Coffee and Cream

Creme de la Creme

DARCELLE

I've always loved my coffee black. Bitter. It suited me and reflected the way I had seen life for the longest time. Black, strong, a little harsh, but necessary. I always thought I'd grow out of it, that one day I'd crave something sweeter. I never did. Until Emrys.

He was cream. Emrys loved his coffee with more cream than coffee itself. Extra cream, every damn time. It used to annoy me. Like, why drink coffee if you're just going to drown it in milk? But the day I took a sip of his cup—just because he pushed it toward me and dared me to try something different—I realized maybe I had been missing out.

The cream gave it a whole new kkick— richness I wasn't used to. It didn't erase the bitterness but softened it. Made it smooth. That was Emrys. My cream. He didn't make life less dark—God no. He was darkness incarnate, but he added something to it. Something that made it feel different. Something that made me want more.

"Like it?" he asked, watching me as I took another sip.

I smirked, licking the foam off my lip. "It's not bad. But I still like my coffee black."

Emrys grinned, that lazy, dangerous grin. "I figured. But you'll keep stealing mine anyway."

He was right. Just like I couldn't stay away from him. No matter how hard I tried to convince myself that black was better—safer, even—there was something about the cream that I craved. Something about him that I couldn't quit.

Still, I wasn't sure if he was good for me. Or if he was the worst thing to ever happen to me. The lines were blurring. I mean, look at Malcolm. One minute he's at the grocery store, the next, he's dead. I'd been trying to make sense of it for days, wrestling with the creeping suspicion that Malcolm's death wasn't an accident. It couldn't be.

The thought had been gnawing at me since Nathan broke the news. But the real storm hit when I noticed how calm Emrys had been about it. Not even a flicker of surprise. But now that I knew what Emrys was capable of... I tried to shake it off but I couldn't. So, when I finally got the nerve to ask him, I wasn't prepared for the answer.

We were at his place, sprawled on his daybed, the ocean air mixing with the smoke from the blunt I was lazily puffing on. I turned to him, my chest tightening. "Did you have anything to do with Malcolm's death?"

He didn't flinch. He didn't even blink. He just looked at me, that dangerous calm in his eyes. "What if I did?"

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. My heart raced, and for a second, I felt like I couldn't breathe. I wanted to scream, to run, but instead, I stayed. It was like being trapped in a horror movie where the heroine makes all the wrong choices. And I was that idiot.

"What the hell, Emrys?" I asked, my voice shaky.

He sat up, pulling the blunt from my fingers and taking a long drag before blowing the smoke out slowly. "You wanted him gone, didn't you? You hated how he hovered around you."

I blinked, my brain trying to catch up to his words. "That doesn't mean I wanted him dead!"

Emrys exhaled through his nose, handing the blunt back to me. "You didn't have to say it out loud. I know you, Darcelle. I know how your mind works. Besides, people like Malcolm...they don't matter. Not to me. Not to you."

My stomach twisted, a mix of fear, shock, and something far more unsettling. Excitement. There it was again, that pull. The same way I felt when I tasted the cream in his coffee. Something dangerous, something rich. Something I couldn't resist.

"I..." I couldn't finish my thought. How do you respond to someone admitting they killed for you?

His eyes softened a little, though the coldness still lingered. He reached out, brushing a curl behind my ear. "You're okay, Ladybug. I'd never hurt you. You're mine."