“Jules…” He murmured, with fingers gripping me here and there. Him, eager and full of promise of all the things he intended to do to me. Me, whimpering, undone at his touch and ready to surrender again and again and again.
Here is where I forget the oath to the bird. And there is where I forgot all the wrongs of today and yesterday and last week and last month. My previous grievances banished as my lips trespass over his. Forward steps inching me backwards to my bed that violates sumptuary in so many ways.
“Beautiful, inside and out. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, Jules.” Whispered words almost inaudible against my ear echoing my Father’s sentiment. I am now nineteen and I believed it again.
With averted eyes from his lightning ones I breath in the scent of him. When I exhale, he’s gone. Almost. He says something about seeing to something important and being back shortly but in truth, I am still recovering from the rapture of his touch and it barely registers.
“No!” I object loudly in my head, but the thoughts never find voice.
There is a flourish of grey cloak, and a glimpse of the midnight leather beneath showcasing muscular form as he turns towards the door and before I can draw my next breath, he is gone.
Two days later, he has not returned yet his presence still lingers here and it will not leave me alone. I am so tired of being used.
