Title: Hatred & Seduction
Summary: Another side of my 'Temptation' story. This time it's Stretch's side of the story. Kat thought he hated her but was she 100 correct? Read 'Temptation' before this one shot.
Genre: Romance/Angst
Rated: T
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He hated her. He loathed her. She was a fleshie. A good-for-nothing, insignificant, know-nothing, stubborn, rebellious FLESHIE!! It was undeniable torture to put up with her brain dead psychiatrist father but to put up with an overtly emotional adolescent? That doubled the entire amount of torture. He only promised to put up with them because her father vowed he'd find them spiritual happiness. As if that'll ever happen. God, he hated his afterlife. Hell, he hated possibly everything that didn't go his way. He hated his brothers for being empty-headed idiots. He hated his nephew for being a stranger of his own genus. He hated James Harvey for intruding on his property. He hated Kat Harvey for tempting him so after her puberty stage and her growth spurt. But most of all, he hated himself.
Hatred was an incredibly random feeling. You feel this burning depth of anger and irritation for a particular somebody and all you wanted was to kill him; make him/her die the most painful death. Yet, another part of you wanted to change that. Hatred didn't get anybody anywhere. It'll only well up in you, pelting you with misery and annoyance. And you'd only be satisfied if you did away with the person. His brothers and nephew didn't count; they were deceased anyway. Like him. They attempted to murder the doctor but it turned out wrong. Should he kill the daughter then? It would be sweet success, wouldn't it? He smiled nastily at that thought. She was older now but still childishly naïve. That softened him up a bit. Naïve but definitely not innocent. She was growing up and she was experiencing the whole 'birds and the bees' jazz. She'd be pawed by drooling examples of the male gender. The realization made him sick. He would have vomited if he could.
She was beautiful, gorgeous even. Tall, slim with killer curves. Long, chestnut brown hair spilling from her scalp. Eyes the most wondrous shade of honey brown. Lips soft and supple, dying for a heated kiss. But she wouldn't have any business with him. He knew she spurned him. That's what prompted him to hate her. All she cared, worshipped, looked up to and most of all, loved was Casper. That made him detest the kid his custody was entrusted to in the first place. He was envious. The dame deserved better. Most people would question why he'd bother with this ordinary girl. He was dashing; he could have women stringing along on his arms. But he wanted her. Because he knew she would never want him. She was naively charming as a child. But as she grew up, her childishness departed and womanhood filled the gap. She was now temptingly sexy. A little taunting, but still grown up all the same. But she had needs. No, not needs. Desires. She became the one thing he always thought she could never become: seductive.
The change in the air was subtle but he could feel it. Like a huge wave of heat splashing over him. The spark dwelling inside her hormonal glands ached to be ignited and stirred into a roaring flame. He would distinctly feel her lustful gaze analyzing him, her lips parted, her pink tongue unconsciously running along them. It was hard to keep composed. But he needed to. He was a leader after all. An unofficial one but still leader all the same. And leaders DON'T act like lustful virgin schoolboys who jack off and think perverted thoughts about any dame, gal or whore that struts by. But everybody, even specters, reach their breaking point. He would remember one particular dream he had about her. Her and her kittenish, coquettish and flirtatious side. She was lying, stripper-like on a canopied bed. The silken sheets were a brilliant lilac pigment. She'd smile shyly yet flirtatiously at him. He'd smirked his heart-melting smirk. She'd lift herself of the bed and strip off her transparent and lacy robe to reveal a startling and lust-emitting sight.
Her stunning frame was only covered by a Victoria Secret's lingerie set. The top was a strapless and lace-trimmed white bra. The bottom a matching thong. God, she was perfect. Coy, innocent without being pretentious, flirtatiously armed to the teeth and above all, sexy as hell. She'd give herself to him as though she was a reward. But she was more. Lot's more than that. He'd kiss her. The kiss would begin as a simple lip lock. But it heated up quickly. Very quickly. Lips would discover themselves to be in a ferocious tangle. Tongues poked and prodded in sinful, never-been-touched pleasure spots. They were battling for dominance; making the other plead for more. The tension and sexual frustration lingering in the entire room was radiating. Gentle hands would explore shamelessly with no regard to the other party. As if there needed to be. And he'd wake up, panting slightly. There were few things that would make a ghost feel hot and stuffy under the collar. This was certainly added to that list. He would still hate her. She was after all a bone bag. But he hated himself more for not making a move. But he would strike one day. Very soon she would be at his lust's mercy. So as he monitored her with jealousy as she happily chatted with Casper or appraise while her back was turned, he would vow:
"You'll be mine one day, bitch. One day very soon."
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A/N: I'll change it to an M if you think it's too inappropriate.