Heart So Hollow (Dire Wolves Book 1), page 38
An instant later, I let out a shriek as my legs are swept out from under me and I’m flipped upside down. My arms flail as Colson wraps his arm around my thighs and tosses me over his shoulder. Pushing away from his lower back, I lift my head and try to look around while the floor starts moving beneath me. When he starts up the staircase, all I can see are more dark floorboards as I bob up and down with each step he takes.
“Ow!” I wince when I feel a sharp pinch on my backside, “Did you just bite my ass?”
“It’s right here, I just wanted a taste,” he calls back to me.
Even from upside down, the second-floor looks just as impressive as the rest of the house, with the same walls, herringbone floors, and gothic sconces lighting the way. Colson continues to the end of the hall and steps into a dark room, swinging the door shut behind him. He flips a switch next to the door and gently lowers me down. Once I get over the initial headrush, I realize it’s his bedroom lit by a single lamp on the dresser that casts a moody glow through the room.
Colson’s bedroom is shaped like an A-frame, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on the left side—with actual books on them—and an entire wall of slanted windows on the right. Jagged, pitch-black silhouettes of pines and maples tower over us, making the entire room seem like a treehouse at the top of a forest.
And his bed—oh my god—his bed.
It’s a black Queen Anne mahogany four poster with thick posts that alternate between flat edges, turned designs, and dramatic swirls that end at a point. The headboard is decorated with ornate carvings that line the railing, making the entire thing look like it belongs in a gothic manor rather than a 21-year-old college student’s bedroom.
Does Colson get dressed for Halloween-themed frat parties in this room? Does he stumble in drunk after a long day of tailgating? He can’t possibly bring girls back here, otherwise everyone would know that he lives in a riverside mansion.
Or maybe they do and I’m just that clueless…
“You know,” I glance up at Colson, “I never would’ve pegged you for a goth kid.”
“Well,” he leans down to kiss me, “we all have secrets, don’t we?”
In response, I grab the hem of his black t-shirt, dragging it up to his chest until he pulls it the rest of the way over his head and drops it behind him.
“Last chance to leave,” he strokes the side of my face, “before I tear your heart out and make it mine.”
“If you can find it,” I tease, trailing my fingertip down the middle of his chest to his stomach.
“You’ll show me where it is,” Colson nods, “you just won’t give it up that easy…”
I hesitate for a moment, then give a curt shake of my head.
Slowly, he leans down and gently taps his forehead against mine, “You want me to search for it, don’t you?”
My eyes fall to the floor, “Yes,” I admit as rush of heat ripples through my stomach.
Colson steps away from me, backtracking across the cream rug, the only shred of bright color in the entire room. He sits down on the edge of the bed and beckons to me with a curl of his finger.
As soon as I come to a stop between his knees, he reaches for the hem of my t-shirt and gently pulls it over my head in one fluid motion, “You don’t wear your heart on your sleeve,” he smirks, dropping it at my feet.
His eyes fall to my hips and he hooks his thumbs in the waist of my leggings, sliding them down over my ass and then my legs. I set my hand on his shoulder to keep my balance and watch with intrigue as he gently lifts my ankle, pulls one leg free, and then does the other.
But instead of straightening up, he runs his hand up my calf and behind my knee, staring at my leg with intense concentration. Trailing his thumb over each curve of muscle and bone, he studies each faded scar and tiny imperfection that’s otherwise invisible to the naked eye.
“What are you looking at?” I murmur.
Colson doesn’t look up, “You need to get used to me looking at you,” he answers while his eyes continue moving over every inch of my skin.
His touch is excruciating, sending tremors through every nerve ending as he steadily moves up my legs to my hips and then my stomach. Finally, he reaches behind my back and unclasps my bra, letting the straps fall from my arms. Goosebumps scatter down my chest when the cool air hits my nipples, turning them hard.
At that moment, I don’t care if Colson’s fucked every single one of the Deltas—twice—because right now, I’m the one he’s undressing in his swanky gothic lair.
He grasps my waist and jerks me toward him, pressing his face into my stomach. With eyes closed, he inhales deeply, running his nose and mouth up my skin to my chest. The way he does it seems almost…animalistic.
He sweeps his head back and forth between my breasts, taking in my scent, “You smell just like I thought you would,” he groans, pulling my leg up to his hip so I’m straddling his lap, “would you be mad if I tore your heart out for real—if I ruined your perfect tits and dyed your hair with arterial spray?” He guides one breast to his mouth and tongues the rosy shadow before closing his mouth around my nipple, sucking hard, “Am I getting closer? Have I found it yet?”
I wince as I lean into him, raking my fingers through his hair. The more he talks, the more sinister he sounds, and the tighter I want to hold on to him. But I still like fighting him…
“What if I say you can’t have it?” I want him to keep chasing me. “What if I give it to someone else?”
Colson stills except for the steady rise and fall of his shoulders with each breath. Slowly, he lifts his head and stares right at me with vacant eyes. They go dark and for a brief moment and his mouth twitches into a snarl before relaxing again. I don’t even feel his hand reach up my back before he clenches my hair at the base of my skull and snaps it back with a gasp. I grab his shoulders in a panic, my scalp on fire as I suck air through my teeth.
“Who has your heart, Brett?” Colson murmurs against my throat, sending a chill up my spine. When he pulls back, I hear a thwack and immediately cry out, a sharp pain radiating through my breast. “Who else would you give it to?” he asks through clenched teeth.
My mind is chaotic and empty at the same time, “No one…” I grind out through clenched teeth, my chest heaving with desire.
“Tell me who else I need to fuck up to take back what’s mine.”
Who else?
I feel his hand at the small of my back as he reaches for the strips of black lace. His arms go rigid and I hear a faint snap. Then another. He’s ripped my underwear apart. The fabric falls away as he pulls it through my legs, leaving me completely naked.
Still gripping my head, he balls up my thong in his fist and tucks it into the side pocket of his pants, “I think I found it,” he whispers with arrogance. “You don’t want anyone else, little liar,” he says while trailing kisses along my collarbone, “but I want you—” his teeth clip my shoulder, “to crawl to me—” then he tips my head to meet his eyes, “like a little slut.”
His last words send a tremor deep through my stomach all the way down to my knees. My muscles go rigid and I can feel the liquid heat at the top of my thighs as he pushes me off his lap. He starts scooting back across the black bedspread until his back hits the headboard, then he curls his index finger, beckoning to me. I do what he says, crawling over the edge of the bed and slinking toward him until I’m kneeling on all fours between his bent knees.
Colson tilts his head with a wicked smile, “Take your hair down,” he commands.
I reach behind my head and slowly pull my hair tie from my knotted bun. His smile fades with each curl that falls over my shoulder and I recognize the same far-off look in his eyes that he had at the library, except now his gaze feels like hot embers on my skin.
The corner of my mouth curls and I tip my chin up, “What’s the matter, Colson?” I taunt him.
He runs his tongue over his teeth, eyeing me intently, and then reaches up and brushes his index finger back and forth under my chin, “Waiting for you to take off my belt,” he glances down at his waist.
I run my hand over his thigh and up the front of his pants, moving at an agonizing pace over the stiff outline of his cock. When I hear a faint groan escape his throat, I pop the clasp on his belt for the second time and pull it through the loops with a zip. He holds out his hand to take it from me, and that’s when something on his hip draws my attention.
Peeking out from the waist of his pants are an array of scars. They’re all straight, horizontal slashes in varying stages of healing. Some are longer than others, from a couple of inches to a few that are so long that they curve around his side. Newer ones are pink and get progressively lighter, while older ones have long coalesced into one another like shiny white feathers embedded in his skin.
Gently, I pull the waist of his pants down to expose more of them, “What happened to you?” I murmur, brushing my fingertips over his chaotic marks.
Colson watches me inspect his hip as he feeds the end of his belt back through the clasp, “Unsustainable coping strategies,” he states with nonchalance.
I look up at him, “You did this?”
He answers with a nod.
As many scars as there are, I notice there aren’t any fresh ones, “What made you stop?”
After I say it, I realize that I don’t know whether Colson has stopped. I don’t know how often he feels the need to slice into his own body. I want to ask him why he does it, but before I can, I feel something brush against my shoulder and the sharp pinch of the belt as he cinches it taut around my throat.
He twists the slack around one hand and drags his gaze up and down my body, “I found a different vice.”
It feels like a slight. I don’t like the idea of being a vice. Vices are flippant, symptoms of bigger problems that change when they’re of no more use and no longer satisfy a need. They’re placeholders for the real things you can’t have.
My jaw tightens, “Another unsustainable coping strategy?”
Colson tightens the belt, pulling me forward until I’m back on all fours between his knees, “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” he growls, “You’d love to say I’m just some asshole who used you and put you out tomorrow morning with the trash.”
I also don’t like him assuming what I’m thinking.
“Did Dana and Leah ask about your scars, too?” I jab through my constricted windpipe, “What’d you tell them?”
“Jealous girl…” Colson grins, “don’t worry, all that was before I ever laid eyes on you. Since then, I’ve been all yours. But they knew not to ask. They weren’t brats like you.”
I brace myself against his chest, ignoring the dangerous reality that Colson’s belt is wrapped around my throat and I’m sitting here bickering with him like a jealous idiot about whether other girls are aware of his pattern of self-harm.
“But that’s why you’re here,” his tone softens, “you’re not an accident, Brett. You’re more than enough to sustain me. You try to act so hateful, but it never works because while you’re busy talking shit, your pussy’s so wet for me it hurts.” He tightens the belt again, making my breaths go shallow, “I love the fight you give me, but it’ll always end the same—with you begging for my dick. All of it.” He sweeps his nose back and forth against mine, groaning his last words, “Because you’re my best girl, aren’t you?”
What an arrogant asshole.
A beautiful one, but arrogant, nonetheless.
“You’re so full of shit, Colson,” I hiss with my last gasp of air.
This time, when I feel the strap tighten, all I can hear is my pulse in my ears as my face starts to throb. Colson smiles when he sees the spark of panic in my eyes, but doesn’t let up. I hold his eyes, like we’re engaged in a macabre staring contest. I dig my nails into his chest as hot tears pool in the creases of my eyes, which only seems to turn him on more. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out, not even a cough of choked air. Finally, when the throbbing begins to sound like a drumbeat in my ear, I frantically tap his chest with the palm of my hand.
To my utter relief, Colson releases his grip and I fall with a gasp between his knees, my forehead pressed against his chest as I whimper through each breath.
He gently cups my face and lifts my chin, brushing my hair away from my eyes, “Baby, I’ll fight you all night, and I’ll always win. Just tell me when you’ve had enough so I can put your pieces back together to make you whole again.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and tense my muscles beneath his touch. He’s right, I’m so wet for him right now and it does hurt. Now, I just want to feel him squeeze his belt around my throat again and decide when I’m allowed to breathe and when I’m not. It’s both horrifying and exhilarating.
“Do it again,” my shaky whisper pleads with him.
It doesn’t sound like my voice, but it is.
I push his knees down and climb over his legs into his lap. And this time, when he tightens his belt, I stay submerged longer in his oxygen-deprived euphoria. Instead of struggling against his iron grip, I grind against him with desperation and brush my breasts across his face while I do it. This time, the tears streaming down the corners of my eyes feel like a dam breaking and the first breath he gives me feels like waking up after a years-long hibernation.
Before I can open my eyes, I feel Colson’s tongue trail up my face and lick the saltwater from beneath my eyes, “You’re such a good girl for me,” his deep voice rumbles in my ear.
I’m crazy—certifiable—clinging to this man after he nearly choked me unconscious. I shouldn’t trust him as much as I do.
“What happens after you get your fix?” I ask between breaths, “Do you move on to your next obsession?”
That’s how it usually works, isn’t it? Aren’t infatuations and vices like fireworks; intense displays of shock and awe until they inevitably fizzle out into darkness?
“No,” Colson pulls the belt loose from my neck and drops it onto the bed next to him. Then he reaches up with both hands and gently rubs his thumbs over the red blotches forming on my throat, “It never ends because there’s nothing after you. I don’t get bored because I’m consumed by you and I’ll always need to chase you. You are, in the most concrete and unequivocal sense—” he wraps my curls around his fist and gently brings my forehead to his, “my only.”
“Is that why you stopped cutting yourself?” I press my palm against his chest, feeling a tiny shred of guilt that I have no business feeling, “Please don’t put that on me.”
Colson gazes up at me with an expression I can only describe as admiration. After a few seconds, he reaches behind his back to his pocket. When he brings his hand back around, he’s gripping something black in his fist. He rests his hand on his stomach, inches from my pelvis, and flips open a black knife with a sharp click. The blade is about four inches long, black metal with a serrated bottom that gives way to a smooth, razor-sharp edge.
“I can show you how it feels,” he slowly toggles the blade back and forth like a metronome, “when you’re so numb that you start to wonder if you’re already dead. But when that cold blade slices through your flesh and draws blood,” he smiles with a long blink, “it’s like finally taking a breath when you’re about to drown.”
Finally, I scratch the itch and ask him what I really want to know, “What makes you feel so numb?”
Colson stares down at my abdomen, as if in a trance, and sways his knife back and forth at the same pace.
“You remind me of who I used to be, a long time ago,” he tightens his grip on my waist with one hand and lifts his knife with the other, “and when I saw you for the first time, it felt like I found myself again.”
When he touches the dark blade to my skin, all the air leaves my lungs and I don’t dare move while he tracks white lines up to my ribs. Goosebumps skitter over my shoulders and down my back as I watch him trace spiderwebs over my torso. Before long, he drops his hand and slides his thumb between my thighs where I’m leaving a slick spot on his stomach. My breath catches when he brushes over my clit, running circles over it while he teases my skin and threatens to nick me any moment.
My eyes flutter as I move with his hand, the tip of his blade catching and leaving a constellation of tiny red dots over my torso. The orgasm builds deep in my belly, eliciting a high-pitched moan as it slowly works its way to my core.
“Do you like the pain I give you?” Colson murmurs as my hips roll against his hand. “Do you love what I can give you, that no one else can?” his voice crescendos as my muscles tense, sending a shockwave down my legs.
I don’t feel his knife at first. I don’t feel him slice the blade across my rib at the exact moment the wave of ecstasy crashes into me. But soon enough, the stinging pain tears through the dopamine like a tornado splintering barn wood. I let out a scream, shuddering and cursing as I watch a red ribbon unfurl across my skin and slowly seep down my torso.
It’s a superficial cut, but enough to shock me and hurt like hell. It’s an instant high, a wave of adrenaline I want to wrap myself in like a blanket. I close my eyes so all I hear is me sucking deep breaths through my teeth and all I feel is Colson’s hands running over my skin.
“Open your eyes, baby,” his lilting voice brings me back, “you’re not dead yet.”
My eyes fly open and I mutter another curse when I feel the sting of my cut. I look down again at the six-inch slash oozing garnet blood across my otherwise smooth and unremarkable skin.
“It hurts,” I gasp, “fuck, it hurts.”
“It should,” Colson gazes up at me, “because there’s nothing dead about you. I could bleed you dry right now and you’d still have more life in your eyes than I do in my entire body. Even if I’m never able to feel like you do every day, just being with you is the closest I can get to being whole.”
He lifts my torso to his mouth and runs his tongue under my breast, trailing the dripping blood to its source. I wince at the sting of him sucking the wound, but he holds me firm with both arms, grinding me against the thick ridge of his cock straining against the fabric between us.
