Menage Monday Week 41

“When?” The word is spoken almost silently, on the tails of her shudder.

She should know by now she shouldn’t speak at all.

Her back pressed to the wall, arms stretched above her head, pale skin reflecting the bright lights of Vegas below us, I shouldn’t let her say anything, but I do.

“When what?”

“When did you decide you wanted me?”

It all started years ago – that Halloween party in college. When she covered up the hickey her boyfriend sucked into the soft swell of her breast with a fake tattoo. I decided then that she was mine. But I don’t tell her that.

“When I saw you in the back of the casino, wearing this little black dress,” I lie, ripping it from her slender shoulders. “Such a dirty girl, tempting me like that.”

She whimpers when I rake my teeth along the smooth column of her throat.

“And I can resist anything except temptation.”

I take her the way I’d always planned on that night long ago. When she wakes, there aren’t enough tattoos in the world to hide the markings on her flesh.

She looks down at her body and smiles.

Speak Your Mind