My Killer

Creative Flow

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My heart felt positively reckless, it was beating way too hard when Michael crawled backward, bringing both my pants and panties with him.

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I could feel my cheeks flare beneath his devouring gaze, a gaze which never truly left my form, not even when he discarded my clothes off to the side. No, Michael ate up the sight of me as he unfolded from his crouch and stood up till his full height before me. His towering mass blocked out the sun itself, which in turn created a fiery halo around the crown of his head and at the same time cast his solemn mask into a deep shadow.

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I stared up at him, my own eyes feeling impossibly wide as I watched him undress. He removed his shirt first, pulling the soft material up over his abs, over his head, and then he just tossed it off to the side, his hooded eyes never leaving mine as they pinned me to the ground below. I was stuck.

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His shoes came next, he just flipped them off using the tip of one shoe against the heel of the other, meanwhile his hands were ever so busy pulling his pants down. His engorged cock sprang forth before he even managed to get that second shoe off. He was doing everything all at once, the eagerness of his actions mirrored in his harrowingly intense gaze.

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I gnawed at my bottom lip, the palms of my hands pressed flat against the rocky surface underneath as I elevated my upper body slightly off of the ground. I was nearly posed to flee, only I had no actual place to run off to, I was caught on this plateau with him, with Michael. And an even more devastating fact, a continuously growing part of me didn't even want to run, and yet another part of me altogether, a scared part, that part didn't actually fucking dare to.

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Michael had set my core ablaze earlier and he had left me so fucking needy for more that I could actually feel my lower half silently scream out for him, it thrummed along with my fast-beating pulse. That broken part of me wanted this monster to claim me. It was sickening. And his eyes, the darkened pit that was Michael's eyes, they held me forcefully in place almost as if he was pinning me down with his hands and not merely his gaze alone. I couldn't move, forever caught between the urge to run and the growing need to stay, petrified to act upon either emotion, so I ended up doing the latter without even meaning to, I stayed. I lay before him like an offering to a heathen god, like a lamb too dumb to flee the slaughter, I fucking stayed. By God, I fucking stayed before this sun-haloed monster, before this most wicked of men, before Michael.

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"You look so damn edible right now, princess. Your face... so fucking precious... makes me want to play with you... rather messily. I'm starved, you create this deep-rooted hunger within me. I need you. Truly, need you."

The right side of Michael's lips curled upwards as he spoke, the lopsided smile looked somehow wrong when painted across such a solemn mask. It was fucking eerie.

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I swear, it was almost like I was holding my own heart in my hands, almost like an offering of sorts. It was beating so tauntingly hard that I could feel it in the tips of my fingers, I could feel its weight. The bloodied organ beat me senseless before him, every single thump like a ruthless lash deep within my chest.