Crush

She pondered again how he might taste. It was a distracting thought, and the more she thought about it, the more loudly the subtle pulse in his throat seemed to beat. She nodded to all he said, but heard only the rhythm of his blood.

Could she still contain her hunger, or would this be the day when she sank her fangs into his throat? But that seemed too quick, too simple. Perhaps instead she could start at his chest. Peel back the skin and muscle, pop the ribs out of her way, pull his heart right from his body. She imagined how it would feel in her hand—a warm, wet weight to hold, to crush, to drink oh so deeply. Salty-sweet, perhaps. Thick and pulpy, certainly. She shuddered at the thought, the thrill, the thumping of his heart that beckoned her closer.

Even so, she sat. She sat, she nodded, she smiled. She continued as she always had. Reminding herself that however sweet he may be, her imaginings of him were sweeter still.

∼ Miriam H. Harrison

© Copyright Miriam H. Harrison. All Rights Reserved.