He nuzzles my neck and playfully bites me.
“Are you sure about that?”
“Yes,” I laugh. “So, where did the eyes come from?”
“You know the answer already…” he sighs.
“I need to hear it from your lips, I need to hear you speak the words.”
He pauses, as if he mulls over my words. Without warning, he says what I already know.
“I kill people, and I take souvenirs.”
The words are blunt, harsh, even; his voice is feral. He steps back, gauging my reaction to his admission, searching for my flinch, a hint that I am about to scream. His words sink in, and instead of revulsion, I feel this strange curiosity. Jasper furrows his brow, trying to interpret my features, and he squints his eyes at me.
“Can I see?” The words are barely audible, a mere whisper, and they slip out before I realize.
“My souvenirs?”
I suddenly feel shy and exposed, as if I have laid myself bare again. Jasper clacks his tongue, and his lips curve up into a wicked grin, understanding the words I released. I stand there frozen, anxious he might decline me access to this part of hisworld, a plane he will keep hidden from me. My heart trashes like a caged bird.
“Aren’t you full of surprises?” he smirks.
He’s dangerous, I know that now. But I can’t resist Jasper. I let him wrap my heart up; with his sharp thorns, and although he’s gentle with me, I can’t help but feel like porcelain on a cliff’s edge, and it enthralls me. My veins hum in unrest, my pulse rattles like loose bones, and I’ve never felt so alive.
“It’s been some days for me… We can hunt together tomorrow if you are curious, my Starling.”
Jasper traces the curve of my cheek, guiding a stray strand of hair behind my ear. The nickname catches me off guard. It’s endearing. Starlings thrive in a wide range of environments, demonstrating their high adaptability. I like it, and I feel my cheeks fluster, and I smile.
“Alright,” I say.
The idea of hunting another human is one that’s sickening and fascinating simultaneously. And the fact that it excites me slightly, proves I’m ready to be put away in an asylum. I keep telling myself I am primarily interested in seeing Jasper move, in his natural habitat. This is my offering to him, to no longer hide in the shadows, but to come forward and be his true self. I know it stems from my fascination with death, the desires darker than I want to admit. I push away the thoughts and turmoil that try to take hostage of my mind, questioning my sanity, and how I can condone this behavior. I only have one revelation, and it’s that I want to consume him as much as he wants to own me—a lantern raised against his darkness, that I’m desperate to unravel and witness.
That evening, I glance at the wooden cabinet with multiple human skulls inside. All of them carry a different weight to them, now that I know they are not medical specimens,but most likely people Jasper hunted down, their heads in our bedroom as deranged hunter trophies.
When I feel his hands cup my breasts, the thoughts about the skulls fade from my mind. This time, I moan when his tongue traces my neck.
Chapter Six
The crunching of dead leaves beneath my boots, the heavy panting of our prey, and our own ragged breathing—all of it is exhilarating. I expected him to have given up by now, but the man keeps going, his legs moving forward, and I have to admit that my endurance is purely pathetic. My lungs hurt, my legs burn, but I’m not going to give up. Jasper moves as smoothly as a cheetah, his long legs sprinting effortlessly. In movies, you always see chased people trip over a branch or root, within the first few seconds, but this one has managed to stay upright. He doesn’t even slip in the mud, while I’ve already lost balance several times. Unable to take in deep breaths, I stop running, grab a thick branch from the ground, and swing it like a fucking boomerang. It strikes him hard on the back of the head—a lucky hit—and he falters, then stumbles forward. Jasper halts and looks at me, at first stunned,but quickly a big grin spreads across his face. Pride fills my heart under his approving gaze.
Earlier…
Jasper wakes me up, kissing my face, my neck, my breasts, my stomach, and moves further below until he finds what he’s after. My eyes roll in the back of my skull, as his tongue circles my clitoris, and he presses two digits into my soaking entrance. Instinctively, I widen my legs to give him better access, and he positions himself better so he can thrust deeper. Not giving me the satisfaction yet to orgasm, he moves his tongue away from my sensitive nub and instead gives attention to my entire vulva, kissing my labia, working me up and down. He playfully licks and nips at my skin and kisses the insides of my thighs. He pushes his fingers in deeply, hooks them slightly, and moves his lips back to my clitoris, which is crying out for attention, and he gently begins to suck it. The orgasm crashes through me violently, and I thrash my legs as Jasper continues his relentless assault, making me orgasm again. Sweat beads form on my forehead, and my hair clings to my face.
He gently presses a kiss to my sensitive vulva, and I wince in delight, a shuddering sensation coursing through me.
“I’ll make you some breakfast, Starling, then we can get on the move.”
Jasper gets up, a smirk on his face, leaving me in bed like melted wax abandoned by its flame, my legs too wobbly to stand. It takes a few minutes for my breathing to return to normal, andI feel stable enough to move my limbs. I climb out of bed, my feet padding across the floor, and I go to the closet to sift through my clothes. What does one wear when out hunting? To hunt a human… The reality of what we’re setting out to do sinks in, yet my excitement beats my sense of empathy, casting a shadow over it. I chose a pair of black cargo pants, a black turtleneck, and a pair of brown leather boots for stability. I inspect myself swiftly in the body-length mirror and head downstairs to the kitchen, my long hair flowing with each step.
I sit down, and while Jasper gives me a cup of tea, I begin to braid my hair into a Dutch braid. Jasper glances at me, taking me in.
“Someone is all geared up for today,” he laughs, blowing at the hot liquid inside his cup.
He’s leaning against the kitchen counter, wearing only a pair of grey joggers that hug his hips and hang dangerously low. My eyes scan his body—his chest, his abdomen, the lines forming a “V” that vanish behind the fabric.
“You should gear up yourself,” I say. “If you stay dressed like that, I’m afraid we won’t make it out of the house,” I chuckle.
