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“Practical as ever, baby.” I shift toward him, my jaw settling into the curve of my hand that now rests on the couch pillow, eyes fixed on him with quiet intent, holding his gaze.
“What about you?” Adrian finally asks.
“What about me?”
“How does killing make you feel?”
I lean closer, lowering my voice. “Alive.” The word comes easy. “It cuts through the noise pollution. Through boredom.” I shrug one shoulder. “And there’s something satisfying about proving how fragile everyone really is.”
He studies me carefully, quiet for a beat. “So you enjoy it.”
“Very.”
“Hm,” Adrian sounds and I can practically see the coils turning in his head. There’s something strange about the silence now. Domestic almost. Which feels significantly more dangerous than the times we tried to kill each other.
“You know,” I say lightly, pulling him from his thoughts, “most people buy flowers when they’re obsessed with someone.”
His eyes narrow instantly. “I’m not obsessed with you.”
I grin. “Sure, baby. That’s why you almost fucked a discount version of me.”
“Not my proudest moment,” he states, then smiles, and it’s a genuine fucking smile. Shit, if he keeps this up, I might just rip the clothes off his back and fuck him for the second time tonight. Not a bad idea actually…
“How many people did you fuck while ignoring me?” he asks, expression blank as his eyes fix past me. And there goes the mood.
“Not a single soul,” I reply cocking a brow. Jesus, he really thinks I’d put my dick in others while clearly only satisfied by him?
Adrian’s gaze flicks to mine again, flat and suspicious in that way that always makes me want to push him harder just to watch what slips through the cracks.
“Liar.”
I laugh under my breath and shift closer onto the carpet as I drag my fingers slowly along the back of his head. His hair is almost completely dry now and soft at the roots. My hands move down to his waist as I usher him onto my lap, and he follows willingly.
“You think I’d waste time chasing other people while I’ve got you?” I ask.
His expression barely moves, but I feel the tension that rolls through him anyway. “You strike me as the type that gets bored easily.”
“That’s because I do, but I won’t ever grow bored of you,” I say it plainly, because there’s no point lying about that part.
He rolls his eyes, but there’s no real malice in the gesture.
“Before you,” I continue, “people were just… convenient. Fun for a night. Sometimes two if they were interesting enough.” I shrug. “Men. Women. It never mattered. I’d get what I wanted and move on before they started expecting things from me.”
“And now?”
I grin at him. “Now I’m sitting on my apartment floor with you on my lap, while you glare at me tenderly…or homicidal. I can’t tell the difference.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
“No?” I murmur, leaning closer, “It answers it perfectly.”
People exhaust me eventually. Their reactions become predictable and their wants too simple. Attention. Love. Validation. Safety. It always loops back to the same dull little needs.
Adrian doesn’t work that way.
He fights me for control even when he wants me. He gets violent when he’s overwhelmed or needs to solve a problem. Possessive when he’s jealous. Laughs when he gets manic. And every single reaction feels earned instead of performed.
It’s fucking addictive.
