She tried to scoot away.
I followed.
“Will we find you wet and wanting tonight?” I asked, voice dark with amusement.
Her eyes blazed. “I hate you.”
I smiled, leaning in until my mouth brushed the shell of her ear.
“I know,” I whispered, drawing in a long breath against her skin. “But you smell so fucking good when you hate me.”
My nose traced down the smooth column of her throat. She trembled—barely, but enough. The scent of her fear mixed with heat, thick and addictive.
My fingers dragged higher, between the softness of her thighs now, the fabric thin. I didn’t need to slip beneath it to feel the heat.
She let out a soft, broken breath.
“Oh, Persephone,” I purred, voice velvet and ash. “You are so… pliant. So ready to be molded.”
Her jaw clenched.
“Once that ring’s on your finger…” I pressed my mouth to her throat. “I’m going to bury myself so deep inside you, you won’t know where I end and you begin.”
She flinched.
I groaned softly against her skin.
“And it won’t take long,” I added, savoring every syllable. “Not before I fuck a baby into you.”
Her whole body jolted.
I could have stayed.
Could have pushed.
But no, no.
Anticipation was everything.
So I pulled my hand back slowly—fingers trailing along her thigh like a promise left unfinished.
“Sleep tight, little muse,” I whispered. "I know I will."
Then I stood.
No apology.
No goodbye.
Just the slow, deliberate sound of my footsteps retreating across the floor.
Back in my room, I let the door click shut behind me.
Dropped my pants.
Fisted my cock.
And let every vivid image of her flash through my head.
