He parts her lips.
The first time he did that, he could taste the innocence on her. He had wanted to bite down and draw blood, but he had been putting on an act at the time. The next time he doesn't taste innocence, he tastes sweet and sensual adulthood hiding at the cusp of her tongue. He has brought this on her by nearly killing her, aging he more than he can say she needed.
Damien Ramsey was very busy in the Otherworld. The diplomacy between demons and abominations was peculiar. Not brutal like one would expect, just bizarre, and he enjoyed it. But he could hardly engage in the illicit displays of sexual conquest. He chose instead to relay every heart he had broken at Iris Academy. People called him a number of things, but they all respected how easily he could break a heart. None could imagine that a sweet young lady, barely seventeen, had a tighter grip on the heartbreaker Kings heart than any other.
He sends her a letter and a special invitation. He wants for her to meet him at a different place this time, and she agrees. But she quickly pushes him away when he smothers her body with his own, intent upon having her. Her ring shimmers. He wraps his arm around her shoulders.
"You are mine," he says tauntingly, and as a reminder. She feels his hands slide down her body. She leaves.
He almost breaks his vow of utmost devotion to one woman then and there, just to spite her. Just out of anger. But he knows his limitations. He knows she has limits, and if he is going to break her heart repeatedly with the evils he intends to commit, he must not betray her in that one way. And why not? He only wants her. Love is a disgusting feeling, he muses inwardly. Disgusting and captivating. Just like her.
He watches her for awhile. Her friends are growing in number. . . and especially her male friends. She's finally growing into her own. His stomach feels like knives. He wants to crack the skull of every freshman who casts a look her way.
She's mine, he repeats in his head over and over.
He is angry, and he demands she come see him, yet again a location different than before. She shows up and he demands she be more observant and outright reject any admirers. She refuses. He angrily presses her against the wall. In that moment she is meek and on the floor of the gym yet again. His tender little flower, right in the palm of his hands. He sees a nervous and pretty girl on the cusp of womanhood, untouched completely. Her blue eyes look at him in anxiety. He roughly grabs at her breast.
She does not refuse him.
He can see the anxiety on her as she looks at him. The commitment of her body is the submission of her as a whole. But it's a formality in their case, she already once offered her soul. He tenderly yet swiftly enters her, yanking the last piece of her for himself, and revels in how different this is. How many girls had he taken the same thing from? How many men? And so many felt delicious. But her look of pain and sedimentary body halt his actions.
The inside of her burns him like a hot drink in his mouth. If he had ever felt this with anyone else, he would not stop. But he struggles to try not to hurt her. His impulse is to embrace this feeling and make her howl in pain. His impulse is to take her until she can't speak from screaming, and only then spill himself inside of her and enjoy the sight of her freshly ravaged body. He kisses her.
"I'm going to move," he warns her sensually. At the sound of his voice he feels a convulsion in her body. "Do you like it when I talk to you?" He moves. She winces. He cannot stop anymore, the deep and burning desire to take her luscious body overwhelms him. At first he is kind. But then he sees those eyes.
He sees her eyes crying as she admits she will always love him. The broken spirit of a girl he should have killed. This is his reward.
She is his reward.
Her voice is crying out in pain as he takes her. He has had pleasures he is sure will never be rivaled in the most carnal sense. But here is a deeply perverse completion he feels only as she grips him tight through his movements. He took this girl and made her his. And now the feeling of her breasts against his chest and her legs coiling around him timidly, he knows a sickening pleasure he does not believe he can top.
When he is done, he looks down at her to see his creation. Truthfully, he just took a piece of pure art and defiled it. A sweet girl now his woman completely. Her legs parted, white gushing forth. He pulls her to him and strokes her long locks. He is content. He knows she will be as soon as she calms down. "I love you, my flower," he says as he feels contentment wash over him. She relaxes at that.
"I love you," she murmurs back. He smiles against her hair as he moves his hand down to meet her center. She recoils just enough. He grins.
"It's your turn,"
There is a distinct pause.
And he sees her twisting and turning in his head for weeks. If he could have her every night, he would.
But when he returns to watch over her, nothing too invasive of course, he sees more people looking her way. Her aura is different, thanks to him. He clenches his fist tight.
One way or another, they'd learn she was his.
He sends her another note. He demands she see him. She does not come. He appears on campus solely to see her leading an extra credit project with freshmen. Children. Boys. Boys who like her. He almost sets something on fire.
She ignores him for two weeks. He goes from angry, to furious, to hesitant, and then furious again. He smooths his anger into a subtle calm and thinks of what to say. 'Let's talk' he writes prettily on paper. He does not want to talk. He want to make her listen. People are starting to listen to him now, slowly they become his subordinates. But one little girl won't keep her place. He wants to make her cry for this.
She comes, but she does not seem hopeful. She has come with a different intent than he expected.
"Talk," she calmly remarks. He presses her against the wall as a move of intimidation. She recoils with magic and shoves him away heavily. He feels a shock and dismay he has seldom felt. He looks to her with a sudden realization.
He had made the filly into a mare. He grits his teeth. But she is watching him with her hand outstretched. He knows she is confident, but she shouldn't be. He sends a spell along her back that twists her as if she was being ensnared. She can't move, and he tugs her towards him. He just stares at her for a long while. Fury is deep in his gut. He wants her to shiver and scream and swear she will not speak to these boys again. But he sees something in her then that stops him.
It freezes him to the core. That stupid feeling that caused all of this reacts violently. There in her eyes is ressolve. If he forces her to stop, she will leave him. And he can whisk her away to the Otherworld but she will not relent the thing he wants. He has found her line. He knows he cannot cross it. He releases her, but only into his arms. He tilts her chin towards him.
"Little flower, you have your limits. And I have mine. Mine are you. Do not let those children touch you, or I will cross a line without hesitation," he says it cooly as he peers into her eyes. She purses her lips. She softens her stiff body.
"Would I keep coming if I wanted anyone else?" she murmured silently. He kisses her.
He still feels the broiling rage of anger. He still wants to smush her cheeks into his hands and grip her jaw until she tears up. But he doesn't. He bites her lip again, instead. Blood flows into his mouth freely and he smiles into the kiss as she winces.
And he can't help but think that it does not matter what she wants anymore. Because she is most certainly his, from the day she forgave him until the day they both died. He wraps her golden hair into his hands.
"You are mine," he says sweetly as he cradles her head into his neck and calmly pets her hair.
"And you, mine," she subtly reminds him. He nods slowly.
Perhaps he does not understand love the way it is meant. And if anyone of the people he was trying to persuade saw the strange feelings he possessed for a weak little witch, he might lose all influence then.
But there was no greater joy in his life than the twisted ownership of his sweet, sweet little wildflower, and the ownership she in turn also enjoyed over him.
He gives her a necklace as she leaves. She smiles and the true sincere girl underneath shines through. He loves the look on her face. But as she leaves he silently reviews the polite hex he has placed on her new jewelry. Not a single boy would touch her, not again. He sits down and enjoys a small sip of wine as he ponders how it will turn out.
And sweetly, he thinks of the innocent smile he constantly taints into a frown.