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“Mercy?” I look down at him, my brows furrowing in curiosity. “That concept is alien to us. Especially to you.” I allow him to keep exploring my ankle, and I can't help but notice the wide grin on his face.
How can someone who was almost chopped to death look this thrilled now?
“I look at you and I feel happy. After all this time, I finally feel genuinely happy.”
“You're not yourself now...”
“After everything that happened, most people would've fled long ago. But you chose to stay. You're something different, Becca..”
“You're still drunk!”
“Maybe, but you're incredibly beautiful, just as always.”
My stomach clenches, and my chest swells with emotions that burn inside me.
What's gotten into me?
Manasseh acknowledges his mistakes, right now, as he humbly kneels at my feet, looking more lost and vulnerable than I've ever seen him.
“Why do you care so much about me, Masse?” I take advantage of the fact that he’s drunk.
“You wouldn’t get it even if I explained. Yet, I sense that nobody else in this world gets me like you do. It's you, Becca.”
“But I never wanted to get you.”
“Nevertheless, you did it unintentionally. If that doesn't say it all, then what does?”
He's right; our bond can’t be put into words. Still, his method of making me recognize that my shadowy side yearns for him isn't conventional. I'm beginning to grow comfortable with his violence, and that terrifies me. Manasseh makes me feel hatred, desire, satisfaction. He makes me yearn for his touch, his lips, his presence in my life. And he makes me feel something even more dangerous – power.
Manasseh makes me feel powerful, and power is one of the strongest drugs. I keep denying it, yet the truth is dawning on me: I'm beginning to want Manasseh to be mine, within me, even though my soul is already occupied by someone else, who continues to haunt my dreams.
The fear of losing me is making Manasseh weak, but all this power comes back to me like a boomerang. The fact that he lets his guard down when he's with me makes my own defenses crumble, and I allow him to continue touching my leg and caressing my calf, his lips pressing against my skin, all under my longing gaze.
“You can never hide when you are with me. I've seen you without a mask, I've seen you stripped of all secrets, and believe me, Becca, you are the most beautiful woman on Earth to me.”
I listen to his voice and look at the sky, at the stars, then at him. My thoughts are altered by what has happened in the last few hours, so much so that I start seeing him in a positive light, even though I despise it, even though I don't want my perception of him to change. The desire he awakens in me is unbearable, so I spread my legs even more under his kisses that climb up my knees, toward the inner thigh, and I support myself with my uninjured hand, the other helping me use the chaise lounges armrest, hypnotized by his hands that know how and where to touch me, capable of carrying me on uncharted supernatural paths.
I walk willingly down a path of sins, yet also one of pleasures, hand in hand with Disaster.
“There's nothing that makes me hornier than a woman who stands up for her man,” his tongue lingers on my skin, and his gaze lifts, studying me with curiosity.
“But you're not my man,” I run my fingers through his sandy, damp hair and catch a glimpse of my own disheveled reflection in his widened pupils.
“But I could be, if you let me...”
I let out a soft moan as his lips hungrily trace a path up through the split in the delicate dress that's turned into a mess, and he gently tugs at the hem, reaching the lingerie underneath. He places a few deep kisses on the lace fabric, making me arch my back, feeling dizzy from the effect of his impatient mouth, and maybe even from the calming meds, because my body feels as light as a snowflake.
“You said I look like an angel. Angels are deceiving. They listen to you, forgive you, but they also punish you,” I see his chest rise swiftly, and his muscles like waves as he settles himself even better between my legs.
“I can deal with any punishment for a moment of love with this angel. I wish you could have seen yourself through my eyes back there. You were strong, you were perfect,” he traces the line between my thighs with his thumb, over the lingerie, and gently presses my clitoris.
“Manasseh...” I startle, and his name slips from my lips like a lingering moan.
“Have I ever told you that you make me appreciate my own name when it leaves that pretty mouth of yours?”
“Yes,” I wet my lips, and he leans closer, attempting to kiss me. I turn my head slightly, gracefully declining his advance, leaving my exposed neck for Manasseh to grace with two lingering kisses.
I'm not ready to share my kisses with anyone else. I can't forget the promise I once made, and it leads my thoughts back to him. Have his lips touched another girl during all this time since we're no longer together?
