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"I keep thinking about your teeth."
You blink, the colorful light of the television flashing over confused features. "My teeth?"
I nod as the heat from your body pulls me into your orbit. "Your teeth are beautiful. Sharp. Perfect. Just like the rest of you.”
Shaking your head, you turn to me, a tender laugh crawling up your throat. “I wouldn't say perfect, but thank you.”
You kiss my head. I chase your lips.
Beautiful. Beautiful. Beautiful.
That's what you are.
Your eyes—so merciful and soft—see through me the way no one else does. I like that about you. It makes me feel claimed.
Your nose, perfectly sculpted, nudges against mine when we kiss. I remember the texture of it rubbing against the column of my neck as your perfect teeth scraped against it.
If you ever sunk them into me, you'd leave a flawless bite. The shape of you marking my skin, making me yours… it sounds like a dream.
“You'd bite if I asked, wouldn't you?”
You glance at me from the corner of your eye, watchful and unreadable.
“I'm sorry?”
“Don't be, love. I've just been wondering…” I look into your eyes—tame and manipulable. “Don’t you wonder what I’d taste like? The flavor of me in your mouth—what would I be?”
You hum under your breath, equal parts thoughtful and hypnotic. “Trust. You'd taste… humble.”
The corners of my mouth rise just enough to match yours. “Like submission?”
You shake your head again like you could throw the thought out of your mind. Like the very idea of being inside you isn’t the answer to why my heart beats.
I study your lips as you wet them with your tongue. Do you taste me? Do you feel my love? Does the shape of my essence fill your soul?
“Could I warm you from the inside?” I whisper. “Would you let me? Would you… consume me? I swear, I wouldn’t even scream.”
Your eyes slide back to the television. You laugh with the track. You swallow, drop your shoulders, cross your legs at the ankles—all in an attempt to distract.
You want this, don't you? You want me. You just don't know how to let yourself have me.
“I would make it so easy for you. You could just take me. Please, take me.”
I watch your chest rise and fall as you sigh. “How long has it been since you last slept?”
“I'm more than well-rested.” I make my way closer to you, my thighs resting on either side of yours. “I need you.”
With no choice but to face me, you do.
Your hands slide up my body—soft, reverent, like you pray for me. “Where is this coming from?” you ask.
And so, I answer, “My soul.”
Your lips brush mine, hesitant. You think I want a kiss.
But no—
I want the wolf to swallow me whole.
I want to feel the forest in your breath, the bones of grandmothers in your throat. I want to be devoured by something ancient. Something with fangs.
I was never Little Red. I came into the woods looking for you.
“What do you want from me?” you question—so courtly, so obliging, so worshipful.
I want your teeth. I want to feel them slice into my neck. I want you to devour me. “I want you to make me feel like I’m yours.”
Your smile widens into something marvelously sinister, lips resting over my pulse as it races under your attention. “You are.”
“If I’m yours, then you must love me. You love me, don’t you?” You scoff—disbelieving, but still ever so lenient. “I’d love you even if we’d never met.”
My lips press into a thin line, your eyes tracing them as I speak. “If you really, truly loved me, you’d never let a piece of me go uneaten.”
You kiss me. Soft and sweet. Cloyingly so—like a manipulative predator, ready and devouring. I run my tongue over your teeth, feeling the serrations dig into my muscle truly gently.
Your arms, warm and heavy, coil around my waist, dragging me further into you. I don’t resist.
Your pillowy lips trace my jaw, teeth sliding against it like you’ve finally figured out what I want and still wish for me to name it.
You sigh into my warmth, fingers tightening over me, and I tense. “Isn’t this what you wanted, darling? Someone willing to eat every part of you? Didn’t you ask for a wolf?”
My lungs fill with air that shakes, and I tremble under your words, your touch. You grin against me, and it feels like heaven.
I barely catch it—the sound of your gentle growl before—
Snap.
The tip of your teeth fits itself inside me like it’s always belonged there. Your mouth wets with my blood. My hands fist in your hair.
Finally. Finally. Finally.
I smile, ear to ear, mad as a hatter. “Yes,” I whisper. “Thank you.”
You lean back, just enough to lick the blood from my broken skin as you speak—soft and apologetic.
“You’re welcome. But I’m not done.”