[mature] Je n'ai jamais eu besoin de toi

[Bardot]

Bardot

I know what sin is

He’s here. She can feel his presence despite her turned back, the eerie silence of the forest seeming to follow him from the cold confines of bark and decay and spread around her with a demanding icy grip. His darkness threatens to drown out the rush of the water, threatens to block out the sun and song of thrush and swallow. And yet she resists, shining bright from her spot in the shallows as she lowers her muzzle to skim the crystal surface, to let the tip of her horn catch a beam of light and glitter in his direction. Her breath hitches in her throat as she senses him but she pretends as if she is ignorant, as if she is the prey caught unaware by the gator who had slipped into the water behind her. Despite her calm and unbothered appearance, she can’t help the flutter of anticipation that quickens the rhythmic beating of her heart. She has not exactly been innocent in the time that’s separated them and has enough awareness to recognize it was partly fueled by the bitterness of their parting as much as it has been from curiosity and the thrill of being desired and wanted. She should be angry at him. She should shove that fine tip of her horn right into his throat and deliver the punishment that he rightly deserved. But she doesn’t, finding that her anger melts away with the water running off her back from the cleansing caress he gives her. She is still and quiet beneath his grooming, still not acknowledging his presence despite the silent delight that rockets through her body at having him so close to her again. Of feeling his lips against the heat of her skin and breathing in the musk of his scent as he traces the faded bites that shine faintly from their last encounter. She will not be the first to speak. Not after the way he had left her. It was her fault really for allowing herself to be vulnerable with a shadow, for giving such a valuable thing like her virginity to a monster. But she can’t regret it when his teeth are smoothing the tangles from her mane, when his lips touch places that he’s traveled before and bring back the memories of dreams that refuse to let sleeping dogs lie.

They may call me a sinner, but I am at peace with myself;

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