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Someday she would learn that no matter what she did, she could not save every fawn, and she could not smite the wolf for eating. Whether she liked it or not, it was the other side of the natural order that she held so dear.
“Let me know when you’ve had enough,” I said cautiously. “It will never be enough.” Her words were barely above a whisper. “Nothing I do will be enough.”
If he were something to be consumed, I feared I would not savor him and would selfishly eat him first—no time for saving the best bite for last. Only the need to have him remained.
Her body was meant to be held by my hands, to be taken by only mine. If I had carved her from clay with my hands, I would be afraid of touching her again, fearing the perfection I had created—I imagined that was what God felt when making her, if he existed at all. I was so enamored. She had me understanding why people believed in such things.
“You will never be rid of me.” Those blue eyes looked up at me pleadingly before they occasionally rolled back. That’s right. This is how you like to feel.
It was useless to hold anything back any longer as I reached orgasm and the spines dug into her flesh inside. She flinched when the spines pierced her. It brought me no joy that it had to hurt, but it felt so good to be inside her like this.
Not only could I feel my cock pulsing, but I could feel the spines latch on to her, filling her with venom.
never thought I could reach the point of craving someone aside from a simple hunger. Starving for her would be more painful than any true hunger. I would rather perish. I was wholeheartedly, pathologically addicted to her.
