01-15-2020, 07:35 PM
How sweet the sound she coaxes out of him.
And isn’t it just electric?
Couldn’t she just sink her teeth into the sound he makes?
Certainly she could spend the rest of her life feasting on it.
Certainly it could sustain her for the remainder of her days.
She grins her bloody grin and licks her bloody lips. Together, they shudder with it. They are young, the pair of them, but old enough to know the heaven in their touch. The staggering beauty in the pain they inflict on one another.
He draws away from her and she hisses – her own low, mournful sound – reflexively. Because she wants him to stay close, wants to siphon the warmth from his flesh, wants him to catch her scaled skin between his teeth and rip it clean from the bone. She wants him to destroy her. So fiercely that it makes her ache. So fiercely that it arrests the air in her chest.
He draws away but he does not steal his mouth from her. He goes on touching her and she delights in this, too. She delights in the way he touches her mouth and comes away bloody. His own blood. “How does it taste?” she asks, shifting her focus from his mouth to his eyes.
And then he levels her with his own question. The answer is simple, isn’t it? Destruction. Power. Worship. Are these not the things that all women desire? She blinks slow, still dizzy with the taste of his blood as it pools sweetly beneath her tongue. The grin fades slow and she reaches out to skim her mouth across the surface of the shoulder into which she’d sunk her teeth.
“What would you do to have me?” she asks.
And isn’t it just electric?
Couldn’t she just sink her teeth into the sound he makes?
Certainly she could spend the rest of her life feasting on it.
Certainly it could sustain her for the remainder of her days.
She grins her bloody grin and licks her bloody lips. Together, they shudder with it. They are young, the pair of them, but old enough to know the heaven in their touch. The staggering beauty in the pain they inflict on one another.
He draws away from her and she hisses – her own low, mournful sound – reflexively. Because she wants him to stay close, wants to siphon the warmth from his flesh, wants him to catch her scaled skin between his teeth and rip it clean from the bone. She wants him to destroy her. So fiercely that it makes her ache. So fiercely that it arrests the air in her chest.
He draws away but he does not steal his mouth from her. He goes on touching her and she delights in this, too. She delights in the way he touches her mouth and comes away bloody. His own blood. “How does it taste?” she asks, shifting her focus from his mouth to his eyes.
And then he levels her with his own question. The answer is simple, isn’t it? Destruction. Power. Worship. Are these not the things that all women desire? She blinks slow, still dizzy with the taste of his blood as it pools sweetly beneath her tongue. The grin fades slow and she reaches out to skim her mouth across the surface of the shoulder into which she’d sunk her teeth.
“What would you do to have me?” she asks.
these violent delights have violent ends
g o s p e l,
