dante
VIRI WERE SERVANT
Posts: 17
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Post by dante on Aug 25, 2010 18:11:49 GMT -5
Dante waited for Marg to finish speaking, he listened to her airy voice as it hit his ears. He closed his eyes went she removed his t-shirt; he didn’t bother to look at where it was thrown. This was defiantly in the moment, it excited Dante, but also frightened him, what if someone found out, and there was also the fact that he was a virgin, the both of them. He wouldn’t tell her that, but he was surprised with his lack of experience that this had escalated to the point where it was now at this time. Dante took in her kisses, her moist cold lips against his hot flesh. Feeling her chest against his bare one sent electric shivers along his still tense body. He’d need to relax.
The were moved his hands down her torso, against her smooth skin his fingers playing with the seam of her tank, should he remove it?. He decided against it, something gin the back of his mind shouted no. Not to press this further. But the lower half of him spoke differently. He’d die a happy werewolf knowing that they had this one moment and shared it together as one being. But he knew that would never happen, not when she was a vampire and branded for another. Not while he was a dog and nothing but a dog. Dante pulled away from her lips, as much as he hated to. He shifted, pushing himself up on his elbows “Marg, we can’t do this” he quickly gathered himself and slid off the bed, locating his black t-shirt on the floor he picked it up, pulling it over his head he then sat himself back down on the tangled sheets where Marg was.
“We just can’t”….” he said his voice low and with a saddened tone to it, it ached him mentally and physically to had stopped their passion but he had to. He looked to her his blue eyes meeting hers “you should go” he wasn’t saying it to be mean; he was saying it to protect her. And himself in the long run, from the vampire community and especially Matthias. Who would kill them both, gladly if he had found out about this brief encounter between the “pet dog” and his noble daughter.
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Post by Marguerite on Aug 25, 2010 18:41:08 GMT -5
He was about to do it, what she had wanted him to do for ages. It seemed like the time with was going by so slowly, and she relished in that. It was forever for him to get to that point, where he seemed to be contemplating taking her shirt off. When the moment finally came, she felt her heart start to speed up and that cold body of hers was receiving waves of heat from head to toe that manifesting below her waist. She was ready for him, and this was going to happen. It had to happen.
But he didn't pull it up any further. His hands were gone from her as if they had disappeared. His mouth left hers, and she was left like a deer in headlights, not knowing whether to run across the road or double back. Did she even have an option before someone hit her with a fast moving vehicle? It seemed as if she had been stuck in one spot too long and something now crashed into her, knocking the wind from her lungs. She felt like a helpless little doe with it's legs broken, awaiting something to come snatch her up and devour her as an easy meal.
He got out from underneath her, and all she wanted to do was reach for him and pull him back. But he was too quick. By time it registered in her head that he was gone, he had his shirt on already and was across the room, too far for her to reach. If she just got up and walked over there she could get him, but she was paralyzed. What was wrong? Was she really that cold after all? Did he finally realize he didn't want this as much as he thought he had. Did he not love her anymore? What had she done.
“Marg, we can’t do this.” That echoed in her mind like a wretched bell tolling the beginning of a burial. She was the one being buried, a hundred feet under ground. It would take her forever to crawl out, but she had to or else she'd suffocate. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to just submit and deteriorate, becoming one of the tangled and crooked trees surrounding her grave. Those words banged at the cavity of her skull and traveled down her spine to the rest of her body, working up anything they could. She was going to be sick. “We just can’t..." No. No, no, no. This couldn't be it. It couldn't stop there.
“You should go.” That was it. That right there cracked something inside of her. It was like someone had taken a sledge hammer to her entire body. She couldn't move or stand up. Her knees would be too weak. Her muscles were tingling. Her eyes were stinging. He didn't want her after all it seemed. There was no way if he loved her that he would just let her go and not be with her. He wouldn't just hand her over with nothing to show for it. What happened to the man that raised her? That always promised to never leave her? Well he wasn't leaving her, I suppose. He was telling her to leave him. Which was even worse because it made her feel vulnerable and pathetic. Why had she thrown herself at him like that? Why had she kissed him, but he had kissed her first. It wasn't fair for him to lead her on and then throw her out.
Marguerite stared at him a good long moment before standing up as gracefully as she could and flying out the door. It slammed loudly, which wouldn't disturb anyone since this was an older and vacant side of the complex. She flashed down the hall as far as she could go before she stumbled onto the ground, landing on her hands and knees. Marguerite put a hand over her mouth to muffle her cries. She got up and leaned back into a notch in the wall where a window was, hidden from view. Sliding down the wall until she was sitting on the carpet, Marguerite kept her hand over her mouth. The moment she hit the ground she let it out. The tears gushed from her eyes and down her cheeks. They dripped from her face onto her shirt and pants. Marguerite started to hyperventilate and was choking on her own tears. The more she tried to calm herself down, the worse it got. The girl had never felt anything like this before. It was worse than any pain she had ever experienced. She coughed and gagged, trying not to make herself sick. Her head felt full to burst. Her head went down onto her knees and she rested it there just letting the hurt fall out of her. Maybe if she let herself cry long enough, all of the pain would shrivel and dry up. It would die and there would be nothing left to hurt her. [/color][/justify]
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Post by The Boss on Aug 25, 2010 18:49:39 GMT -5
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