FlOWERS WITH THORNS | K.TH

Cutthroat

TAEHYUNG

The room is hot.

Or it could just be me.

I open my eyes. I'm lying, half-upright, with my back against the headboard of a bed. The sheets loosely cover up to my waist. A sweet fragrance coats the air. It leads my eyes to look elsewhere. And it arouses something within me that I should never let aroused.

And I see a silhouette of a shadow, standing a little distance away.

I look.

And I jerk my entire body away, head turning so fast into the other direction that for a second, I think I might've just fractured my own spine. Heat pools from the depths of my chest to the tips of my fingers, clawing down my legs and twisting me apart.

Mistress.

She's naked. All of her. Standing right there.

I can't even speak. Can't even move, feeling frozen to the cold sheets as I sense her come closer. Every part of me stands on edge. I hear her footsteps, silent against the carpet. I feel her heat, coming closer. Her scent, stronger.

A part of me tells me that something's wrong. It shakes me, screaming that this isn't right.

Because why would Mistress be here? Why would she be unclothed? Why—

But it doesn't matter.

The heat deepens.

And none of it matters, the moment I feel the bed slightly dip and feel the warmth of her hand on my shoulder. All she does is touch me, just like that.

And I turn to the Beast that I am.

Desire swallows me alive the moment I see the tips of her fingers, delicate and pale as the freshly fallen snow. Her sable locks fall apart like the most tender things in the world between my feral grip.

I am a monster.

It is who I am.

I overtake her like a storm.

She is soft and unscarred, before my hands and fangs run over every single inch of her. My strength crushes her against the headboard of the bed. Her legs wrap around my waist, and my lips are on and between the lush curves of her breasts. I feign control when there is none.

Heat. It takes me and shreds my conscience.

I kiss her parted lips and run my tongue down her jaw to her throat. My mouth closes around her left nipple, sucking it— tasting it as my hands caress the lines of her inner thighs. The flesh is softer than silk.

I push. Her legs fall open.

At that point, I am nothing but the Beast.

I satisfy myself with the body of my Mistress.

I don't know how much time passes before I feel a wet sensation, and a metallic tang on my throat and tongue. Something is pooled, thick and dark.

I open my eyes.

The candle has dimmed.

And all I see is blood.

Crimson.

My Mistress is covered with it. Blood paints her like art, from her cheeks to the tips of her toes. It soaks the sheets and colors it scarlet. Her throat is in pieces.