Strong, commanding hands roaming her lithe form, teasingly exploring every area of her body bar one. Fingers lightly trailing her sensitive skin, the contact is brief and feather-like. She can't help but whine out of longing. The little touches aren't enough, and he knows this. He wants her so worked up, so frustrated, that she has no other choice but to beg him to give her what she desperately needs. He needs her to fall from grace, to become a victim of temptation, a slave to her own desires.
"Stop teasing me." She implores him.
"You've been teasing me for so long, it's only fair that I should get to tease you." He explains.
"Fuck, please." She cries.
"Such strong language from such a gentle girl." He laughed. It was rare for such words to fall from her graceful lips, to hear it was highly amusing for him.
She feels so needy she could cry. "I'll do anything, please." She begs him.
"Anything? Well, since you have asked so nicely..."
Primrose awoke with a start; someone was tapping at her bedroom door. Her thighs burned and her face reddened as she recalled her dream from last night. She had dreamt of Michael, teasing her incessantly. His nimble fingers and smug voice stirred deep feelings within her. The dream had been both delicious and torturous; she had not been satisfied then and she was not satisfied now. She sighed, only half-awake as she approached the door in a post-sleep haze.
She opened the door to find a grey standing on the other side, a slip of paper in hand.
"Sorry to bother you, Miss Goode, but I was told to give you this, on the orders of Mr. Langdon." She handed the letter to Prim, dutifully.
"Thank you." Prim replied, politely.
"Also, I was told by Ms. Venable to inform you that tonight's dinner will be a festive Halloween ball, with a costume dress code."
Prim's interest had been piqued at the idea of the Halloween dinner. The situation was dire, humanity was on the brink of failure, the food supply was running dangerously low, why hold a party?
The grey bowed and quickly scurried away back to work, Primrose closed the door behind her.
She then turned her attention to the letter in her hand. She noticed that the letter had been folded in half and sealed with wax. She broke the seal and carefully studied the sophisticated script;
"Primrose,
I am writing to inform you that you will be (regretfully, I am sure) unable to attend the Halloween party this evening as your presence is required in my private quarters.
I promise no tricks, only treats.
Michael."
Holding the letter to her chest, her mind still stuck on her dream from earlier, her thoughts began to run wild with all the possible directions the evening could go in. The tension between them was electric and undeniable, but she couldn't deny the guilt she felt either. She had promised her mother she would not go there with Michael, but her resolve always melted so quickly within his presence. Worst of all, she knew Michael would have to know what had happened to her mother and the coven, after all it wasn't that long ago that he was vying to become their leader, and she had not used her earliest opportunity to ask him about it; she was much too concerned with her carnal urges. She looked over at the bed where her body had lain aching for him; any desire she had felt this morning had been replaced with feelings of concern for her mother and the coven. She had decided; tonight she would try her damned hardest to resist her urges and ask Michael what she needed to know.
But first, a cold shower.
-
"You look beautiful." Michael said, sincerity evident in his voice.
They stood opposite each other in Michael's private quarter's, the room practically simmering with the energy between them. Primrose's appearance was very much the same as it had been the day before, but she knew that Michael still meant every word he said.
"Even without a Halloween costume?" She asked.
Michael took one step closer to her, his palm reaching out to cup her cheek. "You don't need a costume to be beautiful."
Sensing where the conversation was going, she attempted to fill the pause with one of her many questions, but Michael beat her to it.
"I have a gift for you." He smiled.
He extended his arm out and presented within his palm lay a single pomegranate. Her eyes widened in a mixture of joy and shock at the first glimpse of fresh food in over 18 months.
"H-how? B-but..."
"Let's just say I have my ways." He grinned, devilishly.
"I hope this is a treat and not a trick." She laughed, but curiously Michael did not respond.
"Everybody downstairs is getting a treat, one apple each. I wanted something special for you."
She looked down at the fruit he had placed in her hand. It looked ripe and delicious and the hunger pains grew stronger as she gazed upon it, almost overshadowing her intrigue and concerns.
"Michael I-"
"I know you came to me tonight with questions, and I promise to answer them all in due course, but I'm afraid that at the moment I cannot say anything until I can take you to where you'll be safe and secure in the sanctuary." He explained.
"You mean I got in?"
"Of course. You know I was only teasing with that re-population stuff. I do so love to see you squirm." He laughed. He placed both hands on either of her shoulders, his smile fading as he felt how tense she was underneath his touch.
She looked down at the fruit and hesitated. "I can trust you, can't I?"
"Of course," he sternly replied. "I've done this much for you, haven't I?"
"It's just that... my mother said..." She trailed off, meekly.
"What? What did your mother say about me?" He asked, the tone of his voice sharp.
"She said that you were-"
"Evil? A murderer? The literal antichrist?" He spat.
He paused to collect himself, his face easily slipping back into a mask of calm. He laughed mirthlessly, and affectionately ran his hand through her hair. "I know what she said and I know that you don't care, not really. For all your purported chastity and innocence, you don't care the man you love, the man you want to claim you, to touch you, to fuck you, is the devil's spawn." He smiled, dangerously.
She could feel her resolve slowly melting away, and she both loved and hated it.
Gently, he guided her towards his bed, pushing her backwards until she found herself laying down on his plush bedding as he towered over her. She noticed that his bed was much nicer and much softer than the standard issue one that she had been sleeping on for over a year. He crawled over to her side, a knowing look in his eyes. "And I'll tell you why it is that you don't care." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bowie knife. "'Man's original body having been cut in two, each half yearned for the other half that had been severed. Love is simply the name for the desire and pursuit of the whole.'" He quoted as he cut the pomegranate in two, revealing its' ripened innards.
"What is it you're saying, Michael?" Her voice a desperate mix of confusion and desire as she propped herself up onto her elbows.
"I'm saying that those who have loved before will be born back together." Primrose felt something stirring deep within her, as if it had been buried there a long time ago and it was just now awakening. It felt ancient and knowing, and filled her with a strange sense of purpose that she hadn't fully noticed she was lacking. She felt like the scales had been removed from her eyes; she had heard these words and she had been in this position before.
"I know of your conception and your birth, and it is similar to mine." Michael continued. "We were sent here together. You were made to be beside me."
His words shouldn't have made sense, but somehow, to her they did.
"The push and the pull, the yin and the yang, the light and the dark. Two polar opposites that collide in order to become one. This is why we work, why we are meant to be together. There is a darkness in your beauty."
"And a beauty in your darkness." The words had come from her mouth, but she wasn't certain that it was her, Primrose Goode, who had spoken them. It felt like an ancient voice was inside of her, guiding her through her desire.
"For love, I will handle your sins." The ancient voice said.
With her silent nod of consent, he used his fingers to feed her the pomegranate seeds, the small noises of pleasure that she made as she greedily and hungrily accepted his fruit sent waves of arousal through his body. She felt rapturous, euphoric; she knew fruit shouldn't taste this good, and yet somehow it did. She could feel something within her shifting, her soul was rearranging. When all the fruit was gone, she looked up at his bright, blue eyes and sucked the juice clean off his fingers.
"Michael that was delicious. I don't know how to thank you."
"Oh, I can think of a few ways." He smirked.