Yes, I do love the dark one
Yes, I love the dark one.
And I hate the dark one.
I am drawn to the casual intensity of his posture, helpless moth to consuming flame. His cocksure smile, tongue like a snake, all soft syllables and hidden fangs, dripping with an instinctual understanding of his prey. His smirking, liquid eyes, eyes that have seen innumerable women pass under and through them and collected from them a treasury of feminine secrets – I hate those eyes.
Those eyes melt me with their heat.
I cannot help the desire that floods my veins from the impact of his presence. No, there is no stopping pure biology, nor pure lust. But neither will I simply be another pawn, consumed without thought to sate his unending appetite, his arrogant cockiness.
My desperation for his touch fuels my distance and avoidance. His game, his rules, and I refuse to enter the board. I mistrust his magnetism, mistrust that I can ever remain whole from his ministrations.
I do not want to remain whole.
I want the dark one.
I hate the dark one.