The Apocalypse

8

Maurits had been awake for hours, his gaze fixed upon the girl lying on his chest. He traced every line of her face and body, his eyes memorizing every detail, desperately trying to etch this image into his mind forever.
His hand moved delicately, following the gentle curves of her body, as if sculpting a masterpiece. All of her belonged to him, and him alone. She was his precious possession, a fragile treasure that he would protect at any cost.
As she lay on top of Maurits, he relished in the weight of her presence, the warmth and intimacy shared in that moment. While one hand caressed her body, the other remained discreetly under his pillow, firmly grasping the knife hidden there. Maurits never slept without a hand on his knife, ever prepared for the dangers and threats that lurked in this treacherous world.
In a place where survival was paramount and trust was a rare luxury, Maurits had learned to be constantly vigilant. The world outside was filled with dangers and walkers, those who would seek to harm or take away what was rightfully his. He had become adept at navigating through the shadows, his senses sharpened, always anticipating the next threat.
Maeve stirred, her body twisting slightly as her eyes fluttered open, meeting the gaze of Maurits. The morning light gently filtered into the room, casting a soft glow upon them.
"Good morning, darling," Maurits greeted her in a raspy voice, his voice carrying a mix of affection and sleepiness. Maeve responded with a small smile, her chin finding its place on his chest as her eyes remained locked with his.
With a tender gesture, Maurits leaned in, his face drawing closer, and his lips gently pressed against her forehead.
"Maurits continued to stroke Maeve's back in a comforting manner, his touch offering solace and reassurance. With a sense of excitement and eagerness, he shared his plans for the day.
"I will show you around town today and over the wall," he informed her, his voice filled with anticipation. But to his surprise, Maeve's response was not what he expected.
"I don't want to," she whispered softly, her face buried in his chest, muffling her words. Maurits's hand halted its soothing motion, his grip tightening as frustration simmered within him. In a sudden motion, he grasped a handful of her hair, pulling it harshly to make her gaze meet his.
"Did I ask?" he questioned, his voice cold and demanding. Maeve trembled in fear, her tears threatening to spill over.
"N-no," she whimpered, her voice trembling with apprehension.
"Exactly, my darling," Maurits stated, his tone softening as he released his grip on her hair. His hand now shifted to gently massage her head, attempting to soothe the fear that gripped her. He had wanted compliance, to assert his dominance and control over her decisions.
We will eat breakfast first," Maurits declared, his voice firm yet gentle as he sat up, his hands firmly placed on Maeve's waist, guiding her to follow his movements. With a graceful motion, her legs instinctively encircled his waist, creating a secure connection between them. Pushing her clothed pussy right to his already erect cock. She gasped in response to the overwhelming sensation as he pushed directly into the depths of her being. A mixture of surprise, desire, and pleasure surged through her body, causing her to shudder in his grasp. Her breath hitched, caught between the allure of the moment and the sheer intensity of the connection they shared.
He, with a wicked smirk dancing upon his lips, savored the reaction he had provoked within her. His eyes, filled with a potent combination of mischief and desire, locked onto hers, relishing the power he held over her in that instant.
"Do you enjoy that, my darling?" he questioned, his voice laced with a hint of seductive confidence, as he rolled his hips against hers. The rhythmic motion sent shivers of pleasure coursing through her, intensifying the electrifying connection they shared.
"Don't worry," he whispered, his warm breath tickling her earlobe, "I will teach you everything you need to know." His lips gently brushed against the sensitive skin of her neck, leaving a trail of delicate kisses, while his hand caressed her throat with a firm yet gentle touch. The mingling of dominance and tenderness made Maeve moan his name ever so softly.
He shifted his position slightly, tilting her head back to expose her vulnerable neck, before pressing his lips forcefully against hers. The kiss was a collision of fervor and hunger, a symphony of tongues and urgent lips that ignited a wildfire of passion within them both. Maeve lost the battle of power with ease giving in to his dominance. Their mouths moved in perfect harmony, exploring and tasting, their desires entwined in a primal dance of pleasure.
As his hand traveled down her body, his touch became a map, tracing every contour and curve, awakening every nerve with exquisite precision.
"Facking mine." He murmured against her lips. She blushed deeply at his words making him grin in pride of his ways made her blush.
"Beautiful." He whispered his fingers tracing the redness of her cheeks.
-
"You are eating the beans!" Maurits exclaimed, his voice filled with anger and frustration. He had reached the point of exasperation with her apparent disregard for his instructions.
She shook her head, a mix of confusion and helplessness in her eyes. The word she needed to express why she couldn't eat the beans eluded her, leaving her on the verge of tears. The welling emotions threatened to spill over as he slammed his hand down in a display of impatience.
"I am not asking again," Maurits declared, his voice sharp with irritation. The tension in the room grew palpable as he awaited an explanation, his patience wearing thin.
Once again, she shook her head, unable to articulate the reason behind her actions. Her inability to communicate intensified her distress, and tears welled up, threatening to cascade down her cheeks.
In a sudden surge of anger and frustration, he grabbed hold of her neck, pressing her forcefully against the wall. Fear gripped her, mixed with the pain of his grip, as she struggled to breathe.
The room fell into a tense silence, broken only by the sound of their labored breaths. And in that moment, amidst the intensity and fear, a single word escaped her trembling lips.
"Death."
Maurits froze, his eyes widening in realization. A sudden understanding flooded his features as he comprehended the gravity of the situation. The anger and frustration that had consumed him seconds ago dissipated into a mix of concern and guilt.
"You are allergic," he murmured, his voice filled with a blend of remorse and concern. The weight of his actions crashed down on him, realizing the potential harm he had unknowingly caused.
His grip on her neck loosened, his hand falling to his side as he stepped back, allowing her space to breathe.
With tears streaming down her face, she nodded weakly, her vulnerability evident. Despite the fear and pain, a glimmer of forgiveness shimmered in her eyes, acknowledging the sincerity of his realization.
"I am so sorry, darling." He said pulling her into his chest.