Goldsin (The Chrysophilist Trilogy Book 1)
Goldsin: Chapter 21

He doesn’t smile.

No twitch of his muscles. No tilt of his head. No twirl of his knife between his fingers.

“I said run, golden one.”

His dangerous tone startles me, and I take a step back.

I don’t want to run. I don’t want to put distance between us. But his eyes turn into pits of rawness. This starving need to punish me. He looks unhinged. His rigid expression screams resolve—I’m not going to change his mind. I can’t even find words after the way he made me come three seconds ago.

My steps are small yet deafening as I race deeper into this haunted place. I would have opted for sneakers, had I known I was going to get chased like an animal, naked, in an abandoned indoor theme park.

I can’t hear him behind me, but I feel him, with the way the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I don’t see him, but I can feel his gaze. He’s far away. Yet he could reach me in no time.

He’s giving me time. No . . .

He’s having his fun.

A mountain of rocks in the far corner of the room catches my attention, and I sprint toward it. There’s a slide incorporated on one side and a wall for rock climbing on the other, with the entrance to what appears to be a cavern in the middle, hidden by some plastic vines.

If I confuse him by running in a different direction, he’ll miss me entering it. I can stay hidden for a while and then dash for the entrance.

Why are you trying to escape him? the voice inside my head questions.

I don’t have an answer.

I’m crouching behind the semi-deflated bounce house, straining my ear to hear if he’s close while I take off my shoes, discarding them for this next phase of the plan. I can’t let him know I’m in the cave because he heard my heels.

When I’m certain he didn’t see me, I bolt. My bare feet pad on the cold floor as I enter the cave. My breathing is heavy, heart pounding loudly in my ears.

“What the fuck?” I breathe out, eyes scanning the light blue kitchen inside the cave. A family of mannequins has been placed to look like they’re baking together, the little girl and the little boy laughing as they throw flour at one another. The mother, dressed in a lilac apron, holds a wooden spoon as she smiles down at them, the father hugging her side with a look of admiration.

My gaze flickers over every detail as a dreaded sense of resentfulness spreads inside of me. The way they’ve been positioned, it’s all a lie. No family is that happy . . . carefree. At least none of the families I’ve met.

Yet as I stand motionless in front of the mannequins, I can’t help but feel a spike of jealousy coursing through my bones.

I could have had this with my mom. We could have been this happy and carefree.

Then I hear his voice from outside.

“You could’ve been the good girl you said you were and accepted my order to attend Lucian’s party.”

And my mind changes direction. I don’t feel a sense of jealousy; I feel disgust.

Hearing Lucian’s name freezes my blood. Every revolting touch he left on Julian’s body last night filters in, and it’s like I can feel him on me.

How can he act with such indifference? Does he seriously want me to attend a party after his father had the nerve to have his wife molested by another man?

What even is there to celebrate?

My fists clench at my sides.

“Victoria is attending, and you remember what Lucian wants us to do, don’t you? Or should he remind us?”

Oh, do my insides twist at the underlying meaning in his words.

If I don’t go, his father will punish him.

I can’t let that happen.

Maybe I can use the opportunity to ask Victoria out on a date. If what Julian said is true, she’ll eagerly accept my invitation, and once I have her alone, I can finally exact my revenge for her mother’s sins.

“Found you,” he whispers darkly in my ear, and a thrill goes through me. His arm snakes across my waist from behind and prevents me from moving away. “I’ll always find you.” The cold steel of his knife traces my neck, across my chest, and down my hips.

I feel so small, vulnerable, in his grip.

The blade reaches the hem of my underwear and in a swift movement slices the material in half. I gasp at the sudden loss of it, feeling my last shred of decency pooling at my feet.

If he moves his hand a little closer, he’ll be able to tell how wet I am. Despite my better judgment, I can’t help but ache for him—to chase this feeling he’s infusing within me.

“You’re so fucking tempting, golden one.” He nestles his nose in the crook of my neck while moving the knife higher up my body. With a flick of his wrist, he brushes the blade against my nipple before moving to the other one.

The more he does it, the harder they grow, and I grow wetter.

“You like this?” He licks the expanse of my neck. “Imagine what else I could do to you with this knife.”

His taunt sends waves of pleasure down my body, and an ache forms between my legs. I clench them together. But the moment I do, I feel how good it is to have something rubbing at my swollen clit, and I can’t seem to stop.

I don’t notice the blade reaching my neck until it draws blood, and Julian bends down, sucking me dry. My head lolls back on his shoulder as I let him feast on me.

Gasps and moans echo in the silent human-size dollhouse.

Pressure builds between my legs. My own friction isn’t enough.

“Such pretty sounds you’re making.”

My eyes close, body arcing toward the heat radiating from his body. Something hard and cold parts my legs, circling my swollen clit and making me jump at its sensitivity.

“But I bet it’s nothing compared to the noises you’ll make when I really give you what you want.”

The handle of the knife thrusts hard into me, and I lose strength from the intrusion, legs wobbling as a scream rips from my lips.

Julian’s arm keeps me from falling, while the other one holds the knife he’s fucking me with. Drops of crimson fall down his wrist to the floor as he clenches the blade in his fist.

He angles the knife, and the handle pounds on the spot that turns my screams into moans, my vision blurring as I lose myself to the fullness he’s creating inside of me.

“That’s it.” He thrusts the slick handle in and out, brushing his finger over my sensitive clit and making my breath hitch. “Do you feel how wet you are for me? How much you want me?” he asked huskily, biting teasingly on my shoulder.

I whimper. “Yes.”

I grip his hair, pulling his mouth back to my skin. His erection presses into my back, and I can’t stop thinking about having it inside of me. Filling me.

More, more, more, is all I can think.

Lost in bliss, my other hand latches around his, and I quicken his thrusts, squeezing at the building sensation.

Julian groans, and I remember about the blade, but I can’t stop. His dick twitches behind me, and I know he doesn’t want me to stop either. He’s as sick as me, in love with the pain. So I keep guiding his hand in fast thrusts. Our breathing becomes labored, filled with moans and growls.

“Remember this punishment.” He licks my earlobe.

My legs give in as the orgasm builds.

“Next time I tell you to do something, you’d better fucking obey.”

He tightens his arm around me and drives the knife faster. Harsher. Deeper, not caring that the blade’s tearing his skin.

My lips part, an ache spreading to my core. I’m on the brink of an orgasm when he suddenly stops, pulling the knife out of me and tossing it to the ground.

The steel clangs, bouncing, and I stare at it as it slides to the other side of the room, away from where it was about to make me scream with pleasure.

Julian brushes a lock of my hair to the side. “Didn’t think I’d let you come that easily, did you?”

He spins me around and presses my front harder into the wall. Then I hear the metal clink of his belt buckle as he unfastens it.

I’m struggling in his grip, about to protest, when he slams into me and I see stars. A guttural cry escapes my lips.

“Fuck!” I scream.

My chest heaves as he pounds into me mercilessly. His hand grips my hips, and he pulls me against him every time he thrusts, guiding himself deeper.

My fingers claw at the wall, flakes of blue paint wedged between my fingernails. We’re destroying the picture-perfect family of mannequins, tainting them with our sick pleasure.

He tangles my hair in his fist and yanks my upper body against his chest. “You feel so fucking good wrapped around my cock.”

His words make me moan, but it’s his bloodied hand wrapping around my neck and constricting my airways that makes me pull him into a hungry kiss.

My core tightens as we swallow each other’s moans. His fingers push into the back of my hair, pulling me closer to him as something subtle yet undeniable shifts between us.

He turns me to face him and lifts me in his arms, pushing my back against the wall as I wrap my legs around him for more support, to have him closer. His thrusts become longer, deeper, more deliberate, as he savors every second of this moment.

Blue eyes pierce my soul as I lose myself in their white speckles. His pupils dilate, and I know he’s close when I feel the familiar pressure building within me too.

We rest our foreheads on one another’s. We aren’t kissing anymore, yet a warmth still spreads to my chest.

“So”—thrust—“fucking”—thrust—“beautiful.”

His voice fills with awe as a growl heaves out, matching the moan separating my lips.

Julian captures my lips again, and we both ride wave after wave of pleasure together, locked in each other’s embrace.

My body trembles a little, light blinding me as my body becomes weightless, and I cling desperately to him for support.

He’s still inside of me, his head resting on my shoulder as he gasps for air. His body cages me against the wall, preventing me from collapsing to the floor. I thread my fingers in his hair and realization hits me that I just had sex with Julian Harrow. With my former best friend.

What is he now? What are we now?

He carefully pulls out, and I feel empty. Like we were supposed to stay in each other’s arms. Like he just stabbed me in the chest and is now tugging the knife away.

When my feet are back on the ground, reality back in check, I wobble. My hands reach for the wall so I won’t make a fool of myself, but I don’t need the support, because his arms dart out and wrap me close to his chest.

“Didn’t realize I went so hard.” He speaks from the top of my head, chin resting on my hair, and I instantly close my eyes, wishing I could encapsulate the comfort he gives me.

My heart is made of steel because I was taught to guard it. But deep down I’m still that little girl who needed love. I’m still that little girl who wondered why her friends had a mother, but she didn’t. I’m still that little girl who dreamed of being held in someone’s arms.

And sometimes I dream of being that little girl. Not the killer they made of me.

“Neither did I,” I joke. Despite everything, I can’t help but let out a little chuckle. I can’t help but feel happy.

A wave of tiredness washes over me, and I involuntarily close my eyes.

I can rest here for a little while, can’t I?

Fingers stroke my hair while words are whispered, but I can’t hear what Julian says.

Then something is being draped around my shoulders and strong arms are lifting me. I snuggle my head in the crook of his neck and inhale his cologne: a mixture of cedarwood and . . . home.

Julian carries me away from the dollhouse and back upstairs to the ongoing celebration. Everything around me is hazy, forgettable, as I try to bask in this sensation of vulnerability.

People usually hate feeling like this. They work hard to achieve the opposite; to feel protected. But I don’t need to feel protected. I can take care of myself. I want to feel vulnerable, utterly raw. Because once I do, whoever I’m in the presence of is the only person I can truly be myself with. The only person I can really trust.

And it seems that person is Julian.

But I’m not surprised. He was my best friend for a reason. That connection never disappeared—we just had to search for it between the mess of years we spent not talking.

“Where are you taking me?” I manage to ask.

“Where do you want to go?”

“Nowhere. I want to stay right here.”

“Then we’ll go nowhere together,” he murmurs.

Nowhere together. I think I like the sound of that.