I find myself wanting him and his blood again. He is a drug, my drug. He sends me on a perfectly tuned-to-my-being high. I need him more after each time I have him. He satisfies me and loves me and makes me feel wanted. Needed…
At the same time I need him. I suffer without him, without my drug. I can’t sleep at night without the taste of him on my lips, the smell of him in my nose, his body pressed to mine in a wave of passion and lust. I have to have him. He has to be mine.
I love who he is and the way he looks. I love running my hands through his hair and laying on top of his chiseled body. When we’re together I lose myself in him. I’d follow him through anything, and do anything for him. We’d make it through the good and the bad together.
Everything gets better when I’m with him, and everything gets worse when he’s gone.
If he left me forever I’d put a gun to my head…
I don’t know if I would be able to stop myself from pulling the trigger.
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