Twisted Deviant

I’m beginning to feel like some sort of addict, chasing the dragon around for the next high, yet, even knowing how pathetic I’ve become about all this, I can’t stop. It’s a good thing faculty are allowed off grounds during the weekends; else I am not sure how I would survive. I’ve taken precautions; no longer do I meet him in any place I might be recognized, it wouldn’t do for someone in my position to be seen obtaining this sort of service, so, I’ve taken to arranging a more secure location for my folly. Being a Muggle born does have its advantages, and my ability to work outside of Diagon Alley’s constraints is a blessing some days. I don’t know if he objects, he hasn’t said so yet, though I suppose as long as I pay him in Galleons it doesn’t matter. I’m still not quite comfortable with all of this, though I can’t stop. I’ve picked a lovely hotel within the Bayswater district of London for tonight’s tryst. Despite the cold and the snow, I stand on the balcony, enjoying the play

My mouth dries out as I watch his long fingers work the buttons of his outer robe, my fingers itching to touch the expanse of bare chest slowly being exposed. Shivers of anticipation tingle up and down my spine as I watch his hands fall to his waistband, his long fingers slipping the material over his hips. Unconsciously I lick my lips as he moves in closer. His movements remind me of a panther stalking its prey, raw strength and masculinity under sleek skin. Locks of dark hair spill over his face, hiding his eyes from mine, and I feel the cold streak of apprehension slithering its way into my belly. For all I pretend, I really don’t know this bare man before me. I suck in a deep breath, feeling my heart skitter with uneasy palpitations; my fantasy standing scarcely inches away. Foolish doesn’t begin to describe how I’m starting to feel. Yet, he is exactly as I’ve imagined him to be countless times, his pale flesh pulled tight across his lanky frame, scars crisscrossing along his chest