Bastian puts his hand on my thigh, and I try to ignore the tingling sensation that spreads up my leg, hardening my cock.
I like how he makes me feel.
Excited.
Turned on.
Scared.
Alive.
“You’re making a mess.” Bastian digs his fingers deeper into my skin until I snap my head at him. “Damian, what are you doing?”
What am I doing?
Losing my fucking mind.
Trying not to feel everything.
For you.
Bastian keeps me grounded. He’s the only person, besides our adoptive father, who can snap me out of my bloodlust.
I need him.
Want him.
Crave him.
“I was bored.” I drop the fish and the hunting knife on the ground and shrug. “Just killing time before we meet Carl Wellington’s granddaughter.”
Bastian takes my hands between his and wipes the blood from my skin with the towel. “This has to stop. You promised to chill out with this shit.”
His gray eyes meet mine, and I consider touching him. Pressing my lips to his.
He won’t let me kiss him.
Not on the lips.
I know this.
But I want to.
Bastian only lets me indulge my fantasies whenever I can’t control myself, consumed by bloodlust, needing to kill again.
Before he cleans off the last of the blood, I raise his hand to my mouth and suck his finger, licking it clean. His chest rises and falls faster, his eyes fixed on me.
I know he likes it.
He wants it.
But he hates himself for having feelings for a man. He’s been brainwashed to feel shame every time.
We’re not gay. I’ve never looked at another man and felt attraction.
Bash is my exception, and I’m his.
“D,” he groans and yanks his finger out of my mouth, wiping his hand on the towel. “Tonight is a big deal for Dad. You have to keep your shit together. We won’t get into The Founders Society without Alexandrea Wellington.”
Technically, we don’t need to marry anyone. We were born into powerful, connected families. Before we became Salvatores, we could gain admittance into any exclusive club in the country.
Bastian Kincaid.
Damian Townsend.
Our former last names guaranteed us a spot with the Founders. But the Salvatores are not from the United States and don’t have the same lineage as us.
“I’ll be on my best behavior. What do you think I was doing out here?” I roll my shoulders. “Just blowing off some steam.”
His thumb traces his bottom lip, and my eyes follow the simple movement.
I lick my lips.
He stares at mine.
“We can’t do that anymore,” he whispers.
“No,” I fire back. “You don’t have to be embarrassed by me.”
“I’m not.” He shoves his fingers through his dark caramel hair, brushing it off his forehead. “Fuck. It’s not like that. You know I love you.”
“As a friend,” I toss back at him. “A brother?”
He swallows hard. “Yeah.”
I understand obsession.
But love?
Not so much.
I don’t know how it feels to love someone. What I feel for Bastian goes beyond love.
I want to possess him, crawl so far beneath his skin I become one with him. If I believed in soulmates, he would be mine. The one person I can’t live without.
He’s like a drug to me.
An addiction.
And after he let me get high on him once, I couldn’t stop.
I can’t quit him.
I tug at the grass with my fingers, needing to keep my idle hands occupied. Anything to stop myself from thinking too much about what I can’t have. Whenever I need to think, I come out back, sit on the lawn, and stare at the bay.
The waves crash on the beach below us. And with the drop being at least a hundred feet, I love being inches from the cliff’s edge, knowing at any second, it could all end.
I’m not afraid to die.
I only fear one thing—losing Bastian. He’s my reason for living on the worst days.
When we’re together, it gives me hope. And sometimes, that’s all I have.
Hope for more.
More of him.
Bash must notice I’m getting antsy because he gets on his knees in front of me and places his hand on my shoulder. “Don’t mess this up for Dad. Go take a shower. The Wellingtons will be here within the hour.”
“Only if you get in the shower with me,” I say to see how he will respond.
His eyes lower for a moment as he breathes harder through his nose. “C’mon, D.” He scrubs a hand across his jaw. “We talked about this.”
“You want me, too.” I slide my hand beneath his chin, forcing him to look at me. “Stop denying it, Bash.”
“What we do in the dark can never see the light.” He pushes himself up from the ground and extends his hand to me. “Let’s go. You need to change.”
I take his hand and rise to my full height, our foreheads so close they almost touch. He doesn’t step back like usual when we get too close. So I slip my fingers between his and pull him toward me.
“Damian,” he mutters.
“Bash.” I stare into his eyes, my heart pounding so hard it’s about to punch a hole through my chest. “Come upstairs with me. We can turn out the lights.”
