Here, little lamb. I won’t eat you.
At least not yet.
The girl has been all over me not two minutes ago but now that we’re alone in one of the private bedrooms in Uncle’s sickeningly large mansion, she looks about ready to bolt.
I breeze past her, and she trembles then shrinks back as if the mere contact is electrifying.
I flop on the edge of the bed, leaning on one hand and tilt my head to watch her.
She’s pretty in a pop-fiction kind of way. Rosy, pale lips. Long, silky brown hair and eyes so green, they almost sparkle and shit.
Granted, she’s not as pretty as the girls who throw themselves at me and the team all the time, but she’s got it going on in a discreet, almost tomboyish kind of way.
With her denim shorts and unconventional trainers, it’s like she’s stuck at that point between girl-hood and teenage-hood.
The only difference, there’s nothing immature about her petite figure. She has soft curves and a tiny waist that fit perfectly in my palm earlier.
In the beginning, I planned to play around with her, push her buttons and then pass her around for the team.
After learning her last name, she became my prey for the night.
Screwing Clifford’s princess means one thing: pissing Uncle off.
And I live to piss Uncle the fuck off and see how he looks at me like I’m a rock in his shoe.
The failure.
The king without a crown.
The family’s black sheep.
I’m just giving him one more reason to hate me — aside from the grand finale I have planned for his favourite holiday home.
I pat my thigh. “Come here, princess.”
She swallows, the sound echoing in the silence surrounding us. Clifford glances between me and the door for a fraction of a second.
They say the human brain is wired for snap decisions.
It’s funny how people make mistakes thinking they’re the right choices.
Like Clifford princess for instance.
Her brain is obviously telling her to run. Deep down, we can all sense danger, but not everyone focuses enough to relate to their basic instincts.
I should probably thank chess and Uncle’s tyrannical upbringing for making me so aware of my surroundings.
Clifford’s princess either missed some aristocratic lessons from her lord father or she simply doesn’t give a fuck.
It’d be so interesting if it were the last.
With one deep breath, she abandons the door and takes tentative steps in my direction, red creeping up her neck.
She stops in front of me, rubbing her arm, and looking down at me through her thick lashes. I grab her wrist, and she moans, her eyes fluttering closed.
I pause before yanking her to my lap and fucking her senseless.
When she moaned earlier, I thought it was a show or some seduction technique.
I stand up and tilt her chin up with my thumb and forefinger, staring straight into her dilated pupils.
No wonder she’s a puddle whenever I touch her. She’s pumped with E.
I push her away and she releases a tiny gasp, her eyes snapping open.
“W-what?”
“I don’t do druggies. Run along.”
Her brows draw together as if she’s offended. “I’m not a druggie.”
“Says every druggie.”
She tilts her chin up in defiance. “You can’t tell me what I’m not.”
Huh. Interesting.
She has the attitude that comes with the princess title.
My hand wraps around her waist under the T-shirt so it’s my skin to her heated one. Even with one hand, she fits so fucking perfectly. My fingers creep up near her ribs and I stroke the skin until a shudder goes through her.
“This feels good, princess?”
“Oh God, yes.” Her eyes flutter closed as she steps so close, I smell lilac on her. “More.”
That’s what every druggie says.
I know that, should’ve said that.
But I’m caught in how her lips part, accentuating the pink teardrop in the middle. She’s so aroused, I don’t only feel it in the tremors and her heated body, but I can smell it in the air.
I’m tempted to yank her top, bend her over and fuck her until she forgets her name and screams mine.
But I meant it. I don’t do druggies.
Clifford’s princess stares up at me and bites down on the corner of her lip. My pelvis crashes against her lower stomach as she moves up and down against my jeans.
My dick hardens as she moans, “Please, more.”
Fuck me.
Maybe I can make an exception this time. I’m corrupted enough as it is.
Before I give in to my demons, I snap, “Out.”
When she stares at me with that slight blush, eyes shining with innocence and pain, a sick thought remains in my mind.
I want to ruin her.
Complicate her.
Crush her innocence.
Then watch it all burn.
But again, that’s what I feel about most beautiful things.
If my soul is black, why does the world need colours?
I grab her arm and drag her towards the back door. Her lips part as she struggles to keep up with my strides. When I open the back door and throw her outside, her lips part.
She wobbles towards me. “No, wait —”
I shut the door in her face, muting all the foggy chaos that erupted because of her presence.
Tonight isn’t the time, but it will come.
Clifford’s princess and I will have another duel once she’s sober and can handle me.
Now… I smile as I open the door and return to the team.
It’s time for my summer gift to Uncle.
4
Astrid
Not only I bled, but you also left me for dead.
* * *
My fists bang on the door for what seems like hours.
It's like there’s no soul behind the door.
No answer.
No nothing.
I slide down to the stairs, regaining my breathing.
So much weird energy buzzes through me like there’s a party going on through my organs. I want to jump and run — preferably at the same time.
I don’t know where this place is, but it’s dark. The only light comes from the main house in the distance. Something Just Like This by Coldplay and The Chainsmokers from the party.
Normally, I’d make sure there’s no one in my immediate vicinity, but normal isn’t today.
I jump up and start dancing, twirling between the bushes and riding the wave coursing through my veins.
If someone is invincible enough to jump to the sky then it’s me.
The music seeps under my skin and tightens my muscles. My tank top sticks to my back with sweat the more I twirl and shake my hips like Mum and I used to.
Pressure builds behind my eyes at the memory of her — or the lack thereof. It’s been two years and she’s becoming more and more like a fog. Her smile is disappearing and the positive energy she taught me is replaced by a deep gloom now.
While dancing, I pull the underside of my forearm in the direction of the light. It’s not clear, but I can almost see the tiny tattoos of a sun, a moon, and a star.
She made the star black because I’m her ‘Star’. She said she named me Astrid because it means an Old Norse star, a super strength that she needed when she had me.