"There we are,
As cold as ice.."
I'm so blue by MJ

_____

Crossing my arms, I look at him with a facetious countenance, even though I don't feel amused at all. “Everything about me in five minutes? I didn't know you thought​ so little of me.”

His jaw doesn't tick. His face doesn't even alter one bit, grim and sobersided. “I’m really not in the mood for your smart mouth. Start talking right fucking now. I don't want one detail to be left out.”

“You're really making it sound like you have the right to know everything about me. I hate to break it to you, but you really don't.”

I was ready for his face to be filled with more fury. Hell, I was even ready for him to lunge at me and carry out his threat. But for a smirk to form on his grim face, that wasn't something I was primed to brazen. It's almost like he doesn't accredit my lukewarm tone, as if he doesn't care about it. “You know I don't take no for an answer, Candy. Better start talking or I'll brand that ass of yours with my palm, and I'm not even joking.” He merely states, his eyes burning into mine.

I close the small gap between us, before I flatten one hand against his shirt-clad chest. “Careful, Dylan babe, or I may assume that you're being clingy.” I say, before I slope my head upwards, brushing my lips against his neck, hearing him groaning in response. “Or worse, that you're in love with me.”

His eyes darken upon the word love, his face erecting a row of hedges to protect his mien. He looks like he's about to push me off, but he doesn't, his hand adhering my body to his. “I'm not in love with you more than you are with me, Candy.”

It's time for me to rear my own shield, my whole body tensing up in his hold. Swallowing, I push away, and he lets me go, watching my expression with a sharp-witted, inquisitive visage. “You're not, then.” I state, my face devoid of any expression.

He squints, regarding me for long, as if trying to pry a certain thing out of my face, and when he gets it, his jaw clinches, apparently not liking the aftermath. “Give me one reason why I shouldn't know, Candice. After all the things we've done together.”

“By things, do you mean fucking?” I ask, crossing my arms.

His face instantaneously hardens, his eyes turning to lightless nightmares. “Is that all we've done, Candice? Fucking?”

I remain silent, not finding the answer for his question. And maybe I know the answer. Maybe I'm just scared of admitting it. “What are we, Dylan? You have your own secrets. Secrets that what we've done doesn't outclass. So tell me, what are we?”

He doesn't respond. He gave me a hard question, and I hit him with one that is even more challenging. That's the game we've signed for by getting close; challenge. He likes to push my buttons, and I like to drive him crazy. It's all about the challenge.

“Is we-” I start, cocking my head to the side. “A thing? Is that why you want to know who I am?”

He inhales, apparently not liking where this conversation is going. “You keep fucking pursuing my secrets, Candice. It's only fair if I do the same.”

I make a tsking sound, shaking my head. “No, Dylan. I stumble upon your secrets. And if I acted too snoopy sometimes by asking a lot of questions, that was because I have a curious nature. Besides, I know how casual fucking works. No strings attached, right? Oh I like that movie.”

He jaw drops open, his face becoming confounded and disbelieving. “Casual fucking? Is that what we've been doing?”

I shrug, keeping my face unaffected. “What else are we?”

He doesn't respond for a while, looking at me like I've just lost my mind, before he nods, emitting a weighty laugh. “Casual fucking.” He says, as if testing the word on his tongue. “I'll see you around, fuck buddy.” With the last word being muttered so harshly like an insult, he turns around, unlocks the door, and neglects me in my place with many things.

Many feelings.

I feel heartbroken, even though I'm the one who just treated him like he means nothing to me, while he means a lot.

That's the problem. He means far more than he should, and it's driving me bonkers.

I hate caring, and I hate that everything he does, good or bad, sends me a little closer to an edge where I can't retract from. He's not good for me, we both know that. It's better like this.

But is that the only reason why I pushed him away like that?

Or does my sullied past have an imperative role in this? Am I so scared and ashamed of my past to the point where I'll just push him away, even when I need him the most? Is it worth it?

That’s a rhetorical​ question, and the answer, without incredulity, is yes.

It is. I can't risk losing the inestimable way he looks at me. Not like that, at least.

Leaving the bathroom, I make my way back to the table, discreetly glancing at Dylan's table, but I don't find him there. It chafes me more than it should, not being allowed to seek him out, even with my eyes. I decide it's time to call it a night, grabbing my purse from the table, before I look around, searching for Alexa to say goodbye, but I don't find her.

Until I look at the dance floor.

She's there, he back so snug against someone, whose lips are tracing the side of her neck.

Have I mentioned that the guy she's grinding her ass against, is Ethan?

Jesus Christ.

I move my gaze to discern Trent's reaction, and he doesn't disappoint me, his eyes harnessed so astutely on them, and if my vision isn't misinterpreting anything, he looks like he's two seconds from spitting fire like a goddamn dragon.

I choose to ask Melody to clue Alexa in on my farewell. And even though I don't have the least interest in Ethan, the scene in front of me still makes me uncomfortable. I leave the place, all I have in my head are prayers, for that dance to be the last, and for their company to have no reunions, because if something happens,

It will be my fault.

It will always be my fault

And I'll only add one more layer to my array of guilts.

_____________

Finally entering my room, it feels like I'm finally being freed of my shackles. I can practically feel the way my bed is calling for me. The way my feet are dying to be extricated from the hazardous heels. The way my whole body hankers for the warmness of my pajamas and sheets. I switch on the lights, bending down to free my feet.

“Don't you fucking dare take them off.” A voice commands, and I lurch backwards, quickly bracing my hands against the wall, before I swerve to face Dylan, who’s lounging on my chair, his face bearing an impenetrable, dark look.

“Jesus! You're a fucking creep!” I exclaim. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

It seems like he doesn't hear me, his eyes leisurely inspecting my body from head to toe, like it's the first time he sees me in this revealing dress, his ravenous gaze seeming to fondle every inch of me. When his eyes finish their little expedition, he stands, and I can tell from his stance that he has his dominant mode on, his body steeled to take control. He nears me with slow, deliberate steps, his body towering over me, even with the heels I'm still wearing. “I’m here to fuck you.” He solely declares, his voice a mixture of lust and strictness

Like I was walloped, I fall back a few steps, the power of his words putting me in a position where I can't decide whether I like his answer or not, whether I enjoy his vulgarity or not. “Seriously?” I ask, letting out a nervous laugh.

He doesn't answer me, stopping a few inches away from me. I've seen his guard a myriad of times before; the way he acts like nothing affects him, his supremacy presiding over everything. He looked like a control freak before, now he looks like a god. Someone who doesn't only rule my body, but my entire world. He looks like he's about to wreck me, in the most delicious way, like he's about to possess me, to mold me and corrupt me.

He looks like he's about to make me pay. And oh boy, do I hate repayments, but I've never been more ready to settle them.

He doesn't do anything for a few heartbeats, merely staring at me with sullen, mild, yet intemperate eyes, before his hand shoots out and grabs me by the arm so fast that I lose my breath, and with prompt speed, he turns me around, so I'm facing the mirror, grabbing the other arm, and fastening it with the other one behind my back.

I don't find words to utter, just short gasps, and from the vicious look I see on his face in the mirror, I can tell that he's enjoying my helplessness way too much. Just as I assumed that he can't shock me more, with one movement, he sends the contents on the dresser flying, and they all fall onto the ground with a piercing sound. I hastily attempt to check the things on the floor, antsy that something may have broken, but I don't even get to see that, before I'm roughly bent over the dresser, my face directly facing the mirror.

It seems like I've lost my ability to talk, watching his domination as it unleashes, watching him as he controls me as he likes. The look on his face drives me crazy. It's filled with lust that sends little flyspecks of lust straight to my core. He doesn't delay his immoral intentions, and I don't hinder them, letting him sneak his hand to the zipper of my dress, roughly tugging it down. The zipper ceases at some point, and he lets go of my hands, and with one fierce lug, he tears it open. “You can get another one with your billions.” He growls, before he roughly pushes the dress off my shoulders, begetting it to fall to my feet.

Not wasting any time, he grabs my wrists again, holding them in one hand, before he pulls my panties down, before he stops all movements, staring back at me in the mirror. He looks angry, like he's here to take revenge, like he's going to make me feel so sorry. I take his eyes in, concentrating my lecherous ones on them, not at all foreseeing his hand raising, before it lands hard on my backside. I yelp, letting out a cry of surprise, my eyes flying to his. “What the fuck?”

He responds with another slap. “This is me carrying out my promise.” He grits out, before he delivers one more slap, this time on the back of my thigh, and one finger makes impact with the flesh between my legs, making me jerk and try to straighten up, but his hand hastens to fix me in my place, bent and vulnerable. He bends to graze my ear with his teeth, his hand sneaking to touch me between my legs. “Fuck, Candice. You're fucking soaked. You liked that, huh?” He inquires, pushing one finger into me, all the time peering into my eyes in the mirror, his gaze filled with letch and outrage. “You like it rough, don't you?” He besieges, emphasizing the question with another finger, before he moves his lips to my neck and shoulder, nibbling and biting, his lips merciless, his fingers ruthless.

“Yes.” I hiss, needing more.

With my answer out of my mouth, he pulls his fingers out, only to replace them with something bigger, something harder, and with one shove, he rams hard into me, making me cry out in pleasure and pain. He doesn't stop to allow me to adjust, his thrusts fast and unsparing, and I lose control of my moans and screams. He slinks one arm around my stomach, pulling me back to watch him as he drives in and out of me, and the sight alone makes me clench around him, my lips wide open. His other hand moves to where we're connected, stimulating me with circular movements, before he deprives me of them, moving them upwards. He pulls my bra down, pinching my nipples to the rough rhythm of his punishing thrusts.

“Kiss me.” I gasp, looking at him in the mirror with begging eyes, with his pitiless molasses staring back at me. He moves the hand on my breasts upwards, before he slips his fingers into the locks of my hair, pulling my head back, and the frantic movement makes me jerk closer to his hips, helping him go even deeper inside of me. I cry out, and he punishes me with even harder thrusts, his lips dancing on my neck with bites and kisses, before he angles my head to his, and I try to move my head closer to kiss him, but his hold on my hair affixes me in my place. He moves his lips all over my face. My ears, my cheeks, my chin, even the sides of my lips, but never my lips. “Kiss me, please.” I plead one more time.

My pleading voice makes him smile, but he never grants me my wish, before he bends me over again, one hand fisting my hair, and his other one holding my hips as he fucks me. That's right, he fucks me, in every sense of the word, down and dirty, and it doesn't take moments, before I find myself falling apart beneath him, with him following my release with his, my screams of pleasure met by silence and complete self-possession.

He stays inside me for a few seconds to recover, and then he pulls out, and carries me to my bed, before he leaves me, parading to the bathroom to get rid of the condom, and I can't help but notice that he's still fully-dressed.

A minute later, he comes out of the bathroom, looking very composed with his clothes fixed, before he grips the knob, ready to walk out.

“Wait.” I call out, jumping out of bed. “Are you leaving?”

He doesn't turn around, his head angled to the side. “Why, am I supposed to stay?”

I gulp. “I always stayed at your place, after.. you know.” I clarify, my voice small.

He lets out a laugh. “After we fucked, Candice?” He asks, turning around. He fixes his hard eyes on mine, making me feel like a frail girl before his primacy. “Well, I hate to say this, but this is how I fuck casually.” He says, walking toward me, his eyes devoid of any sentiment. “I take what I want and kick them out, or leave, in situations like now. No kissing. No cuddling afterwards. That shit is for people who care about each other, and we're only fuck buddies.” He spouts, his voice dead. “Aren't we?” He doesn't wait for an answer, pulling the door open, before he strides out, and a few seconds later, I hear the sound of the front door being slammed shut.

My whole body concretes, before it goes lax, and I can slowly feel the allure of his touch on my body turning to vile scars. That's the control he has over me. One moment he makes me feel like I'm floating, and the next, like I'm being buried alive.

Just as I thought I broke his ego, he broke every part of me into little pieces.

It's all about the challenge, and no matter what I do, I always lose against him.

He came here to take revenge, but then he gave me everything, and in one move, he took everything back, leaving me bare and broken, leaving me, with full awareness, that nothing is more excruciating than losing something you thought you had.

He fucked me, then fucked me up.

I fall backwards onto the bed, before I close my eyes shut, willing myself to fall asleep, despite the oppressive ache I feel in my heart.

But then without any warning, I feel tears forsaking my eyes, falling down my cheeks like hot spurts of fire.

Maybe, I lied earlier.

Maybe, I'm falling for him after all.