Morphine (Complete)

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(T/W: Blood, knives, EXTREMELY kinky content up ahead, so if you're not into knife play...yeah-

a/n: I will have two important questions for you guys at the end of the chapter, so be sure to answer!)

Chapter Thirty-One

"I don't like you, girlfriend."

Mykel reached forward and dabbed the length of Rannia's arm with a tissue to clean off excess blood. He pulled the tissue away, and both pairs of eyes fell to the wilted red wipe.

"The feeling is mutual," Rannia replied, casting her eyes off to the side. She tried to focus on the papers and random things lining the walls, but all fell captive to the presence of Mykel standing close to her, large hands fiddling with some medical tape. Her legs were spread open and she was seated on a counter near the first aid kit.

Beside them lay a bloody tray with tweezers and rubbing alcohol. The faint dim glow of the metal bullet lay along the blood sat along a red soaked towel. The overhead lights flickered and Mykel drew his gaze back to Rannia.

"The Amirs, they're criminal, you know?"

Rannia didn't have the energy in her to fake surprise. "Yeah," she nodded lazily. Her feline eyes blinked up at the man before her slowly. The faint pang of her injured arm rang faintly at the back of her mind, but she could do nothing but focus on the intensity Mykel exuded.

"I can't quite figure you out, girlfriend."

Rannia tilted her head to the side a little. "Well that's good isn't it?" She questioned. "Leave you guessing, hm?"

"No," Mykel replied. He shook his head slightly. "It's bad. You—"

He stepped forward a little, shuffling his hips forward so they sat between her spread legs. "You." He pressed a hand to her neck and pushed her back so her head was against the wall, his face hanging above her parted lips. "Why aren't you scared?"

Rannia's legs pressed together, closing in on his thin hips. His closeness- that heat, it was purely primal; her attraction to him, that's all it was. She could not help as her eyes fluttered for a moment, and her fingers longed to grip his shirt and pull him closer.

Feel his tongue across her racing pulse.

"Well, I'm not a brat, like you," she replied keenly. This time her hand did reach out and curl into his cotton shirt, pulling it taut against his back. "And I have this loving, doting little bitch at my beck and call, you see?" Mykel tensed against her, his fist tightening as her grin grew and grew. Her back arched against the hand to her neck, and she pressed forward, feeling as his fingers slowly pressed further and further against her vulnerable pulse. He could feel it; her reaction to his body. "I got into trouble with these big, bad men," her hand slowly drifted up his shirt, letting his lower abdomen become exposed to her greedy eyes. The taut bundle of muscles was tight and moving with his every breath. "He came for me, my prince. Like a little bitc—"

Her words were cut short and a gasp escaped her lips as cold metal was pressed to her waist. It didn't hurt, yet. It was only a warning. A knife laid against her skin, which was growing hotter and hotter by the second as he slid the knife up, eventually laying it flat against her pouty lips.

The threat it posed, and the fact that she knew he would never actually kill her with it thrilled her. Though he held the knife, she had the power. Her little bitch. Her little brat.

"You test me," Mykel snapped, his angry tone only making Rannia's core throb. They were both breathing heavily, their skin heated, eyes narrowed.

"I was only teasing," she whispered mockingly.