*TRIGGER WARNINGS* SMUT, power play, medical abortion, fighting, swearing.
The hallways are the same as they always were—loud, crowded, chaotic.
But to me, they feel different.
People stare. Whisper. They think I don't hear them.
That's her—
I heard she almost died—
No, she did die. And now she's… different.
They're right.
I move through them like a ghost, like something untouchable. No one comes too close. No one dares.
Except Miras.
He walks half a step behind me, his presence solid and unwavering. He doesn't speak. Doesn't try to interfere.
He's just there.
I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. He's watching. Waiting.
I smirk. Good.
Lunch comes faster than I expect. The cafeteria is too bright, too noisy, too full of things that used to matter but don't anymore.
I take a seat. Miras sits across from me.
I don't touch my food. Neither does he.
Instead, I lean forward, resting my chin against my hand. "You've been quiet today."
He doesn't react. "What do you want me to say?"
I hum, tilting my head. "Something interesting."
Miras exhales, leaning back. "Alright." He watches me, eyes dark and unreadable. "Are you enjoying yourself?"
I grin. "You'll have to be more specific."
He doesn't blink. "Tormenting me."
The words send a small shiver of satisfaction through me.
I don't answer.
Instead, I reach out—not physically, but with the energy curling inside me, waiting to be used.
Miras stiffens just slightly as I push.
Not hard. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to make his breath hitch, his heart stutter.
His hands clench into fists on the table. But he doesn't stop me.
I let the pressure build, a slow, deliberate force curling around his ribs, pressing into his lungs. I watch his throat bob as he swallows, as his breathing becomes shallow.
Still, he doesn't stop me.
Doesn't fight.
Doesn't look away.
I release him all at once. He gasps, sharp and quiet, his fingers trembling just slightly against the table.
A thrill shoots through me.
But it's nothing compared to the rush that follows when he finally speaks—low, quiet, almost challenging.
"Is that all you've got, Cherie?"
My smile widens.
I like this game.
I lean in, resting my elbows on the table, and watch Miras carefully. He's still catching his breath, but there's something else in his eyes now. Something dark. Something reckless.
He's inviting me to do it again.
And I will.
But not here.
Not yet.
I drag my fingernail across the table, slow and deliberate. "Careful, Miras," I murmur. "You might end up liking it."
His lips press into a thin line, but he doesn't look away. Doesn't deny it.
I push back from the table, standing in one fluid motion. The cafeteria is still loud around us, but it's background noise now.
"Come with me," I say.
He hesitates, just for a second. "Where?"
I smile. "Does it matter?"
Something flickers in his expression, something torn between hesitation and surrender. Then, finally—
He stands.
I turn, walking out without waiting for him to follow.
But he does.
He always does.
The hallway is empty when we step inside.
The air is thick between us, electric with something unsaid, something dangerous.
Miras watches me like he's preparing for whatever comes next. But we both know he won't fight it.
Not really.
I take a step closer. Then another. Until I'm right in front of him, my energy pressing at the edges of my skin, eager, hungry.
I don't hesitate.
I reach.
Miras stiffens as I wrap invisible fingers around his throat—not tight enough to choke him, just enough to remind him who's in control. His pulse hammers against my hold, fast and unsteady.
He grips the wall behind him like he's bracing himself.
His breathing hitches, but still, he doesn't stop me.
I tilt my head, studying him. "You let me do this to you."
His voice is strained but steady. "You want to do this to me."
I smile, tightening my grip ever so slightly. His jaw clenches, his body tensing, but his eyes never leave mine.
He's waiting to see how far I'll take it.
And I don't know the answer yet.
I lean in, my voice barely above a whisper. "I could break you."
Miras swallows. His voice is quieter now, rougher. "I know."
Something tightens in my chest at those words, something unrecognizable. I push it away.
Instead, I release him.
He sucks in a breath, shoulders rising with the force of it.
We stand there, staring at each other, tension thick and pulsing between us.
Then, he does something I don't expect.
He smirks.
And it's not mocking. It's not forced.
It's knowing.
Like he's figured something out that I haven't.
I narrow my eyes. "What?"
His gaze flickers with something sharp. Something satisfied.
"You still feel something," he murmurs.
My breath catches.
Because he might be right.
And I hate him for it.
I push him harder than I ever have before.
And he lets me.
No, he encourages me.
The alley behind the school is empty. The sky is painted with the last streaks of daylight, the air thick with something neither of us can name.
Miras stands in front of me, his breathing steady, his body tense. He knows what I'm about to do.
And he welcomes it.
I step closer, energy crackling around my fingers, raw and untamed. "Say it again," I whisper.
Miras meets my gaze, unwavering. "You still feel something."
A sharp inhale claws through my chest.
I press my hand against his sternum, and my power surges through him like a violent current.
His entire body tenses.
I expect him to fight. I expect him to break.
Instead—
He exhales, slow, controlled.
"More," he says.
My fingers twitch. "What?"
His lips part, and I see the strain in his jaw, the effort it takes for him to stay upright. But his eyes—his eyes—are burning.
"Go further."
I narrow my gaze, my power curling around him like a vice. "You're not supposed to want this."
Miras lets out a breathless laugh. "You think you're proving something? That hurting me makes you feel nothing?"
I tighten my grip, pressing into him with enough force to make his legs shake.
He should collapse.
He should beg me to stop.
But he doesn't.
He leans into it.
My heart slams against my ribs.
Miras lets out a ragged breath, voice hoarse but steady. "Go on, Cherish. Break me."
I shove harder, my power flooding into every nerve in his body.
His knees buckle for a second, but he catches himself, his breathing rough, his skin flushed. His lips part slightly, as if he's caught between pain and something else entirely.
And then—he smiles.
My stomach flips.
Because for the first time, I feel unsteady.
For the first time, I don't know what I want.
Miras watches me, his voice soft but certain. "I told you." He exhales sharply, still feeling the weight of my power. "You're not empty."
I let go, shoving him back with the last pulse of my energy. He stumbles but doesn't fall, bracing himself against the wall. His chest rises and falls in sharp, uneven breaths, but he looks at me like he's won.
My hands shake.
I curl them into fists.
"I don't feel anything," I lie.
Miras wipes a streak of blood from his lip where he must've bitten down too hard. He takes a slow step toward me, and I don't move.
"You keep telling yourself that," he murmurs.
Then he walks past me, leaving me standing there, my pulse hammering against the silence.
I slam the door shut behind me, the tension in my chest refusing to ease. The last thing I wanted today was another round with Miras, but here I am—back at the tower, and guess who's standing in the hallway, as if he's been waiting for me the entire time.
His eyes meet mine, calm, unfazed, but there's something darker beneath that calm. He hasn't left. He never does.
I stare at him for a moment, and he watches me back, the silence between us thick, charged.
I want to ask him why he's here, why he never stops, but I already know the answer. He's here because he's always here—whether I want him to be or not.
His gaze flickers down to my hands, still trembling slightly from earlier. I can feel the weight of it—the power that almost broke him.
"I'm not in the mood for your games, Miras," I mutter, stepping past him, trying to ignore the pull that he has on me. The one that never seems to go away.
But he doesn't move out of my way. Instead, his hand shoots out, catching my wrist in a firm grip, stopping me cold.
His eyes darken as he pulls me around to face him.
"I am."
His words echo in the space between us, hanging thick with unspoken meaning. The grip on my wrist tightens, not painful, but enough to make it clear that he's not letting me go.
I should pull away. I should shove him off me and make it clear that I'm not interested in whatever game he's playing. But I don't. I can't. His presence is like a pull I can't seem to resist, even when every part of me screams to push him away.
"Miras," I growl, my voice low and dangerous. "Don't do this. Not tonight."
He tilts his head slightly, as though considering me. "What are you going to do, Cherish? Hurt me again?" He lets out a breath, a strange mix of amusement and something darker. "I know you can. But that's not what you want, is it?"
I jerk my wrist in his grip, trying to break free, but he holds firm. "You don't know anything about me."
He smiles, but it's not kind. It's knowing, the kind of smile that always feels like he's a step ahead, reading me like an open book. "I know you better than you know yourself, Cherish."
The words hit like a blow.
"You're nothing like me," I spit, my heart pounding. "You're just broken. You don't know what it's like to feel nothing."
His eyes flash with something fierce, something I can't name. He leans closer, his breath hot against my skin, and I can feel the weight of him pressing in. "You're wrong. I know exactly what it's like."
My chest tightens. "You don't know what it's like to be trapped inside your own mind. To want to scream but not even know who you are anymore."
His grip loosens just enough for me to pull my wrist free, but I don't move. Not yet. I don't want to move. I want to prove him wrong. I want him to feel the way I feel—empty, lost, like I'm made of glass.
"I don't care what you think you know," I snap, my voice rising. "You don't get to tell me what I feel."
He looks at me, and for a moment, it's like we're two different worlds, separated by the distance in the space between us. But then he reaches out, slowly, almost gently, and touches my cheek. His touch is like fire, hot and electric, and for a moment, I feel everything. The sharp sting of the burn lingers, but it doesn't push me away. Instead, it pulls something deep inside of me, something I didn't want to feel.
I flinch at the unexpected tenderness, my breath catching in my throat. I hate that he's able to reach me, that even now, with all the walls I've built, he can still get inside.
"Miras," I rasp, my voice barely a whisper as I turn my head slightly, trying to break his gaze. "Don't do this. You don't get to touch me like that."
But his hand doesn't leave my cheek. Instead, his thumb brushes over my skin, softly, as if trying to memorize the way I feel. The sensation sends an involuntary shiver down my spine, and I hate myself for it.
"Stop," I whisper, but my voice shakes, betraying me. "Please… just stop."
But Miras doesn't stop. He steps forward again, closing the distance between us. His hand reaches for mine. I push him away with the full force of my power, and this time, he stumbles back, just a step. But he doesn't flinch. He doesn't try to stop me.
"Go ahead," he says, his voice low, raw. "Push me away. But you won't break me, Cherish. Not like you think you can."
I turn away, my back to him, my heart pounding in my chest. He's not touching me—ever again.
The hallway feels suffocating, the air thick with everything left unsaid between us. I don't look back at him as I force my feet forward, my body still thrumming with the aftermath of his touch, his words.
I make it all the way to the stairwell before another voice cuts through the tension still wrapped around my spine.
"Are you serious right now?"
I don't have to turn around to know who it is. Imani's voice carries the same weight it always does—sharp, unyielding, impossible to ignore.
I sigh, pressing my fingers to my temple. "If this is about Miras, I don't want to hear it."
"Oh, trust me, this isn't about Miras," he says, stepping into my path like he's been waiting for this moment. "This is about you acting like none of this matters."
I frown, my irritation flaring. "What are you talking about?"
Imani crosses his arms, his gaze cutting through me like a blade. "Your grades, Cherish. Your complete lack of effort at school. You think I haven't noticed?"
I laugh dryly, shaking my head. "Is this really the time for this conversation?"
"Yes, because I'm sick of watching you throw everything away," he snaps. "You can't just punch your way out of life, no matter how much power you have. And you sure as hell can't keep acting like school doesn't matter just because you don't feel like trying."
My jaw tightens. "I have bigger things to worry about."
"Right, because running yourself into the ground is such a great alternative?" Imani steps closer, his voice lowering, but the frustration is still there. "You're not invincible, Cherish. You can't keep doing this to yourself."
I clench my fists, that same anger rising in my chest, clawing at my ribs. "You don't get it," I mutter. "None of you do."
"Then make me understand."
I look at him, really look at him. Imani doesn't back down, doesn't waver, and that makes it worse. He's always there, always watching, always waiting for me to let my guard down.
I don't want to let my guard down.
I want everyone to shut up.
The energy surges inside me before I can stop it. I barely register the lights flickering overhead, the building humming with static, and then—
The entire tower goes dark.
Silence.
And then—laughter.
I whip around just in time to see Dewey leaning against the wall, arms crossed, grinning like I just made his entire week.
"Oh, that was beautiful," he cackles. "Truly. The dramatics? Chef's kiss."
Imani glares at me through the dim emergency lighting, his expression unreadable, but I can feel the anger radiating off of her in waves.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" he hisses.
I shrug, letting the last bits of energy fade from my fingertips. "Guess I just didn't feel like talking anymore."
Dewey snorts. "I think I love you."
Imani exhales slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I am going to kill you."
"Get in line," I mutter.
The emergency systems hum back to life around us, but the damage is done. The tower is still running, but the energy system is fried, and it's going to take a while to fix.
The tower hums back to life in stages—first the emergency lighting, then a distant, low-powered generator kicking in somewhere below us.
I swallow hard, ignoring the burn in my throat. "I'll fix it," I mutter, even though I have no idea how.
"You'll fix it?" Imani repeats, incredulous. "Do you even know what you did?"
Dewey lets out a low whistle, stepping away from the wall and strolling toward the center of the hallway like he's surveying a work of art. "Oh, she knows. She just doesn't care." He turns to me with a smirk, hands in his pockets. "And honestly? Kinda respect it."
Imani shoots him a look so sharp it could cut steel. "Do not encourage her."
Dewey raises his hands in surrender but doesn't wipe the grin off his face. "What? I'm just saying, if we're going down, might as well go down in style."
I roll my eyes. "We're not going down. The tower still has power, it's just—" I gesture vaguely, trying to suppress the guilt curling in my stomach. "—weaker."
Imani presses his fingers to his temple, exhaling through his nose. "Unbelievable."
I shift on my feet, the heat of his disappointment settling uncomfortably in my chest. I don't want to care, but I do. I hate that I do.
Before I can figure out what to say, a voice crackles through the tower's comm system, distorted but unmistakably irritated.
"What the hell just happened?"
Miras.
I close my eyes briefly, bracing myself. Of course he'd notice. Of course he'd call the second something felt off.
Dewey snickers under his breath, leaning toward me like we're sharing a secret. "Ooooh, you're in trouble."
I elbow him without looking. "Shut up."
Imani, ever the responsible one, taps the communicator clipped to his jacket. "We lost main power for about thirty seconds," he says, voice clipped. "Backup systems are running, but the damage—" He cuts a sharp look at me. "—hasn't been assessed yet."
There's a pause. Then, Miras's voice, low and edged with barely contained frustration: "Where's Cherish?"
Dewey lets out a delighted little gasp, like this is the best drama he's ever witnessed.
Imani doesn't even hesitate before replying, "Right here."
Silence.
Then: "Tell her to stay put. I'm coming up."
The comm clicks off.
Dewey lets out a low, appreciative whistle. "Oof. That sounded serious." He looks at me with an almost admiring gleam in his eyes. "Man, you really know how to keep things interesting."
I let my head fall back against the wall, exhaling slowly. The weight in my chest doesn't lift.
Stay put. Like I'm some reckless kid who needs supervision. Like I don't already know what I did.
I turn on my heel without another word, my heart hammering as I force myself to walk, not run. Imani shifts slightly like he might stop me, but I cut him a glare so sharp it should split him in two.
"Don't," I warn, my voice steady, even though everything inside me is anything but.
Imani hesitates. I see it—the indecision, the part of him that wants to be the responsible one, the part that knows Miras told him to make sure I stay put.
And then there's the other part. The part that knows better than to get between me and an exit when I don't want to be here.
I push past him, ignoring the way he stiffens behind me.
"Cherish."
I don't stop.
His voice darkens. "Cherish."
I keep walking.
"You walk out that door—"
I do more than just walk out the door. My fingers land on the handle of my father's closest lamborghini and squeeze. A flick of a finger is all I need to override the cars lock. Jumpstarting the car isn't much harder. A wave of electricity rocks through the vehicle, the engine roaring from the sheer will of my mind.
"Cherish Amora Battle—" Imani is yelling, low and threatening. But I don't hear whatever punishment he's threatening me with. Because the garage door opens with a simple twitch of my head. And I'm gone before he can do anything.
The city stretches out beneath me, a sea of lights and movement that feels a thousand miles away. I sit on the ledge, boots scuffing against the concrete, the wind tugging at my hair. It's cold, sharp against my skin, but I don't move. I just breathe. Testing and feeling the power that radiates at my fingertips.
But of course, Miras doesn't believe in giving me space.
His footsteps are steady, unhurried. He's making a point—he's not rushing, not chasing, because he already knows how this ends.
I don't bother turning around. "Took you long enough."
"Get away from the edge."
I roll my eyes. "I'm not gonna jump."
"That's not the point."
His voice is tight, sharp. He's worried, but instead of saying that, he's going to try and force me to do what he wants. Like always.
I hear the shift in his stance, feel the familiar weight of his power pressing in as he reaches for me.
No.
I grab hold of his own energy and shove it back at him, twisting the pull of gravity against him instead of me. The air thickens, pressing him down.
Miras lets out a sharp breath as he drops to one knee, catching himself before he faceplants. "Really?"
I don't answer. I just press harder. A part of me knows this is petty, but another part of me doesn't care. He doesn't get to control me. Not this time.
The second I let up, he lunges. His arms lock around my waist before I can twist away, and suddenly, my feet leave the ground. I barely get out half a curse before he yanks me off the ledge and hauls me over his shoulder like I'm nothing.
Pain flares through my ribs at the impact, knocking the breath from my lungs.
"What the hell—"
Miras grunts as he shifts my weight. "You can throw a fit later."
I slam my elbow into his back. He doesn't let go.
"Miras, put me down—"
"Not a chance." His voice is strained, like he's actually struggling to carry me. "What do they feed you?"
I jab him harder. "Drop me and find out."
I reach for my power and drag it down on him like a crushing weight.
Miras stumbles, his grip tightening as he lets out a sharp, strangled breath. His back arches under the force, muscles locking.
"Cherish—" His voice is tight, like the air's been knocked out of him. "Stop—"
I don't.
I press harder, making him feel like he's carrying twice—three times—my weight, like I'm snapping his spine in half.
Miras grits his teeth, muscles trembling as he keeps moving. His breathing turns rough, strained, but he doesn't let go.
"Damn—stubborn—" He staggers, but instead of dropping me, he adjusts his grip and hauls me tighter against him. "You are—going in the damn car."
I twist, trying to break free. "Then put me down—"
"Not a chance." His voice is ragged, but he keeps going, every step looking like it's killing him.
I push my power even harder. Miras lets out a sharp grunt, his back nearly bowing.
For a second, I think he might actually collapse.
Then he growls under his breath and, in a final surge of strength, lurches forward and throws me into the passenger seat of the car.
The second I hit the seat, the pressure vanishes. Miras stumbles back, bracing himself against the door, breathing hard.
I glare at him, chest heaving. "You're such a—"
"Yeah," he cuts in, rolling his shoulders like he's trying to shake off the lingering pain. "Next time, just walk to the car."
I can't help but laugh, even as I'm seething. "You really think I'm just going to walk like a good little soldier, huh?" My hands curl into fists, but the anger's fading, replaced by the sharp, heady rush of my power, the little crackle of energy still humming in my veins. I hate that he won. That he always does.
Miras, still breathing heavily, gives me a look that mixes annoyance and something else. Worry, maybe. The intensity in his eyes burns through the edges of his frustration. "You're damn lucky I'm not throwing you into the trunk."
I stare at him for a moment, letting the silence stretch between us like a tug-of-war. My fingers itch, but I let them rest on my lap. Just breathe, Cherish.
Finally, I nod, but my lips curl into a smirk. "You know, for a guy who claims to hate me controlling him, you really don't mind carrying me around like baggage."
Miras rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitches. "You're a hell of a lot heavier than you look."
I shoot him a challenging glance. "Maybe you should've dropped me sooner, then."
He shuts the door harder than necessary and slides into the driver's seat. "You want to keep arguing? Fine. But you're doing it in the car."
I cross my arms, still fuming, but the slightest flicker of amusement slips through me. "Just drive, Miras."
The engine hums beneath us as the car roars to life, and Miras doesn't waste any time, his hands gripping the wheel with a determined sort of finality. I can feel the tension in the air between us, thick like a storm waiting to break.
I can feel it building, the power stirring inside me. I could take control, like I always do—make him see things my way. No more being dragged around.
Before I can stop myself, my hand shoots out, and with barely a thought, I seize the car's momentum, the power flowing from me, sinking into the gears, into the engine. The car jerks, the wheel turns with a mind of its own as the engine revs under my control.
"You're kidding," Miras mutters under his breath, but I can hear the edge of frustration in his voice. "Cherish, stop."
I tilt my head, fighting the smirk tugging at the corner of my lips. "Oh, I'm just making sure we don't crash. Don't worry, I've got this."
The car swerves to the left as I adjust the speed, pushing it just enough to make him grip the wheel tighter, his knuckles whitening. His gaze flicks between the road and me, the tension crackling like static.
"Don't push it, Cherish," he warns, voice tight. "You think you can control everything? Not this time."
I feel his resistance, but I push forward, leaning into the power with the slightest flick of my wrist. The wheel spins under my command, and we veer off-course for a moment before I yank it back, forcing him to steer back on track.
Miras grunts, clearly not expecting this. "You really want to do this now?"
I tilt my chin, pushing even more, feeling the car's vibrations as it accelerates. "If you want me to stop, you have to admit I'm right."
His jaw tightens, but there's a quiet laugh—like he can't believe I'm actually pulling this stunt. But then the laugh dies when I take the car into a sharp turn, throwing us both against the seats. "Stop it!" He shouts now, gripping the wheel with both hands.
I lean back, not bothering to apologize. "I just wanted to prove a point, Miras."
He's breathing harder now, like he's holding back some part of himself that's begging to just take control and wrestle the car back from me.
He turns his head slightly, catching my eyes. His voice is low, but steady. "You're playing with fire, Cherish. I won't let you burn us both."
I pause, my grip loosening on the car's energy just a fraction, the power flickering out like a flame nearly snuffed. There's a long, tense moment where I can feel his restraint, feel the way he's holding himself back from just ripping control away from me. But instead, he takes a breath, glancing at me.
"You're dangerous when you do this," he says quietly, no longer angry—just exhausted.
I wait until everyone else is settled, the quiet of the tower stretching around us like a heavy blanket. The tension hasn't fully dissipated, and it's starting to grate at me, itching beneath my skin. Miras is in the corner of the room, pretending to look busy, but I can tell he's just trying to ignore me.
I can feel the residual strain in my hands, the lingering weight of what I did to him. My mind drifts to that moment—the sharp way he had buckled beneath the pressure, the way his spine had nearly snapped under my force.
I take a slow breath, pushing past the gnawing feeling of guilt, because this isn't about that. It's about making sure I didn't hurt him worse than I already have.
I cross the room toward him, trying to seem casual, like I'm not making a conscious decision to check on him. His eyes flick toward me, the slightest narrowing of his gaze as I draw near, but he doesn't move.
"What do you want?" His voice is stiff, but there's a thread of wariness woven through it.
I fold my arms, standing a few feet away, my gaze dropping to the floor before meeting his. "You're still sore, aren't you?"
Miras looks at me for a long second, his jaw tightening. He knows what I'm doing. He's always known me better than I know myself, but this time, I'm not looking for him to let me off the hook. I'm just making sure he understands: this isn't about care. This is about curiosity—a way to keep the distance between us.
"I'm fine," he says, voice clipped, refusing to give me the satisfaction of concern. "Didn't ask you to check on me."
I nod, deliberately slow, before stepping forward. "You might not have asked, but I don't want you breaking something important."
I wait a beat, making sure he can feel the weight of my words, before I add, "Not that I care what happens to you. I just need to know you're not going to drop dead the next time you try to pick up something heavier than a pencil."
Miras stares at me, an unreadable expression flickering across his face. He's not fooled, but he's not biting either. His hands clench at his sides, but he doesn't move away, doesn't pull back. He's letting me do this. Letting me have my moment of control—just like he always does.
I step closer, my fingers brushing lightly over his back, feeling the tightness in his muscles, the subtle wince in his posture as I press against his spine. It's not as bad as I thought, but there's still too much strain. Too much lingering pressure.
"Good to know you're holding up," I murmur, feeling the stiffness in the way his body reacts. "But you're still in pain."
"I said I'm fine," Miras growls, stepping away from me, distancing himself physically.
I raise an eyebrow, watching him go, my voice low. "Right. Fine. Sure."
He doesn't turn around. Doesn't have to. The message is clear enough.
The morning is cold, but the warmth of the sun is enough to make the world feel a little less oppressive. The halls are crowded as I make my way to class, the usual hum of voices and lockers slamming reverberating in the air. I'm just trying to keep my head down, trying to get through the day without anything more breaking.
Miras is standing at the edge of the courtyard, his back stiff, his posture too tense. He's talking to a group of guys, their faces twisted into sneers, laughing like they're just passing time. It doesn't take long for me to realize they're not joking anymore. The laughter dies off, replaced by shoving, quick gestures too fast to be anything friendly.
I don't move at first. I don't want to move, but my body refuses to just stand there. Something in me burns, a sharp pang of annoyance.
Miras is standing at the edge of the courtyard, his back stiff, his posture too tense. He's talking to a group of guys, their faces twisted into sneers, laughing like they're just passing time. It doesn't take long for me to realize they're not joking anymore. The laughter dies off, replaced by shoving, quick gestures too fast to be anything friendly.
I don't move at first. I don't want to move, but my body refuses to just stand there. Something in me burns, a sharp pang of annoyance. I see Miras's jaw clench as he shifts again, and I can tell he's trying to act unaffected—like none of this matters, like the pain is just a little bump in the road for him. But it's too much. It's obvious. He's struggling, and if they keep pushing, I can see it breaking him even more.
My power hums beneath my skin, the pull of it a current, crackling and ready. My fingers twitch, and I let it spill out—quietly, carefully. I don't need to move. I don't need to get closer. The energy swirls around me like a storm cloud, gathering, forming in the air, circling, ready to strike.
From where I stand, I shift the weight beneath their feet—just enough to make them lose their balance, just enough to unsettle them.
The first guy stumbles, his foot slipping as if the ground itself suddenly gave way beneath him. He lurches forward, a surprised yelp escaping his mouth. The others around him look confused, some stumbling back to catch themselves, but they don't understand what's happening. They don't feel the pressure like I do.
I turn my attention to the next one. He steps forward, chest puffed up, eyes narrowing at Miras like he's about to take a swing. But the air shifts around him, and his knees buckle, throwing him sideways, knocking him off balance. He looks down at his legs, utterly confused.
And that's when Miras looks up, his eyes scanning the group. They're all off-kilter now, disoriented, but still trying to act tough. He doesn't miss the strange movements, the way the guys stagger like they've been caught in some invisible current.
I don't even need to see his face to know he's figured it out.
He's smart enough to know.
He turns his head slowly, his gaze locking on me across the courtyard, his eyes narrowing in that familiar, intense way. The corner of his mouth twitches, but it's not amusement. It's something darker, something I can't quite place. His body stiffens, and for a split second, it's like he's caught between two choices—stay silent, or call me out.
I don't wait for him to say anything. I don't need him to.
I shift again, just a flick of energy toward the last guy in the group. He's the biggest, the one who's been egging Miras on the most, and when his feet slide out from under him, he lands hard, on his ass, with a grunt of pain.
I keep it subtle. No explosions, no wild bursts. Just enough to make them question everything. To make them wonder what just happened.
Miras, however, isn't fooled.
He pushes off from the group, taking a few careful steps toward me, his eyes locked on mine. "Really?" His voice is low, but the edge of irritation in it is clear. "I thought we were past this."
The guys behind him are still recovering, confused and annoyed, trying to gather their bearings. One of them mutters something about bad luck, but they know better than to press it. They scatter, leaving Miras and me alone in the middle of the courtyard.
Miras doesn't say anything else at first. He just watches me, his posture stiff, his expression unreadable. He knows what I did. And he knows exactly why I did it.
"Cherish," he says finally, his voice quiet but firm. "Cut it out."
I raise an eyebrow, folding my arms across my chest. "I'm not the one who needs to learn a lesson here, Miras. You're the one letting them push you around."
I watch him walk away, the tension in his back still too obvious, still too present. The silence between us stretches like a rope about to snap, and I know I'm not going to let it go. Not this time.
I take a step forward, my boots tapping against the pavement as I close the distance between us, my voice sharp in the air. "Miras."
He doesn't stop, doesn't even glance over his shoulder. But his jaw clenches, the only sign that he's heard me. It's the way he holds himself—stiff, like he's bracing for something he knows is coming but doesn't want to face.
"Miras," I repeat, my pace quickening to match his.
He sighs, almost inaudible, but I can hear it. It's exasperation, irritation, maybe even something else. He knows exactly what this is about.
"Not now, Cherish," he mutters, his voice low, strained, like he's trying to make it a command instead of a plea.
"You were defending me."
He freezes for just a moment, his shoulders stiffening, but then he keeps walking, as if he's trying to move past it. But he doesn't get far before I push again.
"Why?" I demand, more forceful this time, "Why the hell would you do that?"
He stops abruptly, his whole body stiffening under the weight of my question, and for a second, I think he's going to walk away, but instead, he turns to face me. His eyes are darker than usual, his gaze intense, not with anger but with something else—something I can't quite place.
"Because," he starts slowly, his voice tight, "Someone had to. Don't," he says, the word rough. "I don't need you to understand. I just—" His voice falters for a moment, but he forces it out anyway. "I just wanted to make sure you're okay. That's all. That's the only reason I did it."
The rooftop was quiet, the city humming beneath us in flickering neon and distant sirens. Miras stood at the edge, arms crossed, his back to me, shoulders tight with thought.
"You're brooding again," I teased, stepping closer.
Miras didn't turn, just exhaled. "I'm thinking."
I reached out—not physically, but with something else. Letting the energy slip from me like unseen tendrils, featherlight, drifting toward him.
I didn't even touch him. Not really. But the moment it brushed against his skin—just the faintest ghost of a touch—he tensed. His breath caught, shoulders locking.
Oh, that was interesting.
"What's wrong?" I asked, tilting my head.
His hands flexed against his biceps, fingers curling like he was resisting the urge to move. "Cherish." His voice was lower, rougher than before.
I grinned. "Yes?"
Another whisper-light pass of energy, barely there against his forearm, the side of his neck. I felt the heat of him even from here, the way his body reacted before his mind caught up.
His breathing shifted. Slower now, heavier—controlled, but just barely.
"You—" He swallowed, like he was fighting for the right words, like he wasn't sure if he wanted to stop me or let me keep going.
I let the energy slide down his spine, trace across his collarbone.
Then he moved.
Before I could blink, he turned, his fingers wrapping around my wrist, firm, steady, grounding. His eyes locked onto mine—dark, intense, burning with something he hadn't quite let loose.
"Do you think this is a good idea?" His voice was low, even, but there was something else underneath.
Heat curled low in my stomach. He was close. Closer than I'd expected. His grip wasn't rough, but it wasn't soft either. Just firm enough to remind me that he could stop this. That he would, if I pushed too far.
But I wasn't afraid of pushing.
"You tell me," I murmured, watching the way his jaw tightened, the way his fingers didn't loosen around my wrist.
The air between us crackled, heavy with something unspoken, something sharp-edged and humming. He held himself too still, too controlled. Like he was waiting for something.
I smiled. "I think I do."
For a second, neither of us moved.
Then, slowly, deliberately, Miras released my wrist. His fingers dragged away like he was forcing himself to let go, like some part of him wanted to hold on. His gaze didn't waver.
"Careful," he warned, voice softer this time, but no less intense. "You don't know what you're playing with."
I met his stare, let the energy pulse just once—warm, lingering, a promise—before I finally pulled it back.
Oh, I knew exactly what I was playing with.
And so did he.
For a second, neither of us spoke.
Then, just when I thought he might break the silence, he did what he always did.
He took a step back.
Not far. But enough.
Enough to remind me that Miras was still Miras—cautious, careful, the one who always stopped just short of crossing the line.
His eyes flickered over my face, unreadable, though I swore I caught the smallest ghost of something still smoldering beneath the surface.
I arched a brow. "That's it?"
The corner of his mouth twitched, but he didn't take the bait. "We should go inside."
I scoffed. "Coward."
Miras huffed out something that could've been a laugh, shaking his head as he ran a hand through his hair. "Not cowardice. Common sense."
"Same thing."
We were mid-mission—another raid, another desperate attempt to stay ahead of the underground—when everything went to hell.
Miras had gone ahead, clearing the path with sharp precision, movements efficient and controlled as always. But the moment I stepped into the corridor, I felt it.
A shift.
Something wrong.
Too late.
The explosion ripped through the air, a blinding flash of heat and sound.
I barely had time to react before I was thrown back, my body colliding with something hard. Pain exploded through me, but I didn't have time to process it, not when smoke was clouding my vision, not when I could hear shouting—
Miras.
I tried to push myself up, but my limbs weren't cooperating, my body sluggish and unresponsive. Panic crawled up my throat, but I swallowed it down, blinking hard through the haze.
"Miras—" My voice came out raw, barely above a whisper.
Then, through the smoke, I saw him.
Staggering, bleeding, but standing.
His eyes locked onto mine, and something in his face shifted—panic, relief, something else entirely. He moved before I could, dropping to his knees beside me, hands already checking for injuries, his fingers pressing against my skin like he needed to feel for himself that I was still here.
"Cherish." His voice was tight, strained. "Are you—"
"I'm fine." I wasn't.
His jaw clenched. He didn't believe me.
"Can you move?" His hands hovered, like he was ready to pull me up himself if I couldn't.
I forced a nod, even though everything hurt, even though my vision swam when I tried to shift. "Yeah."
Miras exhaled sharply. Then, without warning, he scooped me up—strong, steady, like I didn't weigh anything at all.
"Miras—"
"Not arguing," he muttered. His grip tightened, his pulse thrumming beneath my hand where it rested against his chest. "We're getting out of here."
I didn't argue. Not this time.
Because for the first time in weeks, he wasn't holding back.
Miras carried me through the ruined corridor, his arms locked around me like he thought I'd disappear if he let go. The acrid scent of smoke and scorched metal burned my nose, and somewhere in the distance, I could hear the telltale sounds of reinforcements arriving. We were running out of time.
I shifted against his chest, trying to get my feet under me. "Miras, put me down. I can run."
He ignored me, grip tightening. "Not happening."
"I'm not helpless."
"You're hurt." His voice was low, edged with something sharp. Not just concern—something deeper, something raw.
I opened my mouth to argue, but then I caught the way his jaw clenched, the tension in his arms, the way his pulse was hammering beneath his skin. He wasn't just carrying me because I was injured.
He was afraid.
I fell silent.
The smoke was thick, curling around us in long, reaching fingers as he moved. I could feel the heat of the explosion still lingering in the air, in the way the walls crackled with dying embers.
We needed to get out. Now.
Miras didn't slow, navigating the wreckage with practiced efficiency. I let my head rest against his shoulder, just for a moment, just long enough to catch my breath. My body ached, but my power was still there, humming beneath my skin, waiting.
The underground had set this up. A trap.
And we had walked straight into it.
The distant shouts grew louder. More footsteps. More movement. We weren't alone.
Miras tensed, shifting me in his grip as he pressed his back against the nearest wall. I could feel the way his breathing changed, controlled, steady, the way his mind was already calculating every possible move.
I lifted my head. "Miras—"
He silenced me with a look.
And then, without warning, he moved.
Fast.
He surged forward, ducking low as a round of gunfire ripped through the air. The bullets ricocheted off the metal walls, and I felt Miras shift, adjusting his hold on me as he pushed forward, weaving through the wreckage like it was second nature.
"Imani," he barked into his comm, voice tight. "We need an exit. Now."
Static. Then—
"Working on it," Imani's voice crackled back. "But you've got company."
Miras cursed under his breath.
I pressed my palm against his chest. "Put me down."
"No."
"Miras, I can fight."
He shot me a look, dark and unreadable. "Not a chance in hell."
Before I could argue, more figures emerged from the smoke, rifles raised. Miras turned sharply, shielding me with his body as he reached for his own weapon.
But I was faster.
I let my power slip free.
The energy pulsed outward, a shockwave of force rippling through the air, knocking the guards off their feet. Their weapons clattered to the ground as they hit the walls, groaning. The lights flickered overhead.
Miras exhaled sharply. "Cherish—"
"I told you," I murmured, my fingers still curled against his shirt. "I can fight."
His gaze flickered, just for a second, before he nodded. Then, finally, he set me down, steadying me as my legs adjusted.
More footsteps. More voices.
We weren't done yet.
I don't remember falling asleep. My chest is tight. My skin is damp. My right hand twitches where it lies against the sheets, weak, aching, useless.
It takes me a second to realize I'm not there anymore.
I stare up at the ceiling, forcing myself to breathe, but the dream lingers like smoke, curling at the edges of my mind, sinking into my skin.
It was the same as before. The same dream I used to have when I was still half-broken, still someone else.
Pain.
I squeeze my eyes shut, shoving the memory back down where it belongs.
I am not that person anymore.
I push myself up, swallowing against the nausea that rises in my throat. My body feels heavy, like something is trying to drag me back under.
I hate this.
I hate that even after everything, after waking up and becoming this, the old parts of me are still there, waiting, creeping in when I least expect it.
I don't want them back.
I don't want to be her again.
I'm not Cherish. She's dead.
She died in that battle, buried beneath the wreckage of everything she used to be. I'm just in her body, wearing her face, walking in the footsteps she left behind.
Her nightmares have no place in my mind.
And yet—
I can still feel it. The cold metal under my spine. The weight pressing against my chest, crushing the air from my lungs. The voice, whispering in my ear, coaxing me, shaping me, breaking me apart and putting me back together in ways I never asked for.
My hand clenches into the sheets. My right one barely responds.
The anger comes fast, sharp and hot, burning under my skin. I hate this. I hate that no matter how much I fight, no matter how far I run, she's still there, lurking in the cracks of my mind. I thought I killed her. I thought I left her behind.
Why is she still here?
The room feels too small. Too quiet. The walls press in, the echoes of the dream crawling up my throat, making it hard to swallow.
I need to move.
I sit in the dark long after Miras has fallen asleep.
The weight of the nightmare still lingers, but something else has taken root now, curling around my ribs, digging in deep.
Miras.
He's the reason this is happening.
I didn't have these dreams before—not like this. Not so vivid, not so real. I woke up a new person, didn't I? Someone stronger. Someone untouched by who I used to be. I was supposed to be free.
But then he happened.
Slowly, without me even realizing, he started pulling me closer. Offering his presence, his voice, his hands steadying me when I faltered. He made space for me in his world, like I belonged there. Like she belonged there.
And now she's creeping back in.
He makes it too easy.
Too easy to fall into his orbit. Too easy to trust that he'll catch me before I break. Too easy to forget who I am now.
I refuse to let him pull her back to the surface.
I refuse to let him be the reason I lose control.
Slowly, carefully, I shift onto my side, letting my fingers trail lightly over his wrist, up his forearm. His skin is warm beneath my touch, the muscles there tensing even in sleep. He's always ready, always alert, even when he doesn't realize it.
I smirk. Good.
He doesn't get to dictate what I become.
I lean in, my breath ghosting against his jaw as I whisper, "Wake up."
Miras tenses, his breathing changing instantly. A second later, his eyes snap open, dark and sharp, locking onto mine.
He doesn't move.
Neither do I.
For a moment, there's only silence, thick and charged. The space between us is practically humming.
Then, finally, I speak.
"I think I figured it out." My voice is low, deliberate.
His gaze flickers, guarded. "Figured what out?"
"Why she's coming back."
Something shifts in his expression, a shadow passing through his eyes.
I drag my fingers higher, up the side of his neck, feeling the pulse beneath my touch. It jumps. Just slightly.
"It's you."
Miras doesn't react—not outwardly. But I see the way his jaw tightens, the way his breathing slows, controlled.
I tilt my head, my lips barely an inch from his. "You're the reason."
Still, he says nothing. But he doesn't stop me, either.
I press my advantage, shifting just a little closer. "You keep looking at me like I'm her. Talking to me like I'm her. Treating me like I'm her." I let my nails scrape lightly against his skin. "But I'm not."
His fingers twitch where they rest against the sheets, and for a split second, I think he might reach for me.
He doesn't.
Instead, his voice comes quiet, rough. "Then prove it."
I freeze.
The words are like a spark to dry tinder, igniting something deep in my chest. A challenge. A dare.
I smirk, slow and sharp, letting my fingers trail back down, pressing just lightly into his chest.
"Don't worry," I murmur.
"I will."
I slide my hand down his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my fingertips. I trace the muscles there, slow, deliberate, as if marking my territory. His pulse quickens under my touch, but he doesn't move, doesn't pull away. He waits.
But he won't control this. Not tonight.
I let my thumb circle his nipple, just enough to make his breath catch in his throat. He shifts beneath me, but I don't let him stop me. I want him to feel it. I want him to see what I've become.
I'm not her.
I lean in, close enough that my lips hover just above his ear. "You want me to prove it?" I whisper, voice low, like a promise.
His breath hitches, but he doesn't speak.
So I do.
I press my lips to his neck, soft at first, but then harder, firmer, my teeth grazing his skin just enough to make him flinch. The scent of his skin is intoxicating, and I drink it in, relishing the way he stiffens beneath me, fighting the urge to react.
I want to push him. I want to see if he'll break, if he'll give in to the control I've started to take back. I want him to see that I'm stronger than the woman I used to be, the one who was afraid, who needed someone else to hold her together.
But as I move, as I shift my position, I catch the way his hand twitches, like he's finally decided to make a choice.
"Cherish—"
I cut him off by placing my hand against his chest, holding him there. I don't want him to say my name like that, like he's worried about me.
"I'm not asking for your protection," I murmur, pushing his chest back against the bed. "I'm not asking for anything but this—this control. My control."
I can feel his heartbeat beneath my palm, still steady, but now there's a tension in it, a warning. He's holding himself back, waiting for something from me, for a signal that he can trust me, that I won't snap.
But I'm done waiting.
I use my power, just a little, letting the energy slip through me in a controlled surge. His body stiffens, a jolt of surprise running through him as the power ripples between us. I lean down, my lips brushing the edge of his ear again.
"You're not in charge anymore."
The tension crackles in the air, but Miras doesn't fight me. He doesn't say anything. He just looks at me, his eyes dark and intense, searching.
I want him to feel it. To know it. That I'm not her. Not the girl who couldn't fight back, who was so afraid of being alone, of being weak. I'm not her, and I won't let him make me into her again.
I slide my hand up to his throat, gently, just enough to make him feel the pressure, just enough to remind him that I have control here. His pulse jumps beneath my fingertips, but he doesn't move, doesn't resist.
"You think you can protect me, don't you?" I murmur, my voice quiet, a challenge.
He doesn't respond right away. His throat moves as he swallows, the weight of my words sinking in. But his eyes stay locked on mine, watching me. Waiting for me to make my next move.
I tilt my head, a slow smile tugging at my lips. "It's cute. Really. But I don't need it. I don't need you to hold me together."
His breathing slows, like he's measuring me, assessing the way I'm holding myself now. But his hands stay still, not touching me, not trying to change anything. He's waiting for me to crack. For me to go too far.
But I won't.
I lean down, my lips brushing against his neck once more, slow, deliberate. I want him to feel how alive I am, how much power I hold. And then I bite, just enough to sting, not enough to hurt, and his sharp intake of breath is my reward.
I pull back, a soft laugh escaping me. "Did you think I needed saving, Miras?"
His eyes darken, his lips parting slightly as if he's about to speak, but I hold a finger to his mouth, silencing him.
"I don't need saving," I say, my voice cool now, controlled. "I just need you to understand that I'm not her. I'm not the girl who needed you to tell her what to do, who needed you to keep her from breaking. I'm not her."
I slide my hand down his chest, my nails scraping lightly over his skin, feeling the heat radiate from his body.
His breathing hitches when I shift even closer, just enough that he feels the weight of my body pressing against his. He doesn't touch me, doesn't move. But I can feel the restraint in him, like a wall he's trying to hold up, trying to keep his hands off of me, keep the distance.
I want him to let go.
I want him to break.
"You think you can still hold me, still protect me, like I'm that fragile?" My voice is low, dangerous now, filled with a challenge that I know he can't resist. "You think I'm still the girl who couldn't hold her own?"
His hand shifts just slightly, a movement too small to be a real response. But I feel it. His fingers flex, like he's battling himself. Like he's trying to remind me of my place.
But there's no place for her anymore.
I push my energy forward, just a little, sending a shiver through the air that makes the hairs on his neck stand on end. His chest rises and falls faster now, his restraint slipping, just barely.
And then, I kiss him.
It's not soft. Not gentle. It's demanding, fierce, filled with everything I've kept locked away. Everything I've been fighting to reclaim. I bite his lip, just enough to make him hiss, my hands gripping his shoulders like I'm grounding myself in the moment, in the power I feel surging through me.
I can see it in his eyes—the tight control slipping, the effort it takes to hold himself together. His breath is shallow, his body tense under my touch. The power between us is electric, and I know he's trying to stay calm, trying to hold on to whatever version of me he's convinced himself I still am. But it's not working.
I'm not her.
And I can feel the shift in me, in the way my body responds to him. It's not fear anymore. It's hunger.
He's holding his ground, his expression carefully neutral, but I know the truth. I can see it in the flicker of his eyes, in the way his jaw clenches, the way his muscles tremble beneath my touch.
He wants to break.
I smile to myself, slow and knowing.
I know what's happening inside him. He's fighting it, trying to convince himself that he can still hold onto the pieces of me he remembers, the ones that made him feel safe, the ones that made him feel needed.
But I won't let him.
I move closer, pressing my body against his, feeling his heart race beneath my palm. His chest rises and falls faster now, like he's struggling to keep control. I can feel his restraint, feel the tension in every muscle, but I know he's losing.
I place a kiss on his jaw, slow and deliberate, before pulling back just enough to look him in the eye. His gaze flickers down to my lips, and I see the desire flicker in his expression before he locks it down again.
I laugh softly, almost mockingly. "You're scared, aren't you?"
His eyes flash, but he doesn't speak.
He's trembling beneath me now. I feel it in the way his body tenses, the way his breathing comes in short, sharp gasps. He's at his limit. I can see it in the way he's fighting himself.
His hands clench at his sides, his fists tight, but he doesn't touch me. Doesn't try to stop me. He's letting me push him, letting me push him to the very edge.
But I won't stop.
I slip my hand lower, feeling the hardness of his body beneath my touch, his muscles straining against me. He's barely holding on now, and I can see it—the tension in his shoulders, the way his body is trembling, like he's on the brink of shattering.
"I'm not her," I whisper, my voice low and firm, demanding.
And for the first time, I see it—he lets go.
His hands fly to my waist, pulling me closer, his lips crashing against mine, fierce and desperate. The kiss is nothing like the gentle ones we've shared before. This one is raw, hungry, filled with everything we've been holding back. His hands grip me tighter, pulling me against him, and I let him. I let him take me, take control in this moment, because I know it's not about weakness. It's about power.
His hands reach for my shirt at the same time I do. He pulls it off with enough urgency that I think I hear it rip, but it doesn't matter. He's already grabbing me, pulling me back down to him. The heat from our bodies collided together—and I understand it—why she liked having sex with him so much.
My hands reach down to the waistline of his pajama pants, pulling them down with a rough tough. I can tell by the way he's gripping my arms that he's trying to keep me there with him, but I don't allow it. He has to learn.
A gasp leaves his mouth when his arms are pinned down without me having to touch him. I direct the energy inside me, focusing it on his throat, just enough to constrict his airway. I hear a strangled breath, but all it does is ignite the fire inside me.
I don't waste time, my mouth finds his hard on before Miras even has the chance to process what is happening. He resists at first, not for me—not for him—but for the Cherish he still clings too. He doesn't want to force this on her, but it doesn't take long.
"Oh fuck."
His moans are a thousand times more exciting than his strangled gasps. I push past my gag reflex, taking him into my throat. The pressure on his throat isn't doing much to contain his moans anymore. But I dont mind, I want to hear them.
Miras's entire body is rigid beneath me. Fighting between himself and the pleasure I give him.
"Tell me," I say once I pull back, making sure he suffers from the loss of contact. "Who's better? Me, or her?"
Miras merely gasps in response—refusing to give up the answer. But that's just fine, because I'm not ready for this to be over.
I make sure he watches as I take my pants off—slow and purposeful. He watches, he's breathing rigid as I strip away my final piece of clothing. Miras doesn't attempt to hide the way he's eyes scan now my body, taking in every inch of me. He's looking at me like this is the body of the girl he loves. The Cherish who had never been touched by anyone but him.
But she's not here anymore.
I straddle his hips, placing myself just below his stomach. My fingers slide down my stomach, slowly and painfully, moreso for him than for me. But as my fingers find my clit, I moan loudly, making sure my voice echoes the room. Miras's eyes stay locked on me without force, watching as I play with myself the same way he touched Cherish. I can very quickly feel my wetness start to pool onto his stomach. But I don't keep myself there for too long. Just enough.
When I'm dripping with pre-cum, I shift my weight back onto my knees, pushing myself up. I can see my pool off arousal glistening on his stomach from the moonlight, but that's nothing compared to what's about to come.
I don't hesitate, Miras slides in easily, and the two of us share a moan. I release the pressure from his throat, wanting to hear every sound he has to offer. It starts with a couple of small jerks, giving us a chance to get used to the other. But once he's all the way in, I don't hold back. Miras's eyes squeeze shut, attempting to resist as if he could win.
"You might not think this is right," I whisper. "But your body wants it. Sooner or later, you will give in."
"Cherish—"
I push my finger to his lips, ending whatever he is about to say, "don't think about her right now. Cherish gave me control over her body a long time ago. This is what she wants."
A rough bounce on his cock makes him moan. I can feel him twitching, fighting back his own release. But I knew how this would go—as soon as my cunt squeezed around him with my orgasm he would give in.
My hips bucked ruthlessly against him, chasing after my own high. I was steadily approaching it, using Miras's cock as my own personal pleasure toy. He's slowly giving in, the pleasure over riding his brain. We share moans of gasps and breathless curse words. When I feel the last off Miras's resistance slip away, I release the pressure holding down his hands. His hands fly to my hips, gripping me tight enough to leave marks. Using me for stability, Miras bucks up to meet his thrusts with mine, hitting somewhere inside me not previously reach.
"Fuck—Miras." I'm panting hard, not just from riding him, but from this new sensation that is destroying my body. "God—don't stop, don't stop, don't stop, don't stop, don't stop."
Miras's grin his visible, even in the dark. He thrusts become sloppy, reckless, telling me that he's close. But he keeps his attention solely on me.
"Are you going to cum, Cherie?"
I don't say anything about the nickname, I let him have it—this one small win.
"God, yes! I'm so close, I'm so close to cumming it feels so good." I grab onto Miras hand, searching for any kind of stability. He accepts it, squeezing me just as hard as I am him. "Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god."
"You can do it," Miras whispers. "Cum with me."
Miras's hand wraps around my mouth as I fall onto him, muffling my scream that threatens to wake up the entire tower. He lets out a low, primal grunt into my shoulder. My release covers his dick at the same time he shoots inside me. Both of us are gasping, grinding against each other as we collectively help the other ride out our high.
When the last of our orgasm finally settles, Miras pulls me into him. His arm cradles around my shoulder as he holds me against his side. My head is pressed against his chest, and I can hear the frantic rhythm of his heart beat.
"Fucking hell, Cherish." His fingers around me tighten, and I can hear the bitter-sweet in the way he says my name. Like he's still trying to convince himself that's who he just had sex with. "That was amazing."
I don't say anything. I don't know what to say. This whole thing started as me trying to prove to Cherish that she wasn't in control anymore. But I just feel more like her.