So this comes between chapters 3 and 4 of One Last Chance To Be Good although you don't necessarily have to read it to get this.
Rated M for a reason- hope you enjoy, haha!
From Florence's point of view because I feel like it~
|!|~|!|~|!|~|!|
I grasp her hand and am surprised by the coldness as her fingers wrap firmly around my wrist. Her blue eyes flash, a mad fire burning into me for the mere second our gazes connect. All the blood in my body rushes to my cheeks- or at least it feels like it- as I realise that she is not just mad but maddeningly attractive.
Sure, maybe not in the conventional way with sweet smiles and blonde hair but definitely in my way.
She is as brilliant as if the quickness of mind- which I'm sure she has- is not swaddled inside her head but draped around her shoulders like a mantle. Sharp cheekbones sculpt her face into something definitely dangerous and cruelly thin lips curve into a smile which has nothing pleasant about it
"I'll be waiting next week, Mistress." I let go and wave, my body defying the wishes of my mind and heart, "Right here." The door closes. She disappears and I am left with her image imprinted on my mind.
I finish walking home.
I think I eat dinner and all of the preparatory work preceding going to bed but I can't quite recall.
In bed I lie, trying to not rub at my wrists but failing futilely. My lips pull upwards again as I remember her name.
"Mistress." A ghost of a whisper which parts my lips. I bring my bruised arms to my face, seeing the purpled skin easily despite the low light level.
Ever so gently I push against the marks, sighing even as I wince.
"Couldn't even have fallen for a human girl." My own words barely register to my own ears and I chuckle, pressing down harder. A huff of breath makes its way through clenched teeth and I laugh at myself.
In my mind I conjure up a replica.
Her touch almost feels substantial as I trace my own cold hands over my breasts, down the delicate sides of my rib cage, across the soft flesh of my stomach.
The fake sits atop me, teeth nipping at my neck as I tangle my hands in her hair- free of pins because the detail isn't something I really care to focus on right now. I arch like a wanton, her cool skin unyielding against my own. Fingers loop around my wrists again, catching them easily and pulling them over my head. Her nails dig into my already damaged skin. I cry out.
My mouth remains shut despite my inner pleasures, my breathing carefully steadied after years of practise thinking about other beautiful people though no man or woman can seem to match the her that exists in my mind right now.
Another hand would yank my head backwards by the hair, fisting it together and putting my neck at a painful angle. She would look down then- malevolent- proud of what she has done, of the smears of warm blood on my chest and throat. Her ice eyes dance with a cruel hunger and I would ache for her touch, her kiss, her teeth, her anything.
Then she would speak, her thighs either side of my head as my neck cramps up;
"You're mine, pet." And I would be hers and hers alone as she bends over me, those thin lips brushing my ear. My arms would lie limp above my head and I would be broken beneath her.
Her folds would be pressed insistently against my face and I would do as I was told despite my inexperience as cool hands soothe my throat even though the fingers tighten around it. I gasp for air, her damp heat disallowing me a single breath. My head begins to hurt, my chest spasming as my brain screams for oxygen.
My weak hands try to free me and my own short nails scratch at the pale skin of her stomach and thighs desperately. She doesn't allow it, smiling down at me cruelly as even that begins to blur out and spin.
"That's it- cry for me." Her voices croons and I didn't realise I was crying but I am and my arms fall back against the bed as I lie there limply, surrendering to the unconsciousness which eats away at me.
I think she comes- then I can breathe again. Something wet slides against my cheek and I lie shuddering on the bed.
In my real bed my hands delve between my thighs, easily slipping through curls and past satin folds.
Her ice cold fingers caress the soft skin of my hip and the heat still burns inside of me, the lack of oxygen making me drunk.
Without preparation they thrust into me, stretching me wide. Her damp breath passes over my face as she watches my pained expression.
"Oh, don't you enjoy this pet?" A particularly cruel drag of her nails against my walls. I hiccup as she grins maliciously.
"I think you do." Another hard thrust which makes me yelp. Thin lips at my ear.
"I think you do." Hissing. Those lips on mine. Powerless.
I let out a small gasp and roll over, closing my heated thighs together.
Maybe now I can sleep?
… Six days and nineteen hours later…
Her ship appears and as soon as I am aboard it I can't stop myself from talking.
"Bad week, a lot more interesting now. Do you know how many people I've had to make up an excuse for about these bruises?" I hold my still bruised wrists up for her to see the marks she's already made on me.
"Lots, ended up going with rope burn. They wanted it to be true anyway so all I had to do was keep a straight face and try and hide it as much as possible." And she smiles that psychotic, menacing smile that I've been yearning for all week. Slowly I smile back, trying to hide most of my joy at seeing her.
I wish it was rope burn too…
|!|~|!|~|!|~|!|
I'm just gonna leave now…