Your romantic history is short, almost nonexistent, and he likes this about you, it’s the reason he decides to hunt you down; and he doesn’t even have to bring it up in conversation because the way you fidget and blush and stumble through your silly, innocent responses to his less than innocent advances, it’s clear to him that you’re far from your element, that you’ve never even heard these words before–and that, by this simple math, no man has ever been inside you.

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So he’s soft with you, he’s gentle with you, he hides his teeth from you and kisses the back of your hands and the inside of your wrists, and he murmurs into your ear pretty words about your enticing, enviable beauty as you sit beside him, the two of you alone in his den; and you can’t help but lean into him because his breath against your neck is very warm, it makes your skin buzz and tingle in a way you’ve never felt before, ticklish almost, yet oddly addicting; and you want more of it, more of him, so much more.

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He welcomes this response, it’s predictable and it’s exactly what he wants; and he becomes a little less soft with you, a little less gentle in his handling of you as he draws you in closer, as he pulls your head back by your hair, as he presses his mouth to your neck; and you remember how you were warned, you were warned the moment they noticed his interest in you, they told you he was a predator; but you allow him to sink his teeth into your neck anyway, to make you gasp, whimper and writhe like the delicate little white lamb that you are.

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© 2018 Elizabeth Klarke

Written for reichblr-ficathon's "Three Sentence" challenge. Prompt: "Hitler x Reader"