Fatal Attraction | D.M. (Soft Rewrite)

Chapter Forty-Four - Control

'You tell me,' she hummed. Using her sweet voice to beckon him closer, while arching her neck towards his still lips.

Tensing her stomach, her muscles fought to stay at this angle. With her face lifted into the space left below his chest.

She told herself it was only because she wanted to seduce him - ensnare him in her trap. Not that the urgent voice in her head, telling her to move closer, could control her decisions.

Magnetised to the rhythm of his breathing and the way it felt on her cheek. Her skin flushed over the faint contact, stirring her desperate craving for more.

She wanted to clutch his head and draw it to her neck. Thread her fingers through his hair. Push it off his brow. Trace her way down his spine. Feel his muscles contract. But her arms were bound - her freedom limited.

The atmosphere was closing in. The room never felt so small. But it was intimate, not suffocating.

Their private sanctuary.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the tarnished mirror bearing their shadow. The art of their bodies, hung proudly on the wall, to decorate the space in their image. Their reflection looked so still. Almost motionless.

Ophelia's focus returned to admire his mouth, to avoid dumbly staring or drooling over his body. Her concentration forced her eyes to thin and her jaw to lock tight.

She defiantly ignored the taut curve of each bicep and the decisive edge of his collarbones. Every bold and jagged part of his impressive stature was engraved in her mind so deep that anyone who forced their way into her head - to witness how it worked and who it revolved around - would only find visions of him. Memories she had to settle for right now, to satisfy her appetite. Although it didn't do him justice - it was less gut-wrenching than having nothing to hold onto.

Despite the tantalising opportunity, she couldn't allow her attention to fix anywhere beneath his lips. Even eye-contact posed a threat to her plans. Since she could spend hours getting lost, in the space left by his dilated pupils. To debate the exact shade of his irises - whether there was more green or blue influencing the lustrous silver base.

His eyes were the first thing I saw - or latched onto in this unfamiliar school. Before the hall - right after I was sorted into Slytherin - I chose him. Out of hundreds, my attention fell on him.

I thought it was my misfortune - my bad luck - that drew me straight to a Malfoy. I thought it was ironic - painfully predictable... But I was so wrong, so mistaken.

He's everything.

He's the good and the bad. The muddled thoughts and the person lightening my load. The excitement in my days and the colour in my view.

He wants to understand and makes me feel heard. Holding me through my nightmares and not using them as an excuse to leave.

He lets me grieve but stops me from slipping into despair. Pushing and pulling me back with quick-witted comments and earnest advice.

He makes me feel alive. Strong not saved. Resilient not enduring. Here, in the moment, not somewhere in between. With a purpose and a place to rest my head.

He's everything.

I can't imagine anything better...and because of him, I don't have to.

Ophelia endured a year of mourning. Suffering so much loss, the feeling became a companion. With reasons to grieve and choices to regret for a dozen lifetimes. It took meeting him to remember, she only had one.