My Killer

Obscure Predicament

Michael slipped one hand between the small of my back and the tabletop underneath me, capturing me in this comforting, yet constricting hug. His other hand was pressed down into the wooden surface right next to my head, supporting the weight of his upper body as he leaned into me, his mouth busy conquering my own parted lips. And his tongue, the instrument that he had used to cut the anger out of me by using some rather harsh, unwanted, carefully constructed words, that weapon had been aimed at another adversary, my tongue and the simple act of conquering her. And conquer he did. I found myself moaning into the kiss when he pulled my body up with his own. Instead of lying flat on my back on the table, I was suddenly sitting at the very edge with Michael standing upright between my parted legs.

Michael released my lips from the torturous kiss which he had drenched in this thick coating of comfort. Comfort I needed, comfort I craved, and at the same time, comfort I longed to hate. Only, I couldn't. I truly couldn't muster up that burning emotion, Michael had removed it. At least temporarily.

My eyes fluttered open as he straightened before me, letting his left hand slip from behind my back and his right to travel from behind my head only to rest against my cheek instead.

My lips felt swollen, my cheeks still slightly soaked from the salty tears lingering behind.

Michael cupped my other cheek as well, letting his left hand join the right. I stared up at him with widened eyes as he brushed the tears away with the slightly rough pads of his thumbs. Gentle brushes, so tender that it rendered me unable to look away from the depth of his eyes. Drowning, I was fucking drowning in them. It was as if I had suddenly forgotten how to swim and was relying on this strange man to keep me afloat. Wrong, it was all so fucking wrong.

"Are you hungry?"

The question caught me by surprise. I hadn't even taken note of the food that was had been plated on the other end of the dining table. The man before me owned the entirety of my attention, and in a sense, he seemed to own me.

"No..."

My whispered reply sounded raspy due to the lingering effects of the kiss, the tears, and the muddled-up emotions our interaction had left behind.

Michael let out a soft-sounding sigh, leaned down, and placed a soft kiss on the tip of my nose before pulling back, letting me drown in the depths of his eyes once more. I just couldn't find it in me to look away.

"I don't expect you to finish everything that's on your plate, but it is necessary for you to eat something. So take your time, eat what you can, and then a little bit more than that. Okay, Princess?"

Michael made it sound like I almost had a choice in the matter by forming the directive into something akin to an actual question. But I knew better, it wasn't an actual choice, rather a command packaged in smooth velvet to make it just a tad more bearable to endure. Perhaps this was his way of making sure that I didn't lash out or fight him on the matter in another sheer bout of spite. Part of me longed to lash out despite my recent uncovered acceptance of my current situation. I hated the simple notion of bending before him, but I ended up doing just that. I ended up nodding my head in reply instead of outright refusing to do what he asked of me. Which I probably should have done, because I truly longed to do the exact opposite of what he wanted, I wanted to be the ruler of my own kingdom, to decide over my own actions and body, but instead, I let him decide. Fuck, it wasn't as if what he requested was bad for me either. It made perfect sense. I needed food to survive, to regain some of that lost strength. Yet, doing what he wanted of me... so hard even though it should have been easy. It wasn't easy. Or perhaps it was? It was so hard to untangle one emotion from another lately, it was so fucking hard to decide between what was sensible, necessary, or just plain stupid.