Their Kitten: A Dark MFM Romance
Their Kitten: Chapter 20

The tension in the car is thick as I navigate my way through traffic back to the hotel. There are so many unspoken words that we need to talk about, but I don’t even know where to start. It’s obvious that she’s nervous about being alone with me, as she’s practically hugging the passenger door and trying to sit as far from me as possible. I can feel her cautious gaze on the side of my face every now and then, even though she doesn’t say anything. Prior to knowing who she is, that wouldn’t bother me. But now I know it’s her, it sends a heavy feeling in the pit of my gut.

A part of me doesn’t even want to initiate the conversation because I don’t want her giving me vague answers or talking in circles to avoid answering me. I just want answers, answers that will allow me to finally be able to close the chapter of my life that she’d left open when she left without giving us closure.

So, I opt to take the easy route and ask something that may be a little simpler for her to answer.

“Why’d you use our mom’s name instead of your own name for your apartment?” I ask, my voice filling the otherwise quiet space.

Her using my mother’s name should’ve been a dead giveaway, but it’s obvious I wasn’t thinking much. It’s not like people in this city didn’t know my mother; my family is pretty influential around here. But still, Cleo should’ve popped into my head as a suspect, but for some reason, she never crossed my mind at all.

She turns her gaze to the window and watches the passing scenery as we continue down the road.

“I used to see this guy named Garrett for a brief time.” Her entire posture grows stiff in the passenger seat next to me as she continues speaking. “But I learned early on that he was a little obsessive.”

“Obsessive how?”

She gives me a small shrug. “Just got really pushy and weird with me after we’d gone on two dates, which were major red flags for me. He got violent when I refused a third date and then pretty much started stalking me.” She drops her gaze to her lap. “When things got a bit too dangerous for me, I just packed up what I could and left to start over in a new town. I used a name that he wouldn’t know.”

“How’ve you been managing since then if you didn’t have anything?”

Just when I didn’t think I could feel worse, she managed to do so. I figured there had to be extreme circumstances that she was trying to get out of it if she was willing to sell her virginity to strangers.

“I’ve managed with odd jobs at bars as a waitress, but as you can see by my current living conditions, the pay doesn’t allow me to be able to get much.” She pats the bag sitting on her lap. “Someone told me about Purgatory and mentioned that I could make a lot of money there if I was a virgin willing to sell my virginity to a high-level member. Seemed like an opportunity for a new start.”

“I see.”

Just listening to everything she’s been through only makes me feel more guilty for everything I have put her through since we laid eyes on her. I grip the steering wheel a little tighter. Words burn to leave my mouth, but nothing I want to say feels right. I’m not sure what to say, so I let the silence wrap around us for the duration of the ride.

The hotel is a welcomed sight when it finally appears. It’s strange how our dynamic has changed so quickly. One minute, I saw her as the enemy, yet she turned out to be a blast from our past. Though she’s not a stranger, the way that I can’t think of anything appropriate to say now makes it feel like she is.

She continues to sit in the car for a few moments, nibbling on her bottom lip as she stares out the window.

“Are you…expecting to teleport up to your room or something?” I ask after a while.

She blinks and then looks over at me before she shakes her head. “Guess I got lost in thought.” She unfastens her seatbelt. I’m surprised she didn’t try to jump out of the car before it stopped moving. Her blue eyes glance up at me. “Do you…mind walking me up to my room? Anything can happen between the door and actually getting to the hotel room.”

Her hand nervously clutches the handle of the bag as worry twinkles in her eyes, and I nod. We both get out and make our way inside. I almost chuckle as I watch the way she navigates through the hotel lobby. If her objective is to look as unsuspecting as possible, she’s doing a terrible job. Her eyes are wide, and she is looking all around as she clutches the bag so tight that it would make someone think she had something she shouldn’t. I put an arm around her shoulder, glad that she doesn’t pull away or cringe this time. In fact, she presses herself deeper against my side, and I embrace the warmth coming from her. It’ll probably be a while before I have this kind of moment with her again.

We ride the elevator up to the floor her room is on, and things immediately feel off as soon as we step off. I keep my head on a swivel, trying to replace something out of place. But it doesn’t take long to replace the issue when we reach the door to her room.

“What the…” her sentence trails off as we both freeze.

The door is slightly ajar, which is strange on its own. There isn’t a cleaning cart anywhere in the hall, so I know for a fact that it’s not housekeeping. Not to mention, they wouldn’t come so late in the day to clean, and Cleo hasn’t checked out to prompt them to clean it.

“Hold on a second,” I say, holding a hand up to her.

“I don’t feel good about this,” she says. I don’t respond to her as I cautiously walk into the room, noticing that the deadbolt on the door is broken, so now the door won’t latch properly. Her things look as if they’ve been rummaged through, clothes and documents scattered over the sitting area and floor. Who the hell else knew she was here? I know Talon didn’t do this, as he has access to the room. Either way, I know she can’t stay here anymore.

I step back out into the hallway. “Let’s get all of your things from here,” I say. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to stay here.” I gesture to her bag. “Especially with that.”

“And go where?”

“We can talk about the details in the car, but right now, we need to get your things and get you somewhere else,” I say.

Her eyes widen at the urgency in my voice, and she follows me inside. I keep watch while she quickly stuffs her belongings back into her bag. After what she told me about her previous stalker, I can’t help but wonder if he’s found her. But why would he come here? Why not her apartment? Even then, the hotel room isn’t even in her name, so how did he replace her to begin with?

“I’m ready,” she says, breaking my train of thought.

We take the elevator to the ground floor and don’t stop moving until we’re back in my car. “So where are we going?” she asks when I pull away from the hotel.

“My place,” I answer. “At this point, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be alone. Whoever broke into your room won’t be stupid enough to break into my house.”

She nods slowly. “Yeah…yeah, okay. That’s a good idea.”

I drive us to our house, parking in the garage. She doesn’t seem so tense anymore, which is a promising sign that she may trust me a little bit more. She follows me into my house without a word, opting to continue standing by the door as I move toward the couch.

“You’re more than welcome to stand there all night if you want, but you can make yourself at home when you’re ready.” When she doesn’t move, I sigh deeply. “You’re fine here, Cleo.”

She hesitates, but then slowly closes the space between us and sits on the couch. Her hand still clutches the bag close to her, as if she’s expecting me to swoop in and steal it from under her nose. That awkward energy surrounds us once again as silence wraps around us. Things were so much easier when I wanted to torture her, but now everything is uncomfortable and odd.

I watch the way she observes the space around her, a million and one things passing over her pretty face. She swallows hard when she notices the pocketknife I’d left on the coffee table from earlier.

“I see your knife obsession carried on into adulthood,” she mentions. I can’t tell if it’s disdain or disappointment that’s hiding in her voice, but I’m not surprised considering how I’ve treated her the last few times I’ve been around her, before knowing who she is.

“Yeah,” I say. The awkward energy settles around us once more.

“I guess I’m not surprised. I figured that you’d either have a knife shrine somewhere in your house or become a serial killer.” She grins at me, which breaks the uncomfortable pit that tries to take root in my gut. “I hope it’s the former and not the latter.”

I chuckle in response. “Definitely the former.”

“Well? Where’s the shrine?” She scans the living room as if she’s expecting to see a shit ton of knives on a dedicated wall or something.

I push myself up to my feet and immediately feel her on my heels. We navigate through the house and head down to the basement, only for her to hesitate at the top of the stairs. I glance at her over my shoulder and smirk.

“Rethinking that serial killer position?” I tease.

“Maybe. You are a loose cannon these days,” she says with a faint grin on her lips. I continue down the stairs and stand in the middle of the room, waiting until she finally makes her way down.

I fight the urge to laugh when she freezes. “These…are a lot of knives,” she says slowly.

“Right?” I fold my arms across my chest. “Years in the making.”

After our mom died, I had to replace something else to put my energy and focus on. I always gravitated toward knives for some reason. They remind me a little of myself. They’re beautiful to look at but can be dangerous if you don’t know how to handle them. Sharp around the edges, but useful and a good thing to have on your side when things get tough. It’s the way most people view me in life these days, everyone feeling just a little bit safer to have me on their side.

I guess everyone except Cleo, since she ran from us.

“What’s that one?” she asks.

“A katana.” I move over to it and take it off the wall. She swallows hard when I take it out of its sheath. “One of the sharpest I own.”

She nervously tracks every move I make while holding the sword. “I-I see.”

I cock my head to the side. “Scared?”

Though she scoffs, she shifts her weight from foot to foot and looks around as if trying to make sure she can make a quick getaway if she needs to. “Why would be I scared?”

“You tell me. You’re the one shaking like a leaf.” I take a step forward, grinning when she takes a tiny step back.

I point it at her, lightly running it down the front of her tank top. “It could slice through your clothes like butter.”

Desire flashes in her eyes, but her defiance overpowers it. “I don’t know why I’m surprised, considering the handle looks like a dildo,” she says. “Do you use that line on all the girls you bring down here?”

I stare at her for a long moment before I burst into laughter, looking down at the handle of the katana. Comparing it to a dildo is a stretch, but it definitely gives me an idea.

“I don’t bring women to my home, let alone my safe space,” I say.

“Why’d you bring me then?”

“Because you asked to see it.” I drop my gaze to my hands, tracing the engraved design on my blade with my eyes. “And because you’re the only woman I would trust in my safe space.” After a while, I shake my head. “At least I did.”

She wraps her arms around herself. “I’m sorry, Tristan. For everything.”

“I think we’re well past apologies.” I sigh deeply. “I want a real answer that you’re still beating around the bush in giving me.”

She turns away from me and looks at my wall containing my smaller knives. I tighten my jaw as I sheath the katana and put it back in its place with the others. She slowly picks up a knife, and I swallow hard, knowing which one it is.

“You…named a knife after me?” she asks before looking up at me with wide eyes.

“No.” My voice is tight, and she flinches at how harsh it comes out. “When you left, I cut myself with that knife. Your name is on that knife so that I’m always reminded of the pain you caused, in the event that I have a moment of weakness of wanting you back in my life.”

Satisfaction swirls in my gut to see the hurt that fills her face, but I know she’s not hurting as much as I was in that moment all those years ago. Watching that fucking social worker come and take her away was the second hardest thing I’ve endured. I watched her get into the car without a single look back at our house. I watched them pull out of our driveway and ride off into the sunlight.

I was fucking angry and sad, but I didn’t want to give her my tears. I was holding a skinning knife my grandpa had gotten me during one of our many summer hunting trips, so I’d cut the middle of my palm to have another reason to shed the tears that I knew were for her. The knife is now a proverbial reminder that she skinned my heart alive and left me to bleed, left us to suffer without her. It’s the one thing that’s keeping my anger alive the longer she refuses to give me an answer for her departure.

I snatch the knife from her and force the memories back. Before I can even stop myself, I press the knife to her throat.

“How poetic would it be to slit your throat with the same knife I cut myself with because of you?” I growl.

The blade moves when she swallows, but she keeps her eyes trained on me. “If that’s what you think it’ll take to stop your pain.” Her voice is soft, and that pisses me off. She has no fucking right to try to be a martyr right now. I want her fear, the terror she gave me in hell. Not…whatever the fuck this is. She trembles slightly but tries to look strong. “I’m sorry, Tristan. I know it doesn’t change anything, but I am.”

Anger slowly cooks under the surface within me. I drag the knife lightly down her chest until I get to the hem of her shirt. Her breath hitches when I grab her shirt and pull it away from her body enough to send my knife through the fabric without cutting her. She squeaks in surprise and then frowns at me disapprovingly.

“What the hell?!”

She tucks her lips between her teeth when I bring the knife back up to her throat. “Don’t say a fucking word,” I say through gritted teeth. She slowly nods, watching me as I repeat the dragging motion down her chest again, making light work of her bra as I cut through the middle of the flimsy material. Her stomach flexes beneath the blade before I reach the top of her jeans. I almost grin at the audible sigh that leaves her body when I simply unbutton them instead of cutting them off.

I lower myself to my knees in front of her as she steps out of them. It takes everything in me not to apply too much pressure as I run my blade up and down her legs, stopping at her hips to cut the sides of her panties until they fall away. Lifting her leg onto my shoulder, I lean forward and lick into her heat. Her moan fills the basement as her hands fall into my hair. She tastes like comfort and memories, unlocking the vault that I welded shut the day she left.

Every swipe of my tongue brings my past alive before my eyelids and sends a tsunami of emotions crashing around inside of me. I love her—I hate her. I miss her—I want her gone. I need her—I wish she never came back. Every thought has a negative opposite that leaves me so conflicted. Why does she have such a strong hold on me and why can’t I let her go?

“Tristan,” she moans. Her voice grounds me once again. I lick and suck as if her dripping pussy will reveal the answers her mouth won’t say. Juices slick my face as she quickly bucks her hips for more friction. I reach down and unbutton my jeans and free my cock, quickly stroking it in my hand. Cleo’s legs tremble as a strained moan leaves her lips, her hands pulling my hair so tight that pain blooms across my scalp as she comes.

I know she is close, and I know just wants going to bring her over the edge. I grin against her folds before I pull away enough to bring the handle of the knife to her cunt. “Spread your legs a little more so I don’t accidentally cut you,” I order.

She spreads her legs, looking down at me with hungry eyes as I shove the handle of the knife into her wet pussy. Her head falls back with a groan as I shove the handle deeper into her, holding onto the blade carefully as I fuck her with the knife.

A moment later, she gushes all over me. Coming apart while the knife is deep inside of her.

I don’t even give her time to regroup, pulling her to the floor. She doesn’t fight against me as I settle between her legs. Her back arches off the floor when I ease into her, and her nails dig into my triceps. I focus on the bite of pain from her nails instead of the other emotions inside of me, the ones that make me want to cut my heart open and bleed for her when I know she’ll leave the first chance she gets. I drown out my want and desire for her with every rough stroke I put inside of her. I suffocate my hopes about her choosing me and Talon, despite her having a track record of abandoning us.

Sitting up on my knees, I grab the knife from the floor and press it to her throat as I move within her. “We would’ve given you everything if you’d have trusted us,” I say between gritted teeth. “We fucking loved you, and you left.”

“I-I’m s-s-orry!” she stammers through broken words, weaved through a string of moans.

My chest tightens at everything that could’ve been. At all the missed opportunities. At the lost time. Now that she’s back, it’s opened the floodgates to all the things I pushed behind a wall long ago. And as we both come, holding onto each other for dear life, I can’t help but wonder how long it’ll take for her to shatter us and leave the shards for us to clean up when she moves on.

Again.