"God, I love that look in your eyes."
"The one that says you're drunk on me and you'll do anything I tell you to. The one that says what a whore you really are..."
I may have lost my ability to form a sentence at that point, but it was good. Really good.
I did not, however, lose my ability to hear his words as he continued on:
"You, my dear have grown even more beautiful over time. You were, no doubt quite hot when you were younger, but now...You are truly beautiful. More...Tamed, tempered. When you were younger it was like this world could barely contain you."
In a way, that is how I have always been--the spark, at times, almost to
much for my body to contain. He had long ago and many times since kept
me from burning out in the heat of my own flames.
I was distracted by the look in his eyes, the way his hand was wrapped around my throat, the sensation of his skin against mine.
"My beautiful whore. Oh how I have missed having you in my bed."
I was lost on my way home. Any struggle I had put up to slow my surrender was purely superficial, a token of entertainment which he had easily brushed aside.
Everything I thought I was, or that I should be, washed away in the sweet tenderness of his cruelty.
And now I'm off again...