ILLICIT DESIRES | 18 +

17: Hands That Kill, Save, and Owe

RITA

The Devil's Hands.

The wicked hands that ripped my thong out a year ago. The vile hands that planted my butt on a wooden mahogany table and spread my legs to devour me.

A Kiss of Gratitude.

They are the same tainted hands that decomposed my husband.

For what?

For my Kiss of Death?

It's the same discourteous tongue that taunts and haunts me. It's the same vulgar tongue that shamelessly sucked on my sex, so greedy and starving, drinking all my nectar. It's the same mouth that told me to search for him in the underworld with one simple word:

Gaia.

And those eyes. That piercing azure, fractured with flashes of white. Hypnotic enough to make me forget myself, to let him ruin me willingly.

The night of our first encounter still burns behind my eyes — sharp as his gaze. My emerald thong mounted on his wall like a trophy of remembrance.

That night was celestial.

The Kiss of Death was planted from my lips. 

The Kiss of Gratitude was placed from his lips. 

The stars glistened like my dripping sex. He devoured me with a his deep and passionate kiss on my sex, drinking all my nectar that night.

That night, it was an inferno. My body felt like it was burning from within. The feeling of rapture coursed through my system, being so overwhelming that I would have given in to him completely. 

I would let him seed me if he wanted. 

Give me a bastard child, like the one he is.

A reminder of him I could never escape.

I get up from my place, my legs carrying me closer to the frame that hangs above the crimson bedpost. My nettle plant in my hands, I place it on the pitch-black bedside table.

This space of his is built to sin, and my thong is here. 

Is he thinking about me when he sins? 

Was he thinking about me when I screamed Gaia that night?

Did Mother Nature send him to me, telling him I needed him, when my father decided Nicolai could claim me? Did he hear our secret word from my lips as he pressed his gun to my forehead?

I was never sure if the hands that caused the chaos on my wedding night were the same hands that touched me once so sinfully.

Yet he was certain. He recognized me. Without hesitation, he knew it was me. My embodiment of Gaia, without the mask.

And his vile hands intertwined with mine, pulling me out of one hell of a night, only to leave me burning in the aftermath of his own mockery.

But I won't let him taint or toy with me any longer. If he wants me to stay in his chamber of sins, I will — but in my own way, on my own terms.

I don't know how long I will stay in this chamber. So I decide to change the sheets, because I don't want to lie in the indulgence of this fickle woman and him.

Though I also have the swing as an option to plant myself onto, the bed is far cozier to sleep on, despite all the forbidden thoughts of past events that have tainted the sheets.

So I change them. 

And then a wicked idea slips into my mind. I suppose I can bear the swing as I decide to taint the bed. I grab my nettle plant and rub it across the sheets.