Never Be Sorry

When Jack took her in his arms and the night sky wheeled over her head, she was his. When his lips claimed hers, he stole her soul.

The next day, he took her away. The wind caught the sails and whirled them away. When he saw her looking back from the deck, he took her and turned her away.

"Never look back, love."

She never did. The world spun by, and she never looked back, seizing every moment. She drank passion like rum, never thinking about now everything might have been. She was drunk on lust.

"Never be sorry, love."

She never was. She had said that she wasn't when her lips left Jack's, and she never was.

"I like you when you're ruthless, love."

She twined her fingers in his hair cruelly, the fingernails of her other hand biting mercilessly into the bronzed skin of his shoulder. She bit his lip with her white teeth. She pulled him so close to her, her arms ached from holding her nearer. Her touch was never tender, never pure. Always, it was corrupt and sinful, mad and deadly.

The sea roared with the gold of her own hair and the black of Jack's, with the honey color of her skin and sun-tainted bronze of her lover's, with the crimson of their passion. The waves swelled, heaving with carnal lust, the foam of each wave crashing, a ruin of twisted beauty.

She tortured him, killed him, over and over again. He groaned in pain and pleasure. He was bleeding to death, kissing her. Her hands were dripping with his blood, her whole body was drowning in it. The taste of it filled her mouth. He tasted like a black paradise.

She knew that he hated her and loved her. She heard his gasping scream of agony, but knew that he could never leave her. She knew that her cruelty drew him. She knew that he wanted her so much, he couldn't let her go. She knew he needed her, knew he couldn't live without her. She knew that he would never be sorry.

Their affair was cruel, heedless, a frenzied whirl of brutal desire. They didn't care if they hurt each other when their lips crashed together with staggering force. They were like two people dying of thirst, finding an endless lake, satisfying their every passion.

The sea carried them away, in their own world of lust, deceit, and utter happiness. Nothing was as good as never being sorry. She was never sorry that she hurt Jack, ever sorry that she loved Jack.

"Never be sorry, love."

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