#fingers on chin

He turned her head like Dracula, and managed to steal some of that hunger, too, his eyes flashing white before he descended to plant his lips against her neck. She shivered as his skin met hers, her whole body tensing for a second, before she melted in his hands. A trickle of girl that he just about kept in one piece with a hand on her chin and another against her cunt. 

There are the mysteries you solve, and the ones you leave alone. Curiosity only does you so many favours, and while the impulse is always there, sometimes you had to ignore it. She was his mystery, and he didn’t ever want to find out the rhyme or the reason, he didn’t want to understand her on so fundamental a level that he could predict her, and direct her. It felt like a contradiction, even as he thought it. But it wasn’t. It was merely truth.

He’d mutter in her ear ‘You’re mine’, a primal claim that they both chose to believe. He’d act like he knew her thoughts, their signature written across her face, and in her actions. He’d tell her what to do, and she would do it, because that was how it worked. But each time, David Hume would grin and wave a hand in greeting in the back of his mind, and his certainty would waver. It was just a flicker, really, and it barely got anywhere close to registering on his face. An inward tick, a flash of anxiety.

What if she said no?

What if she didn’t do as she had done, what if this time was different?

What, for that matter, was making her do what she was told in the first place?

She was a mystery to him, on such a deep level that it didn’t even bear contemplation. She gave him the power that he wielded over her, and he had no idea what it was that made her surrender, to have that inclination. He didn’t question it, because he was afraid that the answer would break the spell. He didn’t question it because he needed that magic, and he wasn’t ready to let it go, just yet. 

His teeth grazed against the soft skin of her neck, and she moaned, her body writhing underneath him. The hand against her shifted, thick fingers pushing into tight holes, and the noises spilling from her lips like wine only grew richer, a dozen flavours contained in a sound. He savoured her, then, with everything he had to savour. He tasted her on his tongue, drank her through his nose, let her linger on his ears and felt her… well, just about everywhere. 

His mystery, and just about perfect as she was.