The Prey

That night he took me several times and every word he whispered was still painted on my skin. We lost count, or simply didn’t care, he reminded me, assuring me that I was more to him than anything. He called me his everything. Even the ache he often felt in his chest. He called me his ruin, a punishment. And I called him my salvation.

At one point, the cold of the pool was replaced with the warmth of sheets. His cold hands with his hot tongue. There was no a part of me he hadn’t touched, and there was not a part of me I hadn’t craved....