His. Hers.

She unpinned her hair and shook her head to release the curls. Her hair cascaded down behind her, the ends tickling her lower back. The window reflected her naked form back to her, but all she did was sigh wistfully and climb quietly onto her bed. Seconds after her head touched the pillow, she found herself drifting off to sleep. Until -

Somewhere inside her head, something rang, jarring her awake. An announcement of an arrival. Was she expecting him? With a slight smile on her face, she let her eyes adjust to the darkness and searched for him. There he was, bathed in moonlight, glowing a ghostly white. She reached out for him, but he was too far, just a figment of her imagination. She felt him then, his breath on her neck, warm and chilling at the same time. As she closed her eyes, his image became clearer.

His lips are hovering above her left nipple, his eyes gazing straight at hers, taunting her. Unable to bear it, her right hand moved quickly to cover her breast. A jolt of pain shot through her, ending somewhere below her navel. She clamped her thighs shut, a weak attempt at keeping the pleasure within. Cold air brushed feather-like across her. His mouth has left her breast and his tongue is now tracing a wet trail down the middle, from her clavicle, to the area between her breasts, lower still, past her soft tummy... and then he stopped. She looked down and saw him looking back at her, his eyes distant and undecipherable.

She cannot wait. Her right hand quickly found what he should have been seeking. A sharp intake of breath, followed by an arch of her back, she spread her legs wide open, wanting to take in every part of him. Her thighs, already wet with longing, quivered slightly in the dark. Impatient, frustrations started to build up inside her. Suddenly, his voice, a low whisper, appeared in her ear.

His words entered her. She felt her blood drain and collect in a bubbling pool at her groin. With each sentence he uttered, she shut her eyes tighter to envision him with her, while her hand took on a life of its own. She was swollen, throbbing, hungry, almost maniacal, as she raised her hips to meet each slow and determined thrust of his words. She imagined his face close to hers, watching her as he tortured her, smiling as he sees how he's pleasuring her.

Then.

For a second, her right hand stopped moving. Her left hand immobilized, clutching her bedsheets in a death grip, knuckles taut and bone white. Her face contorted into a silent scream, a moan resided at the base of her throat, unable to escape. She looked a splitting image of The Ecstasy of St Teresa, forever immortalized, floating in mid-air. But it was only for a second. After that, everything came crashing down. Her body convulsed in a rhythm as the stream of blood flowed backwards like water behind a raised dam. It was the release they were waiting for. It was the release she was craving for. The noises emerging from her throat felt more like sighs of relief. Her face, turned to the side to hide the smile that had crept upon her lips, was flushed pink.

Slowly, reluctantly, she placed her fingers over her clitoris to still the throbbing. They were warm and comforting, coated with the fluids of her desire, like dripping honey over a bee sting. She stretched out her left hand in the dark, feeling for him. She thought for a moment that she had found him. But when she opened her eyes, she was already alone in her room. He had come for her, taken what he had wanted, and left her weak and lucid for the moon to claim her. His nightly sacrificial offering. Her legs, which were bent at the knees, straightened out and fell heavily onto her bed. Her heart started beating normally again. Her eyelids lowered, this time to envelope her into a peaceful sleep.

He'll be back for her, her Incubus of the night.