23 May, 2009


“Let’s play” he says, all grin and glinting canines. My reaction is instinctual: survival. I lunge for his throat, for the thick jugular full of life and heat, biting down on skin and heartbeat before he can do the same. As teeth graze skin and I taste sweat and musk along my tongue, I wish for claws over these weak cuticles, for the ability to sink down into flesh, deep to the bone, to carve my presence there. So he never forgets.

But already I feel the vibrations of his laughter against my tongue, and he lifts me bodily, still attached to him by the throat, fingers pressing between the bars of my ribs. I bite harder to tease out the russet taste of his body, while his fingers move north to find my own snappable neck, oblivious to my hands grappling against his wrists.

Read the full story @ An Unassuming Girl


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