You.
Yes, you.
The one pretending to be shy.
Come here.
No. Closer.
What? I’m not going to bite.
Mmmm.
I lied.
I will bite.
But that’s the least of the things for you to fear.
But you need not be _too_ afraid. You will enjoy every last one of them.
How can I tell?
I haven’t even touched you and you are already trembling.
…
No. I’m not going to tell anyone.
No. I am not afraid of the secrets you hide.
Yes. I am going to eat you.
…
But before I eat you, I need you…primed.
Mmmm. What am I doing?
I’m finding your pulse. Setting teeth to wrist and lips to throat. I am nipping at your skin until the blood rises with your heat and you feel fevered.
I want you well warmed.
No.
I want you burning.
Scald my hands. Make it hurt. I expose you layer by layer, until your bared skin sears my flesh. Your vulnerability is a poison I drink eagerly.
We will both die the little death tonight.
Ahhhhh.
Are you shivering?
I have stolen all your heat. I have marked you as my own.
But I am not done.
My hand, on yours…yes, I want it there. Nestled between your thighs. I can feel your fingers move under my own.
I don’t need to tell you what to do.
You can’t stop yourself.
Wicked girl.
Wicked, beautiful, sinful, girl.
I cannot wait for desert.