The moment suspended into hours. There, being held a good inch above the ground, Starling heard
only her heart pounding. It was as
though he was a mannequin, incapable to do anything but watch her with dead,
unmoving eyes. The piercing pupils of
his gaze burnt into her, a thousand things flashing across them, all those
things having the potential of having several possibilities. In one instant, he looked as though he
wanted to both kill her and kiss her, holding her there in sweet torment, the
agony of not knowing what to expect. Then again, if there had been any time she had predicted him, it was
entirely beyond her. At that moment,
she didn't care what he did as long as it ended this tortuous anticipation.
All in all, it lasted three seconds, his sweeping gaze
running over her face, studying her reaction to his sudden use of force. Undoubtedly, he smelled her wave of
unbridled desire, the same that struck her the prior evening. Starling figured Dr. Lecter knew that this
reaction was guaranteed when he induced his strength to make her listen. This apparently was the wanted affect, but
what followed was beyond predictability and reason, even for this man. Starling realized she had unleashed
something significant within him, something she couldn't stop. Any attempts to escape what was to come would
be futile.
With mesmerizing strength, Dr. Lecter, still holding her by
the shoulders, carried her a few feet back and threw her onto the bed so that
she was conveniently on her spine. He
took a minute to look her over, satisfyingly found no strains of resistance,
and allowed himself to follow. He
positioned his arms so that he braced his fall and avoided crushing her with
his body. It was a moment of triumph
when that lethal mouth descended on hers, taking a engaging second before
turning the kiss into something that held zeal to meet its erotic nature. It was all tongue and teeth, sweet drops of
heaven that bit equally venomous with every pulse. His teeth grazed hers mercilessly, though it did not hurt, even
when he bit hard. If possible, the
taste of her blood excited her more.
{No, no, no. Mustn't
let him gain control. Can't let him
win. Fight it, Starling. Don't give in!}
Indeed, she actually tried to fight him off, breaking the
kiss with a heavy breath as she struggled with her better senses, her fogged
mind doing nothing but confuse her more. After a second, she could see – his gaze was still piercing, still
shielded with that wall of intolerance, still tantalizing. Then Starling knew this was hopeless, knew
resistance would only make her ache more. But that didn't stop her voice from
rising in one last attempt of defiance.
"Wait a
minute! Wait a minute!" she pleaded,
only able to endure that gaze a second longer before locking her arms around
his neck to pull him down to her mouth again. Once more the kiss was savage, minus the biting this time, his
mouth raping whatever innocence she had previously possessed. She must have moaned because she felt a
growl arise within his chest, the type of growl that answered, never
stated. With relative ease her legs
encircled his torso to pull him downward – all these actions sprouting from her
subconsciously. She was too involved
with the sinfully pleasurable yet still brutal force of his lips on hers to
register her other parts functioning to bring the two bodies together.
Starling realized
she was no longer on the mattress, rather clinging to Dr. Lecter as he was
propped on his arms, himself hardly on the bed as it was. Apparently, this was what he had in mind,
obviously enjoying her latching to him for support, and in response all the
roughness left his lips, only to leave a fervent splendor. The kiss was no longer the type someone
delivered to one they were angry with, one they wanted to hurt, but instead one
they were infatuated with. It made
Starling writhe in jealousy to think of Esamarla receiving these attentions,
but Practical Sensible informed her politely that his 'social companion' could
never raise a kiss like this from him. This was the sort of touch reserved for the one he truly wanted. Never again would she fear it wasn't her.
After a minute, Dr. Lecter lowered them both to the bed once
more, rolling onto his back but not allowing her body to sit up. His hands free now, they rested on her hips
for a brief second, making circular motions until grasping the fabric of her
skirt and sliding it up her legs with urgency that nearly frightened her. Her response, though, suggested anything but
fear. Instead, she again broke the kiss
and raised herself just enough to find the buttons of his shirt. Reaching to the last just as he found the
bottom of her sweater, she allowed him to drag it over her head before throwing
it out of sight. Her eyes followed it
until remembering the task at hand. It
all seemed surreal.
Though his dress shirt was successfully unbuttoned, Starling
made no move to push it off his shoulders – she was lured to his mouth
again. Blindly, her hands turned their
attention to his trousers and worked vigorously to unfasten the belt as she
proceeded to get even drunker on the slow rhythmic movement of his mouth. His hands found the clasp on her skirt and
somehow managed to whip from under her without flipping her off the bed. Knowing this wouldn't go anywhere without
some prompting on her part, and she forced herself to break the addictive trap
of his mouth as her fingers grasped the rim of his pants, pulling the belt away
in a fashion she had only seen in movies before proceeding to tug him
free. Her own urgency was beginning to
scare her, but there was no regret. This
felt too right for regret.
Dr. Lecter took advantage of her withdrawn attentions to his
clothing and removed the dress shirt she had left on his shoulders. When she returned, task complete, she moved
to resume the incomplete kiss but was stopped with a raised hand. Taking his time, Dr. Lecter lowered his head
to the left strap of her bra and trapped it in his teeth that barely grazed
above her skin. Starling gasped as he
tore it away, the brute force only exciting her more, to the point where she
would go mad if her sudden ailment was not tended to. Her hands followed her eyes, traveling from his sides to his
shoulders, drawing in the first sight of him like this, and more than pleased
with what she saw. As her arms linked
around his neck once more, Dr. Lecter reclined again, being very sure she felt
the cadenced evidence of his desire against her thigh. Deliciously, Starling licked her lips to
bait away another gasp, her mouth trapped in his before she could smile, but
the thought still came, nonetheless.
{I did that, I made him do that. God help us both.}
When the union, terribly prolonged but very much worth the
wait, finally occurred, Starling was sure her cry was heard all through
Florence. As she was rolled onto her
back, Dr. Lecter ever determined to assert his control, Starling felt tears
that she could never shed sprout to her eyes, one thought rising before she
lost all her thoughts to this raw sensuality.
{Eat your heart out, Esamarla Raizonne.}
All sense of time was lost, sweetly surrendered to fourteen
years of terrible suspense. Starling
forgot there was a world outside this room, outside Florence. During this, melting into his embrace and
taking him deeper than anyone else in the world, she was able to forget
everything in a splinter of the minds eye.
* * *
Harsh reality, for what it was worth, failed to strike with
the impact she feared. When she awoke,
seemingly hours later, Starling found she was alone. All evidence of Dr. Lecter's visit was expertly nonexistent. A long-stemmed rose was beside her head,
innocent to the untrained eye. Letting
out an exasperated breath, Starling sat up, clutching the rose to her chest,
not knowing how to feel. Used? Spent? Both?
A wandering thought arose then, something that had failed to
strike her before. Nicholas. Had he come back, seen her with Dr. Lecter,
and left? Or was he really dead, and
she at the end of a cruel joke? Perhaps
the good doctor felt satisfied with what he took from her and was still
determined to make her suffer.
Perhaps he had gone back to Esamarla. That thought stirred tears. Slowly, she forced herself out of bed and to
her suitcase, suddenly cold for her lack of clothing, and as she started to
dress, her eyes fell to the table Dr. Lecter had sat in when she first arrived. For the thousandth time that day, her heart
promptly froze within her chest. A
letter, complete with his fine elegant brush, was waiting for her. Dressing slowly, as if afraid to read the
words, she agonized herself before summoning the courage to move toward
it. Even still, her hands trembled as
she raised it to eye level.
It read:
Dear Clarice,
Rest assured your lost innocence remains blissfully ignorant
to your dear Nicholas. Through the
course of our meeting this morning, he stayed wisely away.
I do hope you slept well, Clarice. I suspect it will be mid-afternoon before you awake. Don't be alarmed by this change of sleeping
patterns, you worked up quite a sweat, if you'll recall.
Do forgive my abrupt departure. I'm sure you understand that as much as it pains me to be away, I
do have other priorities to tend to. This is not to say I want our little charade to continue, Clarice, quite
the opposite, in fact. As you can
guess, this all has become quite tedious. I feel the need to draw a fine means to an end before our social
companions summarize their own conclusions. I do hope you agree, Clarice. Surely you now understand that you are and
always have been once and forever mine, I don't believe any further clarity is
necessary.
I am extending the invitation to meet with you and Nicholas
tonight. Though it is a bit monotonous
to tend the same restaurant two nights consecutively, I feel the symbolic
location is most appropriate. Esamarla
and I will be waiting at eight.
Oh, Clarice, wear the dress. I don't believe I need to remind you which one.
Patience, my dear, all will be settled tonight. All good things to those who wait.
Ta,
Hannibal
* * *