We all like to be scared. Whispered tales told when the lights have gone out. Ghost stories shared by candlelight. Movies that have the pretty girl clutching at your arm at appropriate musical queues and jumping into your lap at the appearance of the crazed hatchet-wielding menace.
When your frightened, your pulse races, adrenaline rushes through your veins, your senses are heightened. Your focus narrows to the source of your terror.
It's what you feel when caught under the gaze of a predator, when meeting the stare of someone who sees the truth of you. It is the knowledge he will exploit it ruthlessly.
There are moments that are built with intention.
Sprawled in the front seat of a car, blindfolded, skirt half-way up your waist while a hand presses between your legs, fingernails dragging across your inner thigh. It is feeling the car slow at a stoplight, the unseen gazes of those in the cars around you.
Pinned to the wall, his teeth sharpened against your skin and his whispered threats made into the curve of your neck.
Placed on all fours and taken so hard from behind it *hurts*. A brutal fucking that leaves you raw and emptied.
Held under him, his hand wrapped tightly around your throat, dictating each breath you take in.
Bound to the bed and laid open. The sounds of strangers, or worse, people you know. Unfamiliar hands on your skin while a gentle voice tells you to be still, to give in, to obey.
There are moments built with intention, and what you have to fear the most isn't the hands that hold you, isn't the ties that bind you, isn't the voice that commands you.
It is what happens next.
His unspoken promise to make you bleed, one way or another.
No prayer this time.
This is a dictate, meant to be listened to in the dark.