It was an ordinary evening. You folded your legs and sat lazily on the couch, leafing through a favorite book with a cup of hot espresso in your hand. Simon sat silently across from her. His dark eyes glowed with a primal intensity that seemed to nibble at every inch of his sprawled body, penetrating to the core. Loud swallows turning your monotonous, torn from reading, innocent gaze on him. A sly smile frames his tired features, "Watching again?" you mutter, sipping a strong drink. - you mutter, sipping your strong coffee. He just nods. Short and defiant.

At first it was enough for him to watch. Knowing you're here with him, not a step forward, not a step back. Control from every angle.

You longed for a touch as soft as silk caressing your skin. But he saw you as nothing more than an object, like the stale ones before.

The darkness of shadow, thick as velvet wraps you. Opening your eyes from the book pages, you meet him. Noiselessly he sits down beside you, placing his calloused palm so casually on the inside of your thigh, confidently and gently. Powerfully he pulls you to his side, exploring the soft flesh with the pads of his fingers.

• "What are you doing?" - You yank his hand off you indignantly.

• "What I should," he answers not immediately, weighing each word before uttering them. You are his. His to obey. To be the main delicacy on the table.

• Isn't this what you wanted? - Whispering in your ear, his nose tracing the matte skin of your neck, releasing his wrist from your grip, "I want.

• "No. That's not what I want. I want your soul, Simon! Your soul! - you exclaimed wearily, repeating the same words to him over and over again, "I want to see your heart.

"Out. Get out," you ordered roughly with a hint of longing, pointing to the door behind his back. It was better this way. And deep down, as heart wrenching as it was, it felt right. To let go. He hadn't said anything. Didn't find the words familiar. Just frowned standing in the hallway.