his fingers draw pictures across her skin like a canvas, and her reactions are the paint for him to dip his brush into. over the collarbone makes her squirm, the swirls on her stomach make her head fly out and her teeth flash. he spends hours slaving over her naked body, fingers steady even as she quivers beneath him. he paints:
a rose on her cheek
her face, gazing at him from behind a curtain of crimson hair, spread out across her belly
a pomegranate, full to bursting with seeds
and with long, sweeping strokes, a bloody smile across her throat. as he transforms her to a work of art he whispers you're so beautiful, you're so perfect into her ears, bringing his lips so close that she can feel the hot stickiness of his breath on her face. and when he's done he kisses each drawing and traces it with his tongue, and then he leaves her in the darkness, shaking from the force of her sobs.
YOU ARE READING
Hades and Persephone
Historia Cortahe was godlike: beautiful, but deadly as a snake.
