Kaden Graham Harrison.
His world is home to billionaires, future presidents, models and children of diplomats.
People who had the power to rule the world before they were even born. He can buy himself everything with the snap of his fingers.
Booze...
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The ground gives in, my heels chase after me but the strength in my legs is long depleted.
„Be so kind and carry me, would you?" I whisper into Kaden's ear as I tilt my head up and throw my arms around him.
"I prayed that you would give me the honor."
"Oh, you sound so gentleman-like. Be careful, people could recognize your true nature and find you nice. We wouldn't want that, would we?" A teasing smile pulls on my lips as I look up at him through what already feels like matted lashes.
He steps closer to me with tender movements as he removes my wrists from his neck. In a swift move, he slides his arms around my thighs and waist and picks me up.
"Don't you want me to be polite to you? I can be kind. I can be gentle, don't you want that?" He asks, speaking with confidence but at the same time nibbling on his lower lip nervously and looking down at me as I lay in his arms.
"Mhmm, not sure." I pretend to think about his rhetorical question.
"Do you mean it? Or are you just trying to get into your pants?"
„My sweet girl, you know I advise everyone not to speak too highly of themselves. I would never want to come across as someone others would call cocky. However, I must admit... lies are nothing I need to get between those gorgeous legs of yours, don't you think?" He uses the Londoner accent he told me he learned in boarding school.
I lean back in his arms, a snort that turns into a cough, leaving my mouth. However, despite the chaos the last hours were, I still try to watch him.
Through my blurry sight, I make out this strong jaw, covered with traces of blood. Appearing as if he was the canvas and someone sprayed their entire pain onto his perfection.
Because of the flashlight. I am tightly gripping in my hand to brighten the path, those sparks reflect as lightly as the fiery veins busted open in his eyes.
In my chest, I can feel the burning ache, my skin remembers how sharp liquid ran down my throat, as if every cell knows how to replicate themselves, as if the trees know, at their deepest roots, that photosynthesis is the only way to live.
I stare at him, when he takes step after step, never letting me slide down from his arm, not even an inch. Instead, he presses me into his warm body. In my drunken mind, my sight is blinded by christals. I wonder if they are my dried-up tears or if the pain I saw in his eyes before our kiss, before they lit up wasn't just made up by my vivid imagination.
