O N E 

It was unhealthy, this fixation I had developed for the young ballerina. She stood in the light, her body arched as bright lights illuminated every curve of her body. Off-limits and completely too fucking innocent to be touched by my blood-stained hands.

Resting against the back wall of the theatre, I kept to the shadows as she took her final bow. And when she looked up, staring into the darkness, all I saw was mine. Mine to own, mine to fuck, mine to torment.

With those pink lips and brown eyes, a chocolate complexion that contrasted rather beautifully with the lilac leotard and tutu she wore. It was all personally branded to my taste like the devil had worked with the Gods to create the perfect kind of distraction.

Lifting my hood and pulling up the black material at my neck to cover my lips and nose, I move through the service door and around to where the dancer's change rooms were. Flashes of her soft skin tempted me as she moved through the tunnels.

No self-preservation, my girl. She welcomed the demons that clawed to have a taste of her holy sin. I walked past the various cast members and stagehands; they knew better than to question the six-foot-six reaper that lurked in their hallways.

My woman was used to this dance now, our act, ours only. Pushing inside her room, I flicked the switches off. Darkness engulfed the room, leaving only the warm glow of the lamp on her dressing table. She looked at me through the mirror, her lips trembled slightly.

Approaching her, I wrapped my hand around her throat, drawing her head back against the hard muscle of my abdomen, she blinked as rapidly as her pulse against my palm.

"You wore it," I said, my voice rough and deep.

She blushed, her chocolate skin taking on a pink hue. "You left it for me." Remaining perfectly still, she allowed me to feel the groves of her jawline as I stroked up to her bottom lip. Tugging it down I traced the inner flesh.

Her eyes fluttered closed as her tongue darted out to lick my gloved thumb. Such a good girl.

Pulling my hand from her sharp white teeth, I moved down her neck and shoulder, dragging the soft material of her leotard down until it sat beneath her breasts.

She looked at us in the mirror. A beast lurking behind her small, delicate frame. "How long are we going to do this?" She whispered. "Will you not tell me your name?"

Three months and counting, Dahlia.

We would keep doing this until my control snapped and I had no restraint left to keep in the shadows. I don't think her perfect little world would welcome someone like me, no it would revolt at the mere presence of my infection.

Ignoring her question, I pinched her small erect nipple. She hissed out a moan, then she spread her legs, and I pressed my free hand to her pussy.

She rubbed herself against my hand, my glove and her clothes a barrier. I pushed the material to the side and trailed my finger up her dripping cunt. Dahlia was always wet, ready and seeping to have my fingers inside her greedy little body.

Her slender fingers gripped either side of her chair and I smiled behind my mask before thrusting two fingers inside her heat. Her scream cut through the room, echoing off walls as I fucked my little ballerina until her legs quivered and her body drenched my glove.

She came apart so beautifully.

Her scent infiltrated my mind, and I withdrew from her entirely. Her pink pussy lips flashed me from the mirror as she closed her thighs. Dahlia snapped her eyes to mine, the softness and innocence burned out of their dark depths, leaving only anger and desire behind.

Anger looked fucking intoxicating on her, as did desire. I had sunk back against the door, my cold ice blue eyes amused with her annoyance. "I'm not a toy you can just touch and throw away whenever you like," Dahlia snapped.

Little fucking brat.

My cock jerked.

"No?"

Her tits jerked as she stood and turned to face me directly, and what a fucking sight she was. Hands-on that tiny fucking waist, upper thighs exposed, breast heavy and aroused. "No, I'm done." She glared at me. "Mother has arranged a date for tomorrow night, he'll be good for me, I'm over this." Dahlia taunted, waving her hand out in the space between us.

Silly little girl. 

She played with fire as if she didn't know I'd take it from her hands and burn the fucking world to a crisp wasteland. "Okay, little toy. Have fun on your date." I replied, leaving her as her eyes watered with hatred.

My own envisioned her painted in fucking red, maybe she'd like dancing on the fucker's blood when I was done driving a knife through his fucking eyeballs.

Yeah, that had to be it.

Dahlia wouldn't be stupid enough to provoke the devil...