Serpentine Desires

The predator

I always hated mornings.

Even when I was a four-year-old—naive and curious little boy.

Waking up to the same damn world that never understood shit about me. The sunlight? It felt like a fucking burning light, burning through my skin, exposing every twisted thought I tried to keep hidden. Other kids—those little morons—laughing and running around like life was a goddamn fairy tale.

I watched them from the shadows, always disgusted and bothered by something I couldn't understand.

I wasn't like them. Never was. Never would be.

They were the worst. That's when I had to play nice. Smile, nod, pretend to give a shit about their useless lives. It made me sick. Every fake grin felt like swallowing small shards of glass.

Even my teacher had to call my parents to the school just because I smashed open a fool's head cause he made fun of my sister's ponytails.

I mean she did look a bit funny with those green clips but the point was, no one messes with Romanovskis.

The point was—I hated mornings.

The sun barely entered the room when I sat at the edge of the bed with my knuckles white, and gripping the edge with force I could barely control.

Her scent still lingered in the air. All sweet, sultry, and just a bit tainted by the sweat and fear I'd wrung out of her.

I looked over my shoulder at her sleeping form, bruised and marked like a canvas I'd painted with my rage.

Beautiful. Broken. Mine.

Desire becomes hunger and hunger becomes need.

My cock twitched once again when I should have just wrung her delicate little neck and watch the life drain out of her beautiful orbs.

Eyes that cried for me begging me to stop.

Women always say 'stop,' but their bodies speak a different language. They liked to be claimed. They needed it. She was no different. She couldn't be any more different.

She shouldn't have gone behind my back. Shouldn't have looked at him. Shouldn't have even thought of him. Shouldn't have tried to outsmart me.

I could snap her neck right now, end it all. But where's the fun in that? No, she was useful. Not just for the pleasure she gave me, but for the chaos she caused in my head. I needed that chaos to remain sane. It kept me sharp. Kept me angry.

And the more I looked at her, the more I wanted to kill that bastard.

Morozov.

That son of a bitch. I'd skin him alive.

I stood, and dragged a hand through my hair, forcing the heat to simmer down. The blood in my veins ran thick with the venom. The clock ticked in the corner, mocking me with its steady rhythm. Time moved for others. For me, it was just another prison.

The longer I'd wait, the worse it'd get.

As I predicted, Ivan did try to reach her.

The question was—how much did he manage to manipulate my beautiful bird?

If my assumptions were correct, he must've proposed a deal. Or offered her something or anything to give her what she wanted most.

People usually tend to be swept by the offers they couldn't refuse.

Right now my little bird wanted nothing more than to get away from me.

I lit up the cigarette before grabbing the robe.