He talks like a guy who's got something to prove. He glares like a murderer, he kisses like a whore. He struts around like a firecracker ready to take out a finger or two. He's pretentious; he's out of his fucking mind.
And every time he looks at me, I want to die.
Not that type of dying that ends everything. The kind where you just let your head fall back, let the fire creep up your sides and over your throat. The type of dying that gives you something to live for when it's all over: so you can die again.
"You ever been fucked in front of people?"
I shake my head, both as a negative to his question and denial of what he wants to do. I know him. I know him. Questions aren't ever anything that he doesn't already know the answers to. Maybe he wants to; maybe he just wants to see me recoil from the idea.
But I'm not supposed to, right? I'm supposed to press into his side, tell him that it's okay, so long as it's with him. He wants me to feel safe with him; he wants to own me and hurt me and know that I'm his over and over and over until I'm nothing but his. He wants to break a thing that he grew obsessed with over the course of a few years. He wants to flatten me out and remold me into something he can play with—because the truth is that M can't really get away with it with anyone else. Not close like this, not intimate like this.
He needs to be able to trust as much as he's trusted. And in a world with Kira breathing down our necks, trust doesn't exist.
I don't trust him for shit.
He'll hurt me bad to prove that he can, he'll fuck me too hard to show them that he can, he'll take and take and take until I'm sore and throbbing, and he won't give me a fucking thing. That's the way M operates.
But I want him. I want him to touch me; I want him to fuck me. I want him to pull me into a dark room where it's just the two of us, press me hard against the wall, show me the things that he'll do when he's got nothing to prove. I want to kiss him without getting slapped.
Fucking pipe dreams.
So I'll just nod, let him do what he wants. Maybe he'll have me in front of his guys and realize that he wants me alone. Maybe he'll feel like shit for humiliating me. Maybe I'll get a secret kiss at the end that tells me he gives more than half a shit.
Probably not.