Page 70 of The Arbiter
The paradox of my existence is that I would destroy the world to keep my precious little miracle whole. The need to protect her is a roar that drowns out my own cruelty.
She is enchanting. I don't just want her; I want to consume her. Her heart, her soul, her exquisite brain. All of it. I want to eat her from the inside out until there is no Madeline left that isn't also Deimos. Until I am a part of her very biology.
She is everything I have. My purpose. My life. Every organ in my chest, every nerve in my spine, functions only because she allows it. She has all of me and more.
I would give this woman the world on a silver platter; I would commit atrocities if she so much as blinked at me. She is under my skin, inked deeper and more permanently than any of the tattoos on my flesh.
We are made for each other in ways no one else could ever comprehend. It wasn’t some pathetic, poetic "fate." Fate is for the weak. I took this. I took her. And I’ll take more. She is already ruined for me, but it’s not enough. It will never be enough.
Together, we could burn the Elite to the ground. And we will. I can destroy everything they built with the most genius woman in the world by my side. I will own every piece of this city, one by one, and even then, I won’t be satisfied.
Because Madeline lives in my head. She is the only occupant of my mind. Sometimes, in my thoughts, she’s sharply working on my next victim, mapping out the anatomy of my revenge. Sometimes, she’s dancing in lingerie while I watch from the shadows. Sometimes, I’m pulling her hair back just enough to taste those soft lips... and sometimes, I am destroying the absolute shit out of her with my cock until she forgets her own name. I can’t get her out of my head. I don’t even want to. I never will.
She is the light in my darkness, the only thing that makes the blood on my hands feel like it was worth it. She is everything.
The internal roar of my obsession finally snaps. I’ve lived in the back of her mind for too long; now, I’m taking the sunlight. I don't say a word. I don't need to. The air between us is already saturated with the unspoken truth that she is no longer her own.
I reach down and grip her thighs, my fingers digging into the soft skin, and I pull her to the very edge of the oak desk. Her breath hitches, a sharp, broken sound that fuels the fire in my blood even more.
I don't give her a second to adjust. I move closer between her legs, the heat radiating from her body a magnetic force I can no longer resist. When I finally push into her, the sensation is a violent homecoming.
A guttural, primal sound is ripped from my throat as I bury myself deep within her for the first time. It’s not just sex; it’s an invasion. It’s a claim. I want her to feel the weight of every dark thought I've ever had about her.
My hands find hers on the desktop, pinning them down amidst the scattered files and pens. The clatter of plastic against wood is lost under the sound of our breathing. My fingers interlock with hers as I drive into her with a desperate, rhythmic brutality.
I watch her face. I refuse to look away. I want to see every flicker of pleasure, every wince of intensity, every moment she loses herself to me.
Her head falls back against the wood, her back arching as she meets every thrust. She isn't just taking it; she’s no longer fighting back. Her body is surrendering, molding to mine as if she’s been waiting for this collision her entire life.
The rhythm is chaotic, fueled by days of watching her from the dark. Every time I hit the desk, the heavy wood groans under the force of my obsession. Combined weight, a steady, rhythmic thud that echoes through the empty office.
Finally.
The word repeats in my head like a mantra. Finally, I am not a ghost. Finally, she isn't just a vision. I am part of her. I am filling the space where her fear used to live.
I move faster, my breath coming in harsh, ragged stabs, my eyes locked on hers as the world outside this room ceases to exist. There is no Elite, no victims, no Jake.
There is only the friction, the heat, and the soul-shattering realization that I have finally, irrevocably, ruined her for anyone else.
The peak is looming, but I’m holding it back, prolonging the torture of it because I want to memorize every detail of her under me.
I slow down, my movements becoming long, agonizingly deep grinds that make her gasp for air. I need to look at her. Really look at her. In the dim, filtered light of the office, she is a masterpiece of ruin.
Her skin is flushed a deep, feverish pink, and the sweat makes her glow like polished marble. She is small compared to me, so delicate, yet she is holding the full weight of my obsession without breaking.
My hands move from her wrists, sliding down to cup her face, my thumbs tracing the line of her cheekbones. She’s breathtaking. Her hair is a light, tangled web across her mahogany desk, and her lips, bruised and swollen from my kisses, are parted as she fights for breath.
I look at her eyes. They aren't just dark; they are a storm of submission and defiance. I see the intelligence there, the sharp mind that usually categorizes the world, now completely unraveled by the friction of our bodies.
"You look so perfect like this, Mali. Broken on your own work. No white coat to hide behind. No logic to save you."
She reaches up, her fingers digging into my shoulders, her nails drawing thin white lines across my skin. She pulls my facedown to hers, her voice a broken, desperate whisper that hits me harder than any bullet ever could.
"Then don't just watch me, Deimos... Finish it. Take what's yours before I lose my mind."
The way she says my name. Not as a plea, but as a demand, is the final blow to my restraint.
"I’m taking everything, Madeline. Every fucking piece."
