Serpentine Desires

The predator

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I was raised by monsters, built around the edges and perfectly aligned voids. I believed in reasons, reasons behind reasons. Nothing was fateful. Everything was pre-planned. I was taught to see life as a grand chessboard, where every move was calculated, every outcome inevitable.

Emotions were mere equations and relationships strategic puzzles.

I was a man of games, violence, and control—though that was slipping through my hands nowadays. Some might call me apathetic. Ruining and destroying everything in my path to get what I want without feeling an ounce of remorse or empathy.

And that's how I preferred it. That's how this world preferred me. A mystery. A secret. A sinful and handsome disaster. A storm.

There hadn't been a thing I wanted and hadn't got it. Though I get easily bored, but the joy, the power of getting things done my way, was beyond the feeling of blood rushing through my veins.

Women dropped to their knees, worshipping the ground I walked on if I as much looked in their direction. My one call and I'd have them line up in front of my mansion.

Except the one in front of me, a pocket-sized girl, raising the vase, ready to slam it on my head.

Her eyes swirled. Those dark brown eyes widened in fear—exactly the way I desired. I could see the panic settling in her eyes. It was exhilarating knowing I could control her emotions.

I stood there, unmoving, staring back at her. I could see doubts swirling in her little head. She was contemplating if she should slam that vase on my head and see if I dodged. My little bird was not naive. Though it strangely irked me. I could almost hear the gears turning in her mind, weighing the risks, calculating the outcomes. She wouldn't survive harming me. Girls like her were their heart's slaves.

I bit my inner cheek to stop myself from smiling and looking like a psycho. When I didn't budge she slowly lowered her hand. Her eyes still alarmed. She thought she could run. Escape a predator. And then bleed me. With her small laughable body, I could throw her over the room break her little wings and add them to my collection. It would be fun. Something I hadn't had in a long time.

"Read it," I extended the book in her direction. She stilled placing the vase on the table and cautiously her tiny hands grabbed the book. Her nails short, and trimmed. I almost smiled. My little bird had now claws. Her hands trembling. Perfect.

She swallowed, her pale throat working up and down the other motion until I almost saw the saliva travelling down through her transparent skin. "It's....its's..."

"Read it, ptichka." I stepped forward, crowding the little space she created between us. Her reactions were amusing, like a little bird jumping here and there, too oblivious of dangers.

"O-okay." Her lips dry, and I let my tongue dart and moist mine. Interesting. She could be my muse till I decide what to do with her next.

She opened the book, and I watched as she swallowed hard. And then raised her head to look at me. Then she again looked down, turned the pages, confused, baffled, and then realisation washed over her. Of course, I have read this book, over a hundred times, I was the one who wrote it.

Yet she didn't say anything, and I let my eyes rake down her body.

She was overly dressed today, not sure why, but fuck me if I say that red didn't bring out the femininity in her. The flimsy cardigan clung to her chest, emphasizing the shape of her tits and it strangely stirred something primal within me.

The tight jeans and those—fuck me with my ass in the air—thighs. My mind drifted to dark places, curiosity gnawing at the edges of my thoughts. I wondered what colour she'd bleed if I bit into her thick thighs. Women were made for men's pleasure and it wouldn't be a surprise if in a week or two she'd be begging for my attention despite ignoring me all week. I hated ignorance.