::: CHAPTER SEVEN :::
For the past week, I spent every night in Riddick's bed. Imam found it endearing that Riddick was forced to come face to face with the most pure being in all the planets -- a child. He thought that I would aid Riddick in making the transition from callous killer to doting protector. Boy, was he ever wrong. My thoughts were impure, and I was pretty sure that even with all the willpower Riddick held in his essence that the finespun flirtations of a developing teenager were starting to sway him. In my old life, the one with earthy humans and unprofound interests, I had never fully analyzed my appearance. Now I spent hours studying my reflection, poring over imperfections, and glossing my outer and quite phony countenance.
I came to the conclusion that I was coming along quite nicely. My skin was pale, almost translucent. My eyes held shimmers of emerald and they were wide, like two opulent saucers. I was slender and my hips were definitely not child bearing-they were slight but still more pronounced because of my waif-like presence. Long legs that sported a nice smooth shape and breasts that fit in the palm of my hand. My hair had started growing back in waves close to my scalp. It was short but the lusciousness of the midnight brown contrasted quite nicely with my porcelain skin and delicate eyes. My lips glistened when my pink tongue ran over them. I found Riddick liked when I did that . . . I did it often. Of course, I didn't know Riddick's type. For all I knew, he could have been into busty women with glowing tanned skin and soft brown eyes, but I wasn't of that variety. So I used what I had.
By the time Riddick was to depart, I had fully ignited his curiosity in me. He hadn't felt lust, love, or affection for me . . . it was just sheer wonderment. The strangeness of my voice -- the way it changed pitch, the little veins on my neck, the nervous twitch in my leg . . . . These were what he noticed. I had put special emphasis on them. There was no chance of him turning his back on me. He was the locket around my neck and every so often I would pinch him between my fingers for comfort. If I beckoned, he came.
Every chance I got, I milled around him and using much refinement fondled him. My hands had found his sinewy arms, his chiseled abdomen, and stubbly head more than once. I had touched a lot of his parts but there was still one very important area that had been neglected.
He was standing near the bed of the small hotel room. He was going to be there for only a minute so I quickly assessed the situation. I saw the night table between the two beds and my chrono on it. Using a panther's grace, I moved quickly to the table and doing so I had to squeeze between Riddick, since he was also standing between the two beds. I turned my back to him and muttered an "excuse me" before placing my hands on his hips as pretext to save room and pushed myself closer to the table. I reached the table and flicked the chrono on my wrist but not before my short skirt clad ass grazed a most sensitive spot for Riddick. It was a simple gesture . . . would have gone unnoticed if it wasn't for the electricity I had been building and tending to since I first spoke to Riddick.
Power exhilarated through me. I had only gently brushed him but as I did I felt the hem of my skirt rub the back of my thighs, and I knew it was enough. Riddick had inhaled when I pushed by him, and I could almost feel his throat tighten into a chord. After I set the chrono on my wrist, Riddick's voice grumbled my way.
"Hope you enjoyed that."
Shit! Did he know what I was doing? Shit!
My face became expressionless. I turned my head towards him and saw the weighty look held in the silver of his eyes. Surprisingly though, I also felt a wetness between my legs. It made me want to roll my hips, but I curbed that sensation. I opted for naiveté instead.
"Enjoyed what?"
A wry grin painted his face. He didn't answer; he moved closer to me. Unaware, I took a step back and jerked to reality when my legs hit the table behind me. He came right up to my face and laid his hands on either side of my hips, clutching the tiny table. I felt entangled -- like I couldn't quite figure out which direction I would have to turn for escape. The answer was that there was no escape. I hadn't felt panic for a while so when it hit me, my face winced, and I recoiled. I cursed my fashion choice. How I allowed myself to be dressed ladylike, as Imam put it, I would never know. My game was unriddling and the answer was becoming painfully obvious: Riddick was taking back control . . . and that meant taking something that I wasn't prepared to give, yet. It was quite dejecting to know that my scheme of breaking Riddick was caving in on me instead. All I wanted was domination over a human -- my diseased life force had shrilled for it. The fall guy was never supposed to find out. I evidently misjudged Riddick's intelligence.
His breath blew softly across my cheeks, and it tickled. It felt like tears. My mouth was slightly open and his eyes seemed to hungrily devour it. He licked his lips and his gaze shifted to my eyes. I felt one of his hands disconnect from the steady table. Before I knew it, I felt something white-hot on my knee. It was his hand. He gave my knee a quick squeeze and it instantly started trembling. He dragged the tips of his fingers higher up my leg and around to the inside. My breathing was coming in quick gasps and his gaze never faltered from my eyes. It was like his hand was not connected to his mind at all . . . he could molest and regard me at the same time. One of my hands weakly pushed against his chest while the other clinched the table forcefully. To show my hand had no power, he shuffled closer to me and my wrist bent back from the lessening of space. His wandering hand stopped right before my skirt was to ride up. He swallowed and licked his lips. I almost moaned. His other hand left the table too and nuzzled my neck. His thumb ran the length of the side, and he must have realized my pulse was pounding.
He backed off.
He. Just. Backed. Off.
It hit me like a tidal wave. The game was still on. He still had qualms about fucking a sixteen year old. This information was desperation to me. I fed on it, and it fueled me. He still had morals for me to break . . . and break them I would. By the end, I vowed to have him so confounded that he would reject humanity and crawl in a crevice reserved for the most damnable of people . . . people like me. I guess I just didn't want to be alone?
For the past week, I spent every night in Riddick's bed. Imam found it endearing that Riddick was forced to come face to face with the most pure being in all the planets -- a child. He thought that I would aid Riddick in making the transition from callous killer to doting protector. Boy, was he ever wrong. My thoughts were impure, and I was pretty sure that even with all the willpower Riddick held in his essence that the finespun flirtations of a developing teenager were starting to sway him. In my old life, the one with earthy humans and unprofound interests, I had never fully analyzed my appearance. Now I spent hours studying my reflection, poring over imperfections, and glossing my outer and quite phony countenance.
I came to the conclusion that I was coming along quite nicely. My skin was pale, almost translucent. My eyes held shimmers of emerald and they were wide, like two opulent saucers. I was slender and my hips were definitely not child bearing-they were slight but still more pronounced because of my waif-like presence. Long legs that sported a nice smooth shape and breasts that fit in the palm of my hand. My hair had started growing back in waves close to my scalp. It was short but the lusciousness of the midnight brown contrasted quite nicely with my porcelain skin and delicate eyes. My lips glistened when my pink tongue ran over them. I found Riddick liked when I did that . . . I did it often. Of course, I didn't know Riddick's type. For all I knew, he could have been into busty women with glowing tanned skin and soft brown eyes, but I wasn't of that variety. So I used what I had.
By the time Riddick was to depart, I had fully ignited his curiosity in me. He hadn't felt lust, love, or affection for me . . . it was just sheer wonderment. The strangeness of my voice -- the way it changed pitch, the little veins on my neck, the nervous twitch in my leg . . . . These were what he noticed. I had put special emphasis on them. There was no chance of him turning his back on me. He was the locket around my neck and every so often I would pinch him between my fingers for comfort. If I beckoned, he came.
Every chance I got, I milled around him and using much refinement fondled him. My hands had found his sinewy arms, his chiseled abdomen, and stubbly head more than once. I had touched a lot of his parts but there was still one very important area that had been neglected.
He was standing near the bed of the small hotel room. He was going to be there for only a minute so I quickly assessed the situation. I saw the night table between the two beds and my chrono on it. Using a panther's grace, I moved quickly to the table and doing so I had to squeeze between Riddick, since he was also standing between the two beds. I turned my back to him and muttered an "excuse me" before placing my hands on his hips as pretext to save room and pushed myself closer to the table. I reached the table and flicked the chrono on my wrist but not before my short skirt clad ass grazed a most sensitive spot for Riddick. It was a simple gesture . . . would have gone unnoticed if it wasn't for the electricity I had been building and tending to since I first spoke to Riddick.
Power exhilarated through me. I had only gently brushed him but as I did I felt the hem of my skirt rub the back of my thighs, and I knew it was enough. Riddick had inhaled when I pushed by him, and I could almost feel his throat tighten into a chord. After I set the chrono on my wrist, Riddick's voice grumbled my way.
"Hope you enjoyed that."
Shit! Did he know what I was doing? Shit!
My face became expressionless. I turned my head towards him and saw the weighty look held in the silver of his eyes. Surprisingly though, I also felt a wetness between my legs. It made me want to roll my hips, but I curbed that sensation. I opted for naiveté instead.
"Enjoyed what?"
A wry grin painted his face. He didn't answer; he moved closer to me. Unaware, I took a step back and jerked to reality when my legs hit the table behind me. He came right up to my face and laid his hands on either side of my hips, clutching the tiny table. I felt entangled -- like I couldn't quite figure out which direction I would have to turn for escape. The answer was that there was no escape. I hadn't felt panic for a while so when it hit me, my face winced, and I recoiled. I cursed my fashion choice. How I allowed myself to be dressed ladylike, as Imam put it, I would never know. My game was unriddling and the answer was becoming painfully obvious: Riddick was taking back control . . . and that meant taking something that I wasn't prepared to give, yet. It was quite dejecting to know that my scheme of breaking Riddick was caving in on me instead. All I wanted was domination over a human -- my diseased life force had shrilled for it. The fall guy was never supposed to find out. I evidently misjudged Riddick's intelligence.
His breath blew softly across my cheeks, and it tickled. It felt like tears. My mouth was slightly open and his eyes seemed to hungrily devour it. He licked his lips and his gaze shifted to my eyes. I felt one of his hands disconnect from the steady table. Before I knew it, I felt something white-hot on my knee. It was his hand. He gave my knee a quick squeeze and it instantly started trembling. He dragged the tips of his fingers higher up my leg and around to the inside. My breathing was coming in quick gasps and his gaze never faltered from my eyes. It was like his hand was not connected to his mind at all . . . he could molest and regard me at the same time. One of my hands weakly pushed against his chest while the other clinched the table forcefully. To show my hand had no power, he shuffled closer to me and my wrist bent back from the lessening of space. His wandering hand stopped right before my skirt was to ride up. He swallowed and licked his lips. I almost moaned. His other hand left the table too and nuzzled my neck. His thumb ran the length of the side, and he must have realized my pulse was pounding.
He backed off.
He. Just. Backed. Off.
It hit me like a tidal wave. The game was still on. He still had qualms about fucking a sixteen year old. This information was desperation to me. I fed on it, and it fueled me. He still had morals for me to break . . . and break them I would. By the end, I vowed to have him so confounded that he would reject humanity and crawl in a crevice reserved for the most damnable of people . . . people like me. I guess I just didn't want to be alone?