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I wasn’t sure why I was telling him all of this. Maybe because I was sad too. I hoped it would help me connect with him too.

“Your father… he was a monster like me?”

I leaned on my elbows and turned towards him. “No, Malakar. My father was worse. My father couldn’t love, or feel any remorse. He did it without ever feeling guilty. You’re different. You kill, but I don’t think you you do it to be cruel.” I frowned, confused at my own words. “You do it because someone wounded you very badly, and you think you’re giving mercy to the girls you kill. My dad didn’t do that. He did it because he thought they were trash to be disposed of. Whores to be fucked then killed. He loved power.”

“No one sees me like you do, bluebird. That’s why you’re so special.” He moved closer and put his hand on my cheek. I closed my eyes and leaned into his touch.

“I want to understand you, Malakar. You just need to let me in.” I put my hand on his heart. It was beating wildly.

I liked good Malakar. I didn’t want him to go away. I didn’t want the dark to come back and eat him. If he could be like this forever, I might just want to stay. The exhaustion was mind-numbing, I just wanted to be loved, to be cared for, to be consumed.

“You actually want to know me?”

I nodded. He smiled. An actual smile. Then he leaned in and kissed me. It wasn’t like before. There was no violence in it.

To my surprise, I kissed him back. He groaned and rolled me over. Our mouths moved together in a dance. His hands roamed everywhere. I winced when he touched my bruised areas.

The familiar feeling of fear slithered through me. I choked it down, trying not to ruin the moment. He was being nice, he was being good. I didn’t want to ruin it by being afraid.

Though, that didn’t stop the hatred running through my veins. It mingled with shame. Why are you doing this, Starla? Why are you letting the monster touch you? You’re disgusting, you’re terrible, you deserve to die.

He moved to take my shirt off. I let him. His fingers brushed over the carving in my skin. The spot where he branded me with his knife.

His name was still there, jagged and red. He touched it, then kissed the words. “You’re my special girl. All mine. Forever.” He kissed upwards and tackled my neck, then back down to my tits.

I gasped when his tongue flicked my nipple. His free hand went to my other tit and rubbed it, then fondled it. Moans escaped my mouth. I hated that I was moaning for him. I hated that I was getting wet down there.

What the fuck was wrong with me? The same man who locked me in a room full of skulls and hearts from people he killed, was now making me wet. Stop, Starla, stop getting wet, stop feeling things.

But, I’m so tired. So fucking tired.

“Oh, Starla, you feel so nice. Your skin is so soft.” He groaned out. His voice sent sparks of pleasure right to my core. His tongue circled my nipple. Licking, biting. It was making me go mad with arousal.

Stop it, Starla. He’s a bad man. He tormented you. Stop craving this.

“Fuck, you want to feel me? Want my cock against your wet pussy?” He rubbed the length of him along my wetness. I could feel how hard he was through his sweatpants. Why was it such a turn on?

If he didn’t have such a nice voice, and a nice face, and a nice cock, maybe it would be different.

“Yes, Malakar.”

“Say you want my cock.” He rubbed himself against me again, watching my reaction.

“I want your cock, Malakar. I want it deep inside of me.” I wiggled my hips against him, though it was a feeble attempt. My body was still weak.

He groaned. I could tell he was trying to hold himself together. “You want me to fuck you hard?” He moved down my body and took my bottoms off. I was nude for him. He yanked his shirt off. My eyes moved down his skin. There were old cuts and old bruises over the muscle.

“Yes, please, touch me.” Maybe I just wanted to feel good. I was so used to pain by his hands, so I wanted to feel real pleasure. The thought of him fucking me sickened me, but it also excited me.

“Fuck, your pussy is nice and wet for me, Starla.” He moved his fingers up and down, teasing my core. His other hand rubbed my clit, fast and hard. Breathy moans tore out of my mouth. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back.

I wanted to surrender, I wanted oblivion.

“You make me feel so good, Malakar.” The pleasure was building fast. I wanted it to stop. I wanted to not feel anything, but I was feeling everything at once. It settled low in my pelvis before spreading through my core, then consuming me completely.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I chanted, trying to move my hips in rhythm with his hand.

“You’re so pretty when you moan for me. So fucking pretty. You want me to make you cum?”