagger to my throat, pressing it hard enough that an excruciatingly sharp pain ripples through my body, “Or I can get over with it and just nip your throat.”
I begrudgingly open my mouth, and he shoves his c**k deep into the back of my throat. “I expected more tantrums, but you seem so eager to suck c**k like a dirty little slut.”
If by 'eager' you mean this, then I'm willing. I glare at him straight in the eye before sinking my teeth into his c**k.
- Writer
