[BL] Bound to My Enemy: The Billionaire Who Took My Girl-Chapter 61: Pink haired lunatic pt 1

NOAH

I was currently witnessing a glitch in the simulation. That was the only logical explanation.

Cassian Wolfe, the man who radiated a ’touch me and you’ll find your limbs in a dumpster’ aura, the man who had quite possibly just murdered a hostage-taker for sport, the man who looked like he’d been carved out of obsidian and pure spite, was currently being used as a human jungle gym by a man with hair the color of a strawberry milkshake.

"CASSIE! YOU CRUEL, GORGEOUS BASTARD!"

The pink-haired whirlwind, whom I now knew as Cyan King, didn’t just hug Cassian. He launched himself at him with the velocity of a heat-seeking missile. His legs wrapped around Cassian’s waist, his arms locked around his neck in a death grip, and then, I swear my soul actually left my body for a second, he started pecking Cassian on the lips.

Mwah. Mwah. Mwah.

"I missed you! You didn’t tell me you were in town! Why are you so mean to me? My heart is literally breaking, Cassie, look at it! It’s shattered!"

I stood there, rooted to the spot, my clipboard clutched to my chest like a shield. My brain had officially stopped responding to external stimuli. Cassie? He called him Cassie? I waited for the explosion. I waited for Cassian to reach up, snap Cyan’s neck like a dry twig, and then ask the staff to fetch a rug to roll the body in. But instead, Cassian just stood there, looking like a man who was enduring a particularly long and boring root canal. His eyes were closed, his jaw was tight, and he looked... defeated.

"Get off me, you neon-colored parasite," Cassian growled, though his hands didn’t actually move to shove him.

"Aww, look at you trying to be all tough!" Cyan cooed, finally sliding down Cassian’s body but remaining close enough to share oxygen. He began smoothing out the lapels of Cassian’s jacket, his long, manicured fingers moving with manic energy. "You act like you’re so cruel, but you’re actually very caring! You only reached out to me yesterday and you’re already here. You’re sweeter than you look, Cassie! You’re like a dark chocolate truffle, bitter on the outside, but soft and gooey in the middle!"

"Stop calling me that stupid nickname," Cassian snapped, but it lacked his usual lethal edge. It was almost... playful? No, that was the wrong word. It was the way you’d tell a golden retriever to stop barking, you knew it wasn’t going to happen, but you felt obligated to say it anyway.

"Aww, but it’s cute on you! I like it, so I’m calling you that!" Cyan chirped. He turned his head, his bright, intelligent eyes finally locking onto me. "Oh! And who is this adorable little cupcake?"

I felt a cold sweat break out on my forehead. Please, no. I’m just a background character. I’m the furniture. Ignore the furniture.

"This is Noah," Cassian said, his voice dripping with the kind of exhaustion usually reserved for parents of quintuplets. "My assistant. He’s with me on this trip."

"Kyaa!!! What a cutie!" Cyan was in my space before I could even blink. He had zero sense of personal boundaries.

I mean, none. He was so close I could see the glitter in his eyeshadow and the sweet invasive smell of his expensive perfume. "Oh, you little cutie! Look at those cheeks! You look like a scared little kitten!"

Before I could move, he reached out and pinched both of my cheeks, pulling them outward. "Coo-chi-coo-chi-coo! Are you real? Are you made of sugar? Cassie, where did you find him? Did you steal him from a boy band?"

I let out a small, strangled sound. I wanted to disappear. I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me, the boutique, the pink hair, and the terrifying realization that Cassian Wolfe had friends.

"Please stop," I managed to squeak out, my face burning.

"Oh, he talks! And he’s shy! Kyaaa I want to keep him already!" Cyan turned back to Cassian, clutching his hands over his heart. "Can I keep him? Can he stay in the shop? I’ll dress him in nice clothes and feed him macarons!"

"He’s not a pet, Cyan," Cassian muttered, though he didn’t exactly sound certain. "And we’re here for business. Move."

Cyan let out a dramatic, stage-whisper sigh and beckoned us deeper into the store. "Fine, fine. Business. Always business with you. Come into my office, let’s get you out of the public eye before someone tries to sacrifice a goat to you or something."

He led us through a set of heavy, velvet-draped doors into what I assumed was his personal sanctuary. If the boutique was luxurious, this office was a fever dream. It was all gold leaf, emerald velvet, and crystal chandeliers that looked like frozen explosions.

But I didn’t care about the furniture. Because as soon as I stepped inside, my eyes landed on the ’décor.’

I froze. My clipboard hit the floor with a hollow clack.

"What... what is..." I couldn’t finish the sentence.

Cyan King apparently didn’t collect stamps. Or coins. Or vintage wines. No, Cyan King collected dildos.

Monuments of them. They were everywhere. They were on the shelves, arranged like expensive vases. They were on the coffee table. There was a massive, three-foot-tall one made of what looked like solid gold sitting in the corner like a goddamn trophy.

And they weren’t just... normal. I saw things that defied the laws of biology and physics. There were silicone ones with ridges that looked like mountain ranges. There were some that looked like dragon tails, covered in scales. I spotted something that looked suspiciously like a neon-blue tentacle, complete with suckers. There was one made of wax that had spikes on it. Spikes.

Is that a... monster cock? I thought, my brain short-circuiting. Am I in a museum of erotic nightmares? What kind of person displays a gold-plated phallus next to a picture of their grandmother?