Blessed are the snakes || Professor Riddle FF|

Twenty - Four - He Slithered Here From Eden

You sat on your bed, arms crossed and leg bouncing. You'd waited for Mr Dick Lord for a good while like he'd told you to do.

First, you had to wait in the bar the entire night for Mr Rapey D'Antonio and now for Mr Whatever Lord. You checked the clock on your night desk for the hundredth time, tapping your fingers impatiently.

Sighing, you shook your head. "This is bullshit," you groaned and gave up, taking the few strides to your hotel room bathroom.

You slipped out of your unbelievably tight dress, enjoying the feeling of being able to breathe again.

After fiddling with the shower controls, you managed to turn on the hot water inside of the standing shower, steam fogging the shiny black tiles. You slipped out of your underwear and went under the water, the scalding streams releasing the claws of anxiety from your muscles.

The warm water and soap washing away D'Antonio's disgusting touch. Hopefully, all the liquids and bodily fluids went down the drain as well. Every disgusting thing that lived on the surfaces of the repulsive club and had probably touched your skin.

You weren't sure how long you'd been inside the cocoon of heat when you heard it - -noise beyond the door, rustling, moving.

It was him.

He was back.

Panic and annoyance tumbled through the wrinkles of your brain. Fucking asshole.

The door to the bathroom opened, and you yelped, instinctively slapping a cover of skin over your breasts and crotch.

Tom Riddle strode over to the shower, a mass of black obfuscated by the wall of clouded glass. Leather pressed at the door, pulling it to the side, uncovering you - - wet, trembling.

"Uh, hello," you said and continued to shrink into the corner. "Can you go away?"

He gazed at you, face blank.

"Dude!" you exclaimed, struggling to cover your breasts with your arm slipping on your wet skin. "Can you give me some fucking privacy?"

"No." His voice was dark. Empty. He held out a hand, and all at once, the water was turned off, falling droplets suspended in air, stuck in a web of invisible thread.

Black boots crossed the threshold into the shower, the hanging water droplets absorbing into his black clothes.

"What are you doing?" you asked, shrinking into the corner. "Ever even heard of private space? Do you even know the word, asshole?"

Another twinge of his hand, and you were flush with the warm tile of the shower.

"Mm, don't think I heard you," he hummed sarcastically. A cool, gloved hand now on your throat, thumb pressing into the divot under your trachea. "What was that?"

His touch stoked the fire in your stomach, the greed in his gaze inciting your own. Certainly, there was a part of him that enjoyed your obedience. But there was clearly another, a greater part that craved your defiance. "I called you an asshole," you said, your voice slightly coarse. "Because that's exactly what you are."

He huffed; a low, dark sound in his chest as he observed you in satisfaction, attention wandering your vulnerable body.

"What do you want?" you groaned, your modesty covered only by your arm and hand, trying to writhe away from him but he tightened his hold on your neck.

"You." His other gloved hand stroked up, over your waist and down your hip, painting goosebumps across your skin. "Begging for me."

A massive wave of heat stormed in your abdomen.