Love Of Lust

He hated her. God, he hated her.

Every glance she threw his way, every word that fell from her taunting mouth, stoked the fire inside him.

A fire he swore was fueled by rage.

But even in his hatred, he couldn't ignore her.
Couldn't ignore the way her presence.

She was poison-beautiful, calculated, and cruel. The woman who'd destroyed him.
She was here, standing before him, oblivious to the way her presence crawled under his skin, seeped into his blood, and refused to let him breathe.

He told himself it was revenge he wanted. To watch her shatter. To make her beg.
He hated the way her hair fell loose, the way her lips curved like she knew exactly how close she was to breaking him.

He wanted to crush her.

To make her feel everything she'd made him suffer. But all he could think about was how soft that perfect mouth of hers would feel under his.

And she?

Hated herself for noticing him too.
For the way her pulse quickened whenever his name was mentioned.

He was dangerous-her enemy in every possible way.

There was something about him.
Something that made her throat dry and her chest tighten, even as she told herself she despised him.

The harder she fought, the deeper he sank into her.

"You hate me,"
"More than you could imagine,"
"Hate me all you want."

She should've walked away. She should've shut him down.
But when his eyes locked with hers, she couldn't move.

He hated her. She hated him.
It was need.

He wanted to destroy her. She wanted to shatter him.
But, all they could think about was how badly they wanted to feel each other's skin.

Touch her. Break her. Debase her.
Feel him. Let him consume me.

His mouth. Her skin.
His veins. Her lips.
His parched soul. Her existence.
His hatred. Her chair.

Lust. Lust. Lust.

His to break, hers to claim.

Lust had never burned so disgustingly sweet.
Hate had never felt this sinful.