[BL] CRAVING HIM: Addicted to His Voice Chapter 10: Hate Me, But Don’t Leave

When I stepped into his room, I froze for a second.

It wasn’t just a room. It looked like an entirely different house on its own. Massive. Expensive. The kind of place where even silence echoed luxury. The maids were still there, quietly re-arranging the scattered ss on the floor, pillows tossed aside, a shattered glass near the minibar, clothes draped like he’d torn through them in frustration. It looked like he had thrown a tantrum before I arrived.

Once the space had been restored to perfection, they slipped away without a sound, leaving alone. Before I stretched a shimring expanse of floor-to-ceiling glass, revealing the city’s twinkling skyline in all its nocturnal glory. It was stunning, almost surreal. But the mont barely lasted. Because that’s when I saw him.

He was seated on the couch, not in a suit, but in sothing expensive, nonetheless loose, designer loungewear that hung perfectly off his fra. He looked more like a mafia boss than soone who claid to be sick. Sitting there, legs spread, arms resting like he owned the world.

And he dared to look perfectly fine.

That’s when it hit , maybe sick didn’t always an the kind you go to a doctor for. Maybe it ant the kind of sickness that gets into your mind. Your soul. The kind of sickness that spreads to the people around you.

"I texted you," he said, his voice cutting through the air.

"I was busy," I replied, not looking at him.

"I called. You didn’t pick up."

I gave the sa reply. "I was busy."

He stood slowly, walking toward with that sa unreadable expression he always wore like a mask. "Doing what?"

I narrowed my eyes. "You know exactly what I do."

He stopped in front of . "You’ve got soone else doing that for you. So why didn’t you answer?"

"Enough of your questions," I said, trying not to yell. "You look perfectly fine. If this is your idea of sick, then I should just go back."

His voice dropped, low and sharp. "Why?"

I stared at him. "Why, what?"

"Why are you ignoring ?"

"I’m not here to play questions and answers with you," I said coldly, turning toward the door. "I’m leaving."

"No," he said, and I could feel the chill behind his tone. "Until I say so, you’re not stepping out of this room. And if you try, they won’t let you."

I turned to him, frustrated, trembling. "What do you want from ? Why do you keep ssing with my life? I’m sorry I crossed paths with you that night, but it’s enough. I’m done with this twisted ga. Stop texting. Stop calling. Let’s end everything here."

He didn’t answer that. Didn’t flinch. Just stared. Then, in that sa quiet voice, he repeated, "Why didn’t you pick up?"

My voice cracked as I snapped. "Because I didn’t want to. Yes, I’m ignoring you. I’m trying to ignore your whole damn existence. I don’t want anything to do with you anymore. Just stay away from ."

I could see he was holding sothing back. Anger. Hurt. Maybe both. His jaw clenched, fists curled slightly, like he was fighting himself. But I didn’t stop. I kept going, stabbing the air with my words.

And then sothing I said must’ve triggered him. He moved suddenly, grabbed by the neck not tightly, but enough to send panic through my chest.

"How dare you talk to like that?" he growled, eyes flashing with sothing dark.

I shouted back, voice cracking, Who the hell are you? I don’t care how much money you have, you’re nothing to , just leave alone.

His lips curled, and the next thing I knew, he was unbuttoning my shirt. "Fine," he said. "I’ll leave you alone. Just do this with . One last ti. I promise, I’ll walk away afterward."

There was sothing broken in his voice, sothing trembling under the surface. Like he wasn’t just trying to win... he was losing.

He wasn’t angry anymore. Just desperate.

Then I thought maybe I should’ve asked why he called here. Maybe I should’ve been gentle instead of lashing out. But I let my anger guide . I let it blind .

He pulled down my shirt, not roughly, but not tenderly either. Like he was in a hurry. Like he needed to touch , rember , before I disappeared for good.

His hands road my skin with strange reverence, like he was morizing every line, every inch, as if this was goodbye. Then his lips t my chest, his mouth closing around my nipple, sucking with a hunger that made gasp.

Pleasure surged through , and for a mont, the anger was gone. The sadness in his eyes was still there, I saw it. But I forced myself not to care. I just wanted it to end and be free.

He stripped both of us down until we were naked. Fully exposed. Flesh against flesh. His eyes raked over , no hesitation, no sha. Just aching, greedy need.

At first, his touch was filled with longing. But then it shifted.

He beca rough. His kisses turned frantic, biting, as if sothing had snapped inside him. Like he rembered every rejection, every wound I gave him, and now he wanted to brand with them.

He kissed like I owed him sothing. Like I belonged to him.

And even in the chaos of his touch, I felt the pain buried beneath his lust. I felt the tears he didn’t want to see. But I ignored them, too.

Because I hated that he still haunted .

Because I hated that part of wanted him just as much as I wanted to be free.

He didn’t say another word.

Just pushed my back, slamd his lips into mine, no warmth, no tenderness. His kiss was a claim, a punishnt. His teeth scraped my lips, biting down hard enough to make gasp into his mouth.

And he didn’t stop.

His body pressed into mine, forcing backwards until the backs of my knees hit the edge of the bed. I fell onto it, and he climbed over , not slowly, not like a lover. Like a storm.

His hands gripped my wrists and pinned them above my head. His weight on was heavy, suffocating, but I didn’t fight it.

Maybe I wanted it or I wanted to feel sothing other than the way he’s ruined my life.

"Is this what you want?" he growled, voice breaking as he ground his hips into mine. "You want to forget , right? I’ll make sure you never do."

I didn’t answer.

My breath hitched as he grabbed the back of my neck and kissed again, rougher, more desperate. Like he was angry, I hadn’t kissed him back. Like he wanted to hurt with pleasure.

His fingers slid between my legs, no teasing, just straight pressure. I gasped again, trying to hold in the moan, but he caught it, eating it from my mouth as his hand moved harder.

"I hate you," I whispered.

He froze for half a second. His breathing is sharp. His eyes were full of pain, and he refused to show. Then he said, "Good. Then hate while I’m inside you."

He flipped over onto my stomach, pulled my hips up, and spat into his palm. No condom. No gentle prep. He was burning from the inside out and using to put the fire out.

I clutched the sheets, my back arching as I felt him enter without warning, hot, thick, too sudden.

I choked on a sound, half-pain, half-need. He didn’t pause. Just gripped my waist tight and slamd into again, then again.

Every thrust was brutal.

Every movent is rough.

His hips snapped forward with a rhythm that felt punishing. He wasn’t making love to . He was breaking into . Like he needed to bury his grief so deep inside it couldn’t claw out again.

Slap. Slap. Slap.

The sound of skin on skin filled the room, filthy and furious. The bed creaked beneath us. My body jolted with every push.

He leaned forward, his chest pressing into my back, one hand wrapping around my throat, not tight, just enough to remind I couldn’t escape. That he didn’t want to.

"I think about you every fucking night," he said through gritted teeth, his breath hot on my ear. "And you ignore like I’m nothing. You want gone? Then take it. Take all of ."

His voice cracked at the end. That’s when I knew, he wasn’t doing this to win.

He was doing this because he’d already lost.

I bit down on the pillow, my body trembling beneath him, the pain dulling and pleasure rising until they beca one. I felt myself getting close, but I didn’t want to let go. I didn’t want to cum for him.

But he reached under, stroked in ti with his thrusts, and I broke.

My release hit like a violent wave hot, shaking, shaful. I let out a cry I didn’t recognize as mine, collapsing into the bed as he kept moving.

Faster. Harder. Angrier.

His rhythm turned wild, sloppy, like he was unraveling, like he didn’t care if it broke both of us.

Then he let out a deep groan, hips slamming into one final ti before he stilled. I felt his pulse inside , burying everything he couldn’t say.

He collapsed on top of , breathing hard, sweat dripping from his skin to mine. And for a long mont, neither of us moved.

I felt the weight of him... and the weight of his silence.

Then, I felt it.

Tears.

Not mine. But his.

They hit my neck, one by one, hot and bitter.

I closed my eyes.

I wanted to hate him.

But all I could feel... was his pain echoing inside and then I heard it.

A low broken voice.

"Hate but please don’t leave ."