Insatiable Cravings - Episode 1

 

 

INSATIABLE CRAVINGS

Insatiable Cravings - Episode 1

Subtitle; {Loving You Is A Loosing Game} 

TAGS: Age-gap, Mafia, Forbidden Love, Drama, Tragedy and Betrayal.

Settings: United Kingdom, Russia and others.

By: Chukwuma Rejoice 

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

~ Genevieve ~

Dickhéad.

This shitfàce wankér sits beside me, effectively ruíning my day.

Today, I woke up feeling kind of upbeat. It is unusual because it doesn't happen often. I slipped into my Monday uniform, wore my hair up in a ponytail with a sword hair stick pin, and exited my room. Without bothering to sit for breakfast because I was not in the mood to get añgry, I strolled out of the house to my Audi and drove to school.

Everything was going well. I went to the classes and pretended to listen to the bloódy nonseñse that came out of every teacher's mouth, answered questions when I am called upon—overall, I was good.

Until the first break while I sat down on one of the chairs in our superfluously grand cafeteria that I realized that my day will be spóilt.

"So, which book are you reading currently?" Julianna—Jules, as I love to address her—asked before pushing a piece of chips into her mouth.

I lazily shrugged my shoulder. "Legacy of the Gods by Rina Kent. It's a really good series."

"Hmm?" Her skeptical hum almost passed over my head when I felt a pair of unwanted eyes at the back of my head. "Does the book have unhingéd men doing questionàble things?"

"Yeah," I breathed out like it's a given fact. "I mean, what else would I rather read about?"

"I don't know, like, Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare or The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald or—"

"Nah, nah, nah." I waved my hand frantically in her face, thankfully cutting her off. "Books like that don't correlate to me."

"Yeah, I know." Jules rolled her eyes, threw another chip in her mouth, chewed, and swallowed. "You only read books that have psychós as their male lead."

Dàng right!

I am a sucker for bàd, bàd men.

See, I said, "men," not "boys" who are just playboys not ready to commit to a relationship and go around fuckíng everything that wears a skirt.

"Don't forget what I always tell you; one day, those books you read will catch up with you. Like, you could end up living a life like the book's female lead."

Immediately those words left her mouth, a grin stretched out on my face, and I sighed softly at the thought.

"You would like that, wouldn't you?"

Duh.

"Yes, very much so!" I exclaimed, totally not giving two fucks about every head that turned to us, muttering hushed whispers under their breaths. "I mean, didn't Romeo and Juliet díe at the end? And, didn't Gatsby live alone forever or something like that? But, in the books I read, they always end up together," I added.

"Yeah, but—"

"Nope. No buts needed here, Jules." I shifted in my seat, ready to convince her to read one of my many dark romance books, but before I could even open my mouth, she shook her head. "Come on, you will love it. Just read one and see how it goes, yeah?"

"No, I don't want to. Reading is boring."

I let out a comical and dramatic gasp, holding my chest, causing a smile to crack on her lips. "How dare you?"

Jules giggled in her girly way, tucking her equally blonde hair behind her ear. The only difference is that while hers is sandy blonde, mine is in the middle of red and blonde.

"Hey babe," my smile quickly faded away when that raspy voice reached my ears and a frown slapped itself on my face when he put his hand on my shoulder. "Looking pretty as ever, aren't you?"

I let my eyes give him a once-over even though I've seen him one too many times as he stood over me, one hand on me and the other on the table.

"Let go," I ordered.

The bloódy idíot obviously didn't listen and even sat himself beside me. My gaze flicked to Jules and she shook her head at me, secretly and wordlessly telling me to not do what I wanted to do.

A rebellióus smirk brushed against my face as I watched him pick up one of my chips and put it in his mouth.

"Go away, Liam."

"Shut up and mind your business." He snapped at my best friend, staring at her like she is mere dust on his designer shoes.

Don't do it.

Don't do it.

Don't do it.

I looked at him again only to already find him gawking at me. When our eyes met, he winked and a grimace tugged on my lips.

Restraint.

Control.

Suppress.

We stared at each other—sorry, he stared at me while I glared at him—for ten seconds tops before he lifted his hand, and his grubby fingers inched to my face—my hair, to be precise.

No one touches my hair but me.

It was swift and happened in a blink of an eye. I removed the hair stick pin holding my hair up in a bun, spun it between my middle finger and forefinger before jabbing it deep into his hand on the table.

Liam, the school playboy, let out a loud shrill scream that resonated in the cafeteria, holding his hand as crimson liquid hit the floor in little drops.

I did it.

No.

No.

Why did I do it?

I didn't restrain, neither did I control nor suppress. I mean, that was a pretty good stàb which may or may not cause him his left hand, but still... Nah, just kidding, it felt good. I would do it again a million times if he touches me next time.

In less than a minute, every student has gathered around him as if he is bleediñg. I mean, yeah, I know he is, but it is just his hand; no biggie, right?

"Let's go to the infirmary," I heard someone mutter from the crowds as I pushed away the food in front of me that he touched.

"Wait," Standing up, I took just three steps to him because he was still standing kind of close to me. Féar, paín, and angér mixed together in his green eyes greatly delighted me, and I tilted my head and smiled to show him my smile. "Does it húrt a lot? I hope it does." I let my hand inch to his injured, bléeding hand, he flinched and I chuckled darkly. "Calm down, I just want my hairpin back, or do you want to keep it like a souvenir?"

"You bítch!" Liam exclaimed, finally glaring at me, the hungry pervertéd gaze completely gone.

I like this better.

"You're cràzy,"

"I know. Next time, it will be your throat." I slapped the fakest smile on my face and forcibly dragged out my hairpin from his hand, earning another deafening cry from him. "Shhhh, my ears are delicate."

••

"Ms. King, what do you have to say for yourself?" The principal, Mrs. Green, asked, peering down at me from her glasses.

I blankly stared back at her, bored out of my freaking mind. 

"I asked a question, and I expect an answer from you, Ms. King. You seriously injuréd Mister Fredrickson."

"That was my intention, Mrs. Green," I nodded and raked the stray strands of hair away from my face.

If that jackàss had just left me alone, I wouldn't have had to stàb him with my beautiful hair stick pin.

"He touched me," I found the need to add to my earlier statement. "That isn't acceptable, you know that, right?"

I don't like using my last name as a means to take what I want. But if I have to, I would every minute of the day.

Being the granddaughter of the Duke of England and the daughter of a district Mayor of England means I have certain privileges that I am entitled to enjoy.

"If my grandfather finds out about this, this school will be shut down," I continued.

"I hope that isn't a threàt, Ms. King. What you did is a críme; you made him bleéd, and that injúry could seriously impair his hand forever."

I abruptly stood up from my seat, my stare morphing into a furious glare. "Excuse you, what he did can also be considered sexuàl harassmént. He touched me in ways I did not appreciate, Mrs. Green." Picking up my backpack from the seat next to me, I turned to the door. After my fist wrapped around the doorknob, I twisted my head to look at her. "It is not a threàt, by the way. Do not underestimate me."

                               ✧✧✧✧

The door to my room flung open, and my gaze slinked from the pages of words in my hand to the next victím of my wrath, only to meet my mother's enragéd face.

When is she never enragéd?

Jeez, what did I do this time?

"What is wrong with you? Are you in any way mentàlly imbalancéd or completely derañged?" She exploded.

I shifted my gaze from her, not wanting to look at the permanent disappointment on her face. Since I was born, I have never seen a proud look on her face for me.

I refused to let that indescribable aching feeling in my heart last longer than five seconds.

Hurriedly getting up on my feet, I made sure to gently keep my book on the bed before finally looking her in the eyes. "What did I do?"

"You stabbéd someone, Genevieve. What the bloódy héll is wrong with you?" The intensity of her glare and disappointment escalated, and when she saw I was tuning her out, she gripped my forearm tightly. "Do you have any idea what this could do to mine and your grandfather's reputation?!"

"He touched me. Of course, I'll do something to protect and defend myself."

"You are insufferable. Can't you be more like your sister, Adrianna?" Her grip loosened from my arms as she shook her head. "Seriously, I don't know what I will do with you."

I once again ignored the stabbing sensation in my chest, feigning indifference and apathy. Holding in the pricking sensation in my eyes, I held my head defiantly and even rolled my eyes for theatrical effect.

"I simply defended myself. I don't think you should have a problem with that," I said.

"You couldn't have done so like a normal civilized human?" My ever-loving mother snapped again. "You are a King for Pete's sake. Act like one."

She loves having the last word, and I let her have it. I also watched her leave my room, slamming my door and even earning a little jump from me.

"Civilized human, my foot. Why the héck would I let boys beneath my feet touch me like we are on the same level?" I thought aloud, lowering myself to my bed. A scoff emitted from my mouth.

My gaze flicked back to the book on my bed, and I contemplated whether I should continue reading or not. The ràge boiling inside me was more than enough for me to turn down the only thing that I take pleasure in—reading.

Dropping that idea like a bad habit, I turned around, picked up my Kindle, black leather jacket, and car keys, all in my hands before standing up. With a quick glance at the standing mirror in my room, I threw my hair up in a ponytail and dashed out.

                                ♡♡♡♡

The night was dark, and the road was long and dark, but with the aid of the streetlights and building lights, one could clearly see where they were headed.

The speaker boomed one of my favorite songs as my car zoomed through the vacant road. With the purposeful intent to forget everything that happened in the last hour, I made the music ring loudly, almost blocking my eardrums.

Everything was going smoothly until it wasn't. All of a sudden, without a single warning, a figure appeared in front of my car, and with the speed of light, I stepped hard on the brakes. The impact had me launching forward and causing me to almost hît my head against the steering wheel.

Gorblimey!

A frown instantly etched itself on my face as I stepped out of the car. Even with the headlights blurring the figure's face from my vision, I could clearly see that it was a male.

Is he fine?

I don't think so because he's currently sprawled out on the freaking road. And, unmoving, if I may add.

The frown intensified as I noticed he wasn't even budging at the nudge of my boots against his body. A groan followed suit as I crouched down to inspect his face.

Immediately, my gaze landed on his face, a breath hitched in my throat right in the middle, and I swallowed.

Holy Mary, mother of Jesus!

He is fine.

I don't mean "fine," I mean "fine," you get what I mean?

But, that isn't the issue right now. The issue is that this duffér thought in front of my car was the best place to pass out and now, I have to take responsibility for what I didn't even do.

Maybe, I should have hît him, that would have been ten times better. Right?

Rolling my eyes, I stood up and let out another groan, looking skyward to beg anyone up there—if there is one—to help me. So, I waited for a whole two minutes and no help came.

Shít.

After another minute, I dragged him to the passenger seat, yanked him up with all the might I could summon, buckled him up, and circled back to the driver's side.

My unnecessary kindness better not put me into any trouble. While I love and attract lots of trouble, I absolutely do not need a deád person on my hands.

Or, do I?

••

The large man laid down on one of the sofas in my sister's penthouse, sleeping comfortably like he owns the place. His lids closed softly, his lashes longer than how boys' lashes should be, and his breath slow and steady.

My lips twitched as I continued watching him, unable to tear my gaze away from him. I wanted to, but for unknown reasons, I couldn't.

There is something about his face that is so alluringly magnetic. His model-like face is beautifully sculpted, as if the Lord took a whole day to create him. His jawline is so sharp it could cut through wood. His lips...those lips are so wonderfully curved to perfection; thin yet plump in all their glory.

He is uncharacteristically beautiful in the most manly way ever. He is perfection personified. Just my type of man.

After a few more minutes of admiring God's favorite creation, I took my seat on the closest sofa, crossed my legs, and picked up my Kindle.

I don't know how many minutes went by, but at some point, I started to feel eyes on me. Flicking my eyes from the e-reader in my hand to the only person who could possibly be staring at me, a sigh of relief left my mouth even before I could stop it.

Thank goodness. He is up; I won't be blamed for his deàth.

"Staring is rude," I said.

"Where am I?"

Goodness gracious!

It is criminally wrong for anyone at all to have such a deep, hoarse, and rich voice. If I am not mistaken—which doesn't happen often—I could even say he has a subtle Russian accent.

I let my eyes wander around the place as if I myself am lost and curious to know the answer. "I'm guessing a building."

A low, rumbly chuckle resonated from him into the living room. His long fingers raked through his disheveled hair as he pinned his electrifying eyes on me. "Nice one, kid."

Kid?!

Excuse me, but this bloody twàt just called me, Genevieve King, a freakíng kid?!

How dare he?!

"Maybe I should have left you on the road to díe. That would have been better, wouldn't it?"

His mouth twitched with a small but humorous smirk. "You brought me here? Yourself?"

I'd be a liar and a fóol if I said I didn't hear the way he inquired those questions, almost like he purposely wants to abash me.

"Yeah, why?"

Without a word, his eyes scanned me in my sitting position, and another twitch occurred on his mouth.

Gently, I placed the Kindle on the seat I was in and repeated my earlier question. "Yeah, why? I asked a question, answer it."

"What are you, a queen?" the man I shouldn't have saved retorted.

"What are you, a s+xíst?" I quipped.

He rose to his feet, and my lips slightly fell at the awe of his six-foot-something height. I was just about to start admiring him again, but he just had to ruín it with his next words.

"You have a pretty bàd mouth for a kid. You know that, right?"

Rolling my eyes, I also stood up with a vexed scoff. With two steps, I was standing close to him, our eyes clashed together. "Do not call me a kid."

"Aren't you like sixteen?" he chortled, his light brown eyes gleaming with mockery and...is that amusement?

"Seventeen," I snapped.

"Same thing."

"No. No, it isn't."

"Looks and sounds the same to me."

"Well then, you're in desperate need of glasses and hearing aids. Age is catching up with you."

The mockery vanished, leaving only pure and unhidden amusement. His lips curved up in a full smirk. "Oh, is it?"

How dare he look so good when annoying me?

It is so not right.

"Yeah."

"And how old do you think I am?" the man asked, a smile now on his face and his head tilting a little to the side.

Definitely in his twenties, that's for sure.

Plastering a good girl smile on my face, I pretended to ponder on it for a second before saying, "Thirty-five."

"What is your name?" The quick and sudden change of topic greatly surprised me, and I surely couldn't hide it.

"Why?"

"I must know my savior's name, should I not? I might need another saving."

He looks like one who does the saving, though.

Giving him another one too many once-over just to ascertain him, even if it's once, to know whether or not I should give him my name. Ignoring and shutting down my rationality, I muttered out, "Genevieve."

"Dominic," he said. "Bye, Genevieve."

Without waiting for me to respond, he turned around and left. And, I watched him leave without even thanking me.

Handsome nútter.

TBC 📖✍️

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