Children of the Fallen: In Cold Blood (BOOK #2)

Chapter 37: Still Finicky

Morgan Sinclair

I must be suffering from brain damage. Or maybe mental illness but I don't know what brand of mentally ill would possess me to not only get eaten out by Grayson Spencer but demand it. That whole night any smart, sensible, strong part of me vacated the premises and I was running on pure stupid impulse.

One touch and I was undone. He is a drug and I have relapsed severely. I shouldn't have let him sit with me outside that house, I shouldn't have let him hold me in his arms, I shouldn't have danced with him, I shouldn't have looked at him, and I sure as hell shouldn't have let him go down on me.

It's infuriating that he knows what he's doing to my body like no one else does. I can still feel his hair intertwined in my fingers, I can still feel his tongue on me and his lips around my clit. I can still see him buried in between my legs and those blue eyes of his glowing, looking up at me knowing what he was doing to me. How he was making me feel. That craving for his touch was becoming increasingly unbearable and I couldn't ignore it any longer. I couldn't not feel him. I gave in and after last night, after I sprinted out of there as soon as I finished- that desire to give in, to satiate that craving has only gotten stronger. The fact I didn't let him fuck me right then made me believe I'm not as weak as I thought but right now I'm not too sure about that.

I've spent this whole afternoon thinking of him feeding on that man, looking at me with those eyes and his perfect fangs that I want him to sink into me. I've been thinking of his hands on my body, his tongue, his lips- I want him on me, inside of me, doing something to me and it's fucking annoying. I'm on my way to Victoria's gym to work off some of this entirely unnecessary energy I have right now. Hopefully it'll provide a distraction. I'm being weak, he's making me be weak and I hate it.

My body is begging for him but my brain and that phantom pain says absolutely not. The pleasure, the fire, the aliveness I feel when he's touching me seems to be outshining any pain as well as corrupting my braincells, I'm almost completely powerless against it. I truly just enjoy hurting myself. Weak, stupid, and useless is what I am right now. I have much more important things to think about and focus on and this is what I'm doing.

"Morgan, just the woman I wanted to see." Grayson cheerily says from behind me. Fuck my life.

I close my eyes momentarily as I take a breath and I continue walking. "That's crazy, I don't want to see you."

"And we're switching up again." He catches up to my stride now right next to me.

"I'm not switching up. I don't like you, why would I want to see you." I tell him refusing to look his way.

"Last night you seemed pretty okay with my presence."

"Last night I was okay with your tongue on my clit. End of story."

He chuckles. "End of story? That's it?"

"Yes. It was a mistake, I was drunk and horny."

"Mistake." He scoffs. "Also you're always drunk and horny- but as am I, so we make a perfect pair."

I stop walking and he follows suit, stopping as well. When I meet his gaze I find that my glare isn't fazing him in the way I desire it to. "It will never happen again."

"Never? That's dramatic."

I let out an sharp sigh, "Can you just go back to groveling and apologizing I think that was less irritating."

"Nope, that's not nearly as fun as this." His eyes, fixated down at me bright and mischievous, "So I don't plan on stopping but something tells me that you don't really want me to either." The way his voice dropped into a raspy hum has me clenching my jaw tightly. My body is betraying me and I need it to stop.

"I do."

"Say that without staring at my lips." My heart skips a beat as I quickly shift my stare to his teasing eyes.

"It was a one time thing." I gather myself. "Never. Again."

"You really aren't replaying it over in your head?" His voice returns to a husky whisper as he takes a step closer to me. Getting in my personal space enough that I feel the warmth of his body. "I don't know about you but I've been having flashbacks all day. Your legs wrapped around my head and thank god the music was blaring outside-."

"Shut the fuck up."

"I'm sorry but do you know how much of an ego boost it is to know that I had the Morgan Sinclair whimpering at my touch?"

I glower at him. "I was not whimpering."

"Oh yes you were." He smirks at me. "Quite honestly I believe it's my new favorite sound, although I do love your little gasps right when you're about to-,"

"Stop." I cut him off and take a deep exasperated breath as he goes to take another step but I plant my hand on his chest keeping him at a distance. "Never. Again." He looks down at my hand on his chest and his smirk widens. I remove my hand from him before I storm down the hallway.

"We'll see. I'll worship at your altar any time, let me know when I'm needed." He calls out but thankfully doesn't follow.

"You won't be." I shout back then begin muttering curses in Russian directed at him.

Weak. That's what I am, weak. I grab at my neck, rubbing it deeply as I make my way to the gym, only to enter and find Chloe on the punching bag closest to the doors. I think we both groaned and rolled our eyes at the same time. "I'll go." She starts removing her hand wraps.

"I didn't come here to argue or fight with you. Continue with your punching, I'll be on that bag." She stares at me, unmoving and revolted by my presence. "I'd hope we're both mature enough to exist in the same room." I say making my way to the second bag on the other side of the room.

"Fine." She then resumes her workout. As I begin mine I feel her eyes on me. I just want to punch shit in peace. "19 years and your form hasn't improved at all?" She comments.

I drop my hands. "I didn't come here to argue with you."

"I'm not arguing I'm just pointing out that your form is shit." She shrugs.

"My form is fine." I state.

She crosses her arms. "It really isn't. You're squaring off, that's the first issue-."

"I'm fighting a punching bag, it's practice so what if I'm squared off."

"Exactly, you're practicing bad habits. Secondly, your wrist is bending downwards, that's stupid and you're going to hurt yourself." She says as she walks over to me, taking out her ear buds.

"I don't bend my wrist."

"Put your hands up." She motions upwards with her hands. I narrow my eyes at her. "I'm not asking you to sit down and have a therapy session with me, I'm asking you to put your hands up. So, up."

"Still finicky about this shit." I mumble putting my hands up.

"Extremely. Now punch." I punch. "Do it in slow motion." I take a deep breath and punch in slow motion, in the middle of it she grabs my arm and tilts my hand up a little. "Your wrist was bent." She shoots me a condescending smile as I suck my teeth. "Full force punch. Keep your wrist straight." I punch again, keeping my wrist in the position she put it in and annoyingly to my surprise the impact felt better. "Better?" She asks in a knowing tone.

I shift my eyes to her with a scowl etched on my face. "Yes." I reluctantly say.

"Told you." She says walking back over to her bag. "And don't square off, you're making yourself an easy target."

"Anything else?" I ask sarcastically.

"Not about punching, no." She says putting her earbud back in and resuming her workout.

I continue mine desperately hoping for some peace from my thoughts. I cannot wait for this week to be over.