Description
His hands. The thing she hated most was when she started craving his touch. She'd would even go so far to admit that she worshipped his hands. Cruel and bloodied as they'd always be, she loved when he touched her with them. And no, the marks on her necks were never from his hands but only from his lips, his teeth. The hungry way he took her, completely sober and focused on wanting for her to feel pleasure couldn't compare to any drink or drug she could try to drown herself in. It was there when he'd brush the hair out of her face, or gently rest his hands on any part of her. Worshipping, adoring, owning her. It was intoxicating yet, in a twisted way, so sobering. She was no fool. She knew this was all a sickness. More than a rented whore, and less than a wedded wife. A being he possessed with passion but on whim could deny it all and leave stranded. It was a vicious predicament. And yet, she feel a part of her let it happen.
Authors note
