Vicious Hearts: A Dark Enemies To Lovers Mafia Romance

Psychopath.

I feel almost dirty Googling it on my phone, as if even reading the definition, for the reasons I am, is a breach of trust or a betrayal of some kind.

But I have to know. I have to know what he truly is. I mean the word has been bandied about alongside his name countless times—that was clear even before I did some digging into him in preparation for setting foot in Club Venom. He was described once as “the sort of man who wants to watch the world burn because he enjoys the smell of the smoke.”

But that would make Cillian more an agent of chaos or anarchy. And he’s not. He’s meticulously precise. Neat. Ordered. I think it might be less that he’d watch the world burn just to smell the smoke, and more “he’d watch the world burn because it wronged him.”

Or me.

I shiver, replaying the calm look in his eyes that night he came home so late with that fake Super Bowl ring that I’ve since thrown away. How he watched so nonchalantly, saying nothing three days later when the news circuit was going wild about the recently-discovered truth about the predator who’d run a foster house in Denver for so long. About the confession tape he’d made, on his knees, while covered in blood.

About how his remains had been found in his burned-out house in thirty-six different pieces that detectives are saying were cut surgically.

During the whole newscast, Cillian just quietly drank his coffee, not blinking once.

Part of that scares me. But not enough to run. Maybe because I don’t fully understand what being him really means. Which is why I’m looking it up now.

Psychopath: a person affected by chronic mental disorder with abnormal or violent social behavior.

I swallow.

Another site gives the definition as: “a person with a psychopathic personality, which manifests as amoral and antisocial behavior, extreme egocentricity, and failure to learn from experience. Lack of ability to love, or establish meaningful personal relationships.”

Hmm. That’s…sort of him. But sort of not. Amoral? Maybe. But everything I’ve seen suggests it’s less “amoral” and more just that he has his own set of morals and codes. Antisocial? I smirk. At times, sure. But that’s also me, too.

Extreme egocentricity? Well, again, he has his moments there. But “failure to learn from experience” doesn’t sound accurate. If anything, Cillian immediately learns from a situation and tailors his actions accordingly, with almost machine-like precision.

It’s the last part that has me really frowning, though.

“Lack of ability to love or establish meaningful personal relationships.”

I don’t know about love. Aside from my sibling, twin-love for Finn, I’ve never known what love even is.

I mean, I enjoy Cillian. I like being with him. I look forward to seeing him again when we’re apart, and usually think about him constantly. I’m enjoying learning what makes him tick, what he likes and doesn’t like.

I like the things we do, the way he touches me. And the way that even the non-sexual or aggressive touches seem to make something click inside my chest and make my heart swell.

Is that what love is? I don’t know.

I know what this marriage is, though. Just as I know we have an expiration date in place in just a few months, where I’ll have to leave all of this new life and this new family behind and disappear once again.

At least, that was the initial deal. It was my own idea, for fuck’s sakes. Now, that plan sounds horrible.

I don’t really know what that means, either.

But I know, however you would describe Cillian and I’s relationship, it’s “meaningful” if nothing else. At least to me.

So take that and fuck you, Mr. Dictionary.

Maybe Cillian is a true textbook psychopath. Or maybe he’s just severely damaged and has learned to deal with that damage in violent ways. But even if he is a psychopath, there’s a thin sliver of humanity running through him. I know it, because I’ve seen it, and felt it.

So that’s where I’ll stay. Safely cocooned in his darkness.

“Ready to go? Don’t want to be late when Dimitra’s hosting family dinner.”

I jump, gasping in shock as he startles me. I quickly close the browser tab I had open, hoping to God he didn’t see what I was looking up. “Sure. Let’s roll.”

“I’m capable of personal relationships, by the way.”

I cringe, my face scarlet.

“I’m…I’m sorry, I wasn’t—”

“You were curious.” He lifts a shoulder. “That’s fine, I get it. I’ve looked at every definition myself. Talked to about fifty shrinks. Most of them do classify me as psychotic, to some degree at least. But…” He shrugs again, his eyes burning hotly into mine. “I am capable of personal relationships.”

I smile. “I know. I see how you are with Neve and Eilish, and Castle, and—”

“You.”

I blush as I look up at him. My lip catches in my teeth, before slowly, my eyes drop to the front of his pants, dead level with where I’m sitting on the couch.

Something…dirty flits through my head. Something that makes my pulse thud, and my thighs squeeze together.

Something I’ve been wanting—really, truly wanting—to try since the night he went out to slay the monster from my past. Because with that piece of shit gone…it feels almost like the block inside of me is crumbling.

I have to know.

I have to know if I’m forever broken in this particular regard.

I quickly flick my eyes to his as my hand raises to hook my fingers into his belt buckle. His brows arch as he glances down at me.

“What, exactly, are you doing?”

Heat pools in my core, along with a nervous anxiousness. I start to undo his belt, then the button of his black trousers. Then I start to pull on his zipper.

His hands land on mine as I start to peel his pants down.

“Una…”

I swallow as I look up at him. “Let me do this.”

His brow furrows. “You have nothing to fucking prove to—”

“Maybe not to you. I have something to prove to myself.”

He frowns. “Una, you really don’t have to do this.”

“But I want to,” I hiss, adrenaline and desire running though me as I start to push his pants down. The ominous bulge in his briefs makes my pulse skip, my fingers shaking as they slip into the waistband.

I gasp as he cups my jaw, lifting my face to his. “Listen to—”

“That fucker took something from me,” I spit, teeth flashing. “And now, he’s fucking gone. Forever. And I want it fucking back.”

Something changes in his face. He sees the darkness swirling in my eyes, sees the hunger and the raw need to push past this. Slowly, he nods.

“With you, I know I can stop at any time if I have to with our safe—”

“No safe word,” he growls thickly. “Not with this. Stop means we just fucking stop. No games.”

I bite my lip, nodding. Then my gaze drops back to his briefs. Heat throbs inside of me as I start to peel the waistband lower, and lower, and lower, revealing the trail of dark hair down his grooved abs.

Then the thick base of him. And then, with one last tug, his heavy cock springs free, bobbing right in front of my face.

And I am not afraid.

It’s a thrill—a rush from the realization that I can do this. That I can take this back.

I reach out, almost trembling as I curl my fingers around his cock and slowly lean in. I wet my lips, looking up at him as I slowly kiss his swollen crown. Cillian’s jaw clenches, his eyes on fire. I push myself more, letting my mouth open as I let the velvety head slip into my mouth. My tongue dances across the tip, tasting a salty sweetness.

I like this.

I like this a lot.

I moan as I open my jaw wider, taking him deeper into my mouth. There’s no flashbacks like I was worried about. In fact, there’s nothing but him and me, and this intimacy. I whimper, tonguing him as I move my head up and down, my cheeks hollowing. The sensation of his big dick swelling and stretching inside my mouth is beyond thrilling.

I pull away with a wet pop, stroking him as desire roars through my veins. I look up at him, burning from the ferocity in his eyes.

“I…” I blush.

Cillian lifts a brow. “Tell me.”

“I…could you, I mean…”

“We can stop any—”

“Would you fuck my mouth?”

The room goes silent but for the thudding of my pulse. I’m almost afraid I’ll see judgment or scorn in his face. But when I finally force my gaze back up at him, I don’t.

I see hunger. Raw desire. A primal, aggressive lust.

“Una…”

“I know you’ve seen my search history. You know the darkest parts of me. And I’m telling you, please, this is what I want. I want you to—”

“You want me to fuck this pretty little fuck-hole of a mouth until I empty my fucking balls into my good little cum slut?”

Oh. FUCK. Yes.

He knows what I crave. And I love that he knows. Just as I love that he knows I don’t want a PG, Disney version of aggressive or hard.

I want it vicious.

His hand slide into the back of my hair. I shiver with anticipation. He grips it tightly, and I moan as I watch his cock swell even more.

“Be a good girl and swallow my fucking cock.”

He thrusts, pushing the bulging head past my lips as I whimper. Adrenaline and explosive lust roar in my ears and tingle over my skin as Cillian roughly shoves his huge dick deep into the back of my throat. I gag, but when he pulls back, I reach up and dig my nails into his hips, stopping him.

“Bad girl…”

I moan as he pulls back only to fuck his way roughly back inside. His hips pound, his swollen cock thrusting past my puffy lips and over my tongue to bury itself in my throat. My eyes water, drool and precum dripping down his cock and my chin as I look up at him.

Letting him use me.

Wanting him to. Craving it.

Unbelievably wet because of it.

“Spread your fucking legs.”

I whimper as I do it.

“Now show me how a greedy little cum slut plays with her messy pussy while she gets her mouth fucked.”

It’s embarrassing how quickly my hand shoves between my legs under my skirt and burrows into my panties. I shudder the second my fingers find and roll over my clit, already so close. I whimper, choking and sputtering as I drool over his dick, shamelessly playing with myself as the lewd wet glucking sounds fill the room.

Cillian’s abs flex, his cock pulsing as he groans. He grips my hair tight in both hands, thrusting aggressively as he takes what we both want from my mouth.

I’m getting even closer, my fingers a blur on my clit. And when he groans that he’s going to come, I lose all control. I’m still rubbing myself as I pull my mouth away from him, stroking him fast as I look up into his eyes with a face of pure lust.

“Come for me, Sir,” I whimper, watching the venomous green in his eyes turn to emerald fire. “Come in my mouth. Come on my face…Sir.”

With a snarl, he grabs my hair and buries his cock deep in my throat. He thrusts once, twice, and then suddenly, he’s roaring. I whimper, eagerly swallowing the hot spurts of his cum that flood my mouth. Then he’s pulling out, and stroking himself, and I’m suddenly coming myself, rubbing my clit as his cum splatters down my lips, my chin, and my cheeks.

I’ve barely caught my breath before suddenly Cillian’s shoving me down across the couch. I whimper as he rips my blouse open, scattering buttons. He yanks my bra down, and I cry out as his mouth descends to my breasts, his teeth biting and raking over my sensitive nipples.

He roughly shoves my thighs apart, and I jolt when I feel the cold metal of a blade near my thigh. The knife slices through my panties, shredding them away before suddenly, I feel him hot and hard and big right at my opening.

His mouth crushes to mine, heedless of the cum still at the edges. And in one swift move, he fills my eager pussy with every inch of his cock.

I scream, clawing at him, my legs locked around his waist as Cillian proceeds to fuck me like a rag doll. His hand wraps around my throat, squeezing as he brutally fucks me within an inch of my life.

“I might be broken, Una….”

The words rasp in my ear as I lose myself in him, feeling him utterly take control, claiming every part of me.

“But I’ve never felt more fixed than when I’m with you.”

Our eyes lock, lips an inch apart. Breathing in each other’s air. Drowning in the intimacy.

Damaged and broken together.

When I start to come, my lips hungrily find his. I can feel him crashing over the edge with me, snarling into my mouth as his perfect cock rams into me as brutally and as viciously as I crave, until I can feel his hot cum spilling into me.

“I’ve never felt more fixed, either,” I whisper into his ear as my arms and legs wrap tightly around him.

Maybe he’s a monster and a psychopath. Maybe we all are, a little.

But maybe two broken pieces can fit together to be whole again.