Feral

What was I thinking.

I knew it was risky.

I knew it would provoke something.

I wasn't thinking.

I was just lurking, I couldn't help it.

I was stalking him in the shadows of the car.

I was addicted on the sight of him.

Then he saw me.



He saw the hunger I tried to veil in the shadows.

But he smirked.

He knew.

Of course.

A predator could sense.

He could smell the need pulsing in the arteries.

He was feral.

He smelled my weakness.

He expected submission.

Those eyes that called for nothing. Only obedience. 

I skipped a beat.

I was prey.

He knew.

No words needed.

I knew that too.

The dark fur coating his heated flesh: irresistible baits.

On his flushed skin, I sensed the heady musk.

I'm drunk with his smell.

His fingers beckoned.

I obeyed.

I was helpless.

No, I chose to obey.

I chose him. And all the pain.

Yes, the pain.

I will soon remember that too.

It was part of the deal.

But first, I feasted on him.

That's all that mattered.

I was drunk with his male scent.

I was the feast.

Yes, I realized that too.

I was a willing sacrifice.