credits to papaphinks for the image cover!
(Okay, I seriously don't know what I am trying to achieve here. I just…wanted to try a new writing style /though I don't even know what my usual style is/ And just to tell you, don't expect sequels from me /RUNS/)
"More?"
He leans and he kisses ―once, on her lips. Soft, chase lips are against hers, because he must be delicate and slow ―take it slowly, he thinks, achingly slow while he tastes her in his webs.
He does not want to ruin this rare feast, after all.
"Stop."
Albeit she shivers, and she takes his hair and kisses ―a bit fast, a bit hungry and desperate. Her fingers, those sensual and needy fingers, crawl up and down and up and she clings, tight. She almost crashes him.
And then, he sees red. Her eyes are swirling with blood―taste them, lick them, he thinks. Because he desires that red.
She must be mine.
"More."
He smiles and sucks her neck, stubbornly, until he marks her. He hums when she sighs, shaky little sighs that restrains her pleasure. Not enough, he thinks. He bites, a little bit harder than he wanted. This is mine.
She arches and she grunts, 'Stop―' then it turns into a moan. A fleeting moan caught in the air when he kisses her lips. Hard, insistent lips to cage her and unshackle her desires.
She pushes back and drags him. She is caught, she knows, but she continues. She lusts for him and it's forbidden. She will never be forgiven, she knows, but she doesn't stop.
This is insane, she thinks.
"You― are insane," she whispers, and bites his lips.
He pauses and stares at her ―his poor, beautiful butterfly wrapped in his webs. Though it is ironical, he confesses, that he is the one lured into her. He wants to eat her now, because he is hungry for her, only for her.
But she's not mine.
"Stop?" He whispers in her ears, then he licks and bites and kisses, until she finds it hard to breathe. She gasps while he savors her ears, she shudders and she pleas.
"More―" she mutters.
Because he knows, he always knows where to please her. They are her weaknesses, her most sensitive spots that elicits the best melody of her lusts.
"Kurapika," he husked, "Louder." He breathes gently, "Say it, louder."
"Hah―" she almost cries out, "―more."
He loves her sounds. He plays with them, orchestrates them to his bidding. He teases and teases until she concedes ―willingly.
She wraps her arms around him, and he cups her face. He combs and kisses her hair, her golden tresses that he cherishes.
"You cut them," he says and his palms wander. He unzips her dress, playful fingers dip into her back. "It used to be this―" he shapes her hips, a little pinch and she arches, "―long."
She stares. "They must be offered to my King, after all."
'King Leorio has arrived!' a soldier shouts.
And they are back to reality.
"Tell me then, my Queen, where does your heart truly reside?"
Her bloody eyes are eerie, they are alive but dead, dead, dead. They're not mine, he remembers.
"My kingdom, always with my kingdom and my people."
And she lies, she always lies to him. She thinks it is right, but he thinks it is rubbish.
He takes her hand, "Then, I shall take them away from you, my Queen." He kisses her ―perhaps a curse he carves on her hand.
He stares and smiles as devious as he is, "My only Queen, Kurapika."
Because he takes what he wants and it never fails, the Great Demon Lord never fails.