He had yet to reciprocate, and the thought that he might prolong this infinitely until he deemed himself completely satisfied shot into her head.Įvil bastard.
She wrote her prayers for salvation in his mouth, with the tip of her tongue, and he made a low sound in the back of his throat that did not necessarily sound like displeasure, though it didn't sound pleased, either. He remained still as a statue, though when she nudged at his closed lips with her tongue he opened his mouth. She closed her eyes and covered his mouth with hers. Turning this situation into a carnival of horrors wasn't going to help. They were that much more dangerous because of it.ĭon't think about that.
Not all poison was bitter - some of the deadliest poisons in the world tasted sweet. “You're not trying.”Īnd that was when she understood: she was intended to perform the work herself.Īn image of a butterfly in a killing jar popped into Val's head, fragile wings straining against the cloyingly sweet miasma coating the delicate membranes with a thin layer of poisonous crystals. She leaned in and pecked him feebly on the mouth. “Just one kiss?” she confirmed, breathing out a little when he nodded. She had come into the garden expecting summer roses and had instead been caught in a bank of twisted, thorny frost-iced vines. “I'm waiting,” he said, regarding her through half-shut eyes.
He was ruthless, cold, and he wanted her to be like one of the lifeless butterflies in the collection behind his glass cabinet. And now she knew his most intimate thoughts and had found, to her horror, that her romantic idealization of him as the tragically misunderstood artist was just that: an ideal, now shattered, with reality gleaming through like sharp slices of mirror reflecting light. You've kissed him before, she reminded herself. She had never been more aware of her own fragile mortality. Would a man, even an obsessed man, go to such lengths for a mere kiss? Even Val in all her childlike naivete couldn't bring herself to believe this, however much she wanted to. Yet in the state of hypersensitivity brought on by fear, in which she was as painfully aware of her body and its surroundings as a creature comprised solely of raw skin and nerve endings, a kiss seemed like a very large price to pay.
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