Serpentine Desires

The predator

Dripping wet body went limp but still... responsive. Every twitch, every gasp, every damn moan – all for me. She had no control, none. I took it from her. And the way she crumbled in my grip, the way her body sang with need even when she hated me – fuck. I was already hard again, just looking at her like this.

She tried to push me away. Tried. But her hands fell uselessly at her sides, too weak to do anything. Her mind screamed no, but her body always begged for more, even now, when I'd already devoured her once tonight.

My body hummed, every fiber coiled tight. I could do it again. I could have her again. I wanted to. The need to bury myself inside her was so sharp, so fucking raw, it clawed at me, begging to be satisfied. But...

I held myself back.

Her body slumped against mine, spent, barely conscious. I scooped her up, her head lolling against my chest, and carried her to the bed. She made a small sound—almost a whimper—before slipping under, her light snores soon filling the room. It was the only time she was quiet, when she was like this—exhausted, used up, limp in my hands.

I sighed.

Here we go. We needed to work on her stamina.

After cleaning her, I picked her up and then tucked her in, pulling the covers up to her chin, like I gave a damn. Maybe I did. I didn't know. It's fucked up.

I leaned over her, staring at her peaceful face, and a part of me hated it. Hated that she was so still, so quiet. That she could sleep while I sat here like this.

I pulled away, grabbed a cigar from the table, and sat on the couch, watching her. The glow of the burning tobacco lit the room in brief flashes as I inhaled deeply. My heart hammered in my chest, a slow, maddening pulse.

Two weeks.

Two fucking weeks. I had to leave her for two weeks, and I already didn't want to go.

I glared at the cigar, twirling it between my fingers, the smoke curling upward. My chest felt tight. Not the usual kind of tight—the adrenaline rush, the thrill of control—but a strange tug.

Right there on the left side. Where that stupid, useless heart was. I could still feel her warmth on my skin, still hear her fucking voice.

The clock ticked. Two more hours until I had to board the flight. The thought made my jaw clench. I didn't like it. I didn't fucking like it. Leaving her here, unattended, unguarded, without me...

My hands tightened around the cigar, crushing the end between my fingers. Fuck.

She had no idea. She didn't understand what I needed. What I wanted. What I felt. Hell, I didn't even understand half of it. But it didn't matter.

She was mine. She always had been, from the moment I saw her. From the moment she looked at me with those wide, terrified eyes, like I was the devil himself. And maybe I was. Maybe I am.
But she still came to me. Over and over again.

She always would.

I grinned, watching her chest rise and fall, her soft little breaths filling the room. So peaceful, so serene. So fucking breakable.

I could do it right now. Wake her up. Take her again. She'd hate me, she'd scream, she'd fight—and I'd love every goddamn second of it.

Watching her break was the best part. Watching her try to fight against something she could never win against—me.

But then... I looked at the clock again. Two fucking weeks.

It pissed me off, this feeling in my chest. The thought of leaving her. Of someone else even breathing near her. Irrational? Maybe. But I didn't give a damn about rationality. Rationality was for weak men. I wasn't weak.