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First Time	By : harley4joker Category: DC Verse Comics > Batman Views: 11280 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Batman series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-First Time
- 1
So this is what it came to.
His smile betrayed nothing as he chinked his champagne glass with the beaming half-dressed harlequin but beneath his (stylish silk) pyjamas, there was a little fluttering in his chest; a sensation he did not recognise and therefore could not name.
He supposed he knew this moment would come. It was inevitable. The girl was so slavishly devoted, so hopelessly attentive, so utterly adoring that he would probably have ended up doing it just to get her to ease off a little. Not that he didn’t enjoy her attentions, but she had been getting antsy and her restlessness made him restless. It had been one thing, at Arkham, to tell her he couldn’t possibly risk her career by crossing those professional boundaries. It was entirely another, now that circumstances had… changed. Their courtship had been wonderfully old-fashioned thus far - enjoying simple pleasures such as walks by the harbour, dancing the night away and crafting homemade bombs - but girls these days were decidedly more - modern. And apparently, they had “needs”.
Yes, so he had supposed this moment would come eventually. What he had not supposed was that he would be facing it with this current mixture of sensations - the fluttering in his chest - the coiling in his gut - the sharp need in his groin.
It had started when she had bounded off so readily to distract the Bat. No one wanted to do that, apart from him. Oh, one of his mooks would’ve done so if instructed to, but it would’ve been with great reluctance and only out of fear of whatever worse thing he‘d have for them. They all knew what lay in store for them out of a confrontation with the Dark Knight, but Batman at least wouldn’t kill them. And Harley should’ve known, too, after all, he’d described it to her enough at Arkham. But nope. Off she’d gone, quick as a whippet and looking all too eager to do it as well. Desperate to please.
It had touched him. It had.
It had felt like a sharp razor slashing right down his chest.
It had just got worse when she’d succeeded. Naturally, he’d expected that Batman would squish her and that would that. He wouldn’t kill her, of course, but he’d injure her enough that she wouldn’t be bouncing all over the place quite so readily. To round the corner and find her sitting on the car, coy and smug as you like, had had a profound effect on him. Yes, he couldn’t deny it. He was Impressed.
So. This is what it came to.
When they got back to the lair, he’d grabbed Ron by the collar and told him to bring out the best bottle of bubbly from the hodge-podge stash his henches had been gathering and somehow make it cold. And spike it with a couple of ees. Then he’d sidled up behind Harley, who’d been humming cheerfully to herself, pouring mixtures of explosives into round, smiley face cases, and laid long, slender hands on her shoulders. She’d immediately shivered and looked up with an expression of lust and doe-eyed delight, all blue eyes and pouting black lips, and he’d felt that first little flutter.
“All work and no play, Harl…” he’d purred, and she’d let herself be led away without a murmur.
He’d spun her out then drawn her back in close against him, moving her in a slow jazz dance, their bodies pressed up tight. She hadn’t had much dance experience, but she was a gymnast and it made her graceful at least and she was rather good at being led - though of course he wouldn’t have it any other way. She’d practically swooned, leaning into him and he was all too aware of the feeling of her small, pixie-like body against his. It was very, very odd and he’d been a little perturbed. He couldn’t remember noticing things like this since - well. He couldn’t remember. Of course he noticed things like a delicate throat when he crushed it, a shapely leg when he broke it, a set of perfect breasts as a knife plunged between them, but no more than he noticed a broad chest or a well-muscled arm when he did similar things to them.
But he always did precisely what he wanted to do, after all. And this was precisely what he wanted to do.
“I want to show you something, Harl,” he’d whispered into her ear and she’d trembled and nodded her head vigorously.
He’d taken her up on the ferris wheel, the biggest ferris wheel on the East Coast. It was still working, and its lights were a brilliant technicolour in the dark of the night. The rest of the park was as dark and still as a graveyard and when they got to the top, and his man down below stopped the ride as he’d been instructed to, they’d both looked out over the surreal stillness of the city.
The usual sounds of the traffic, the bustling people and the various machinery that created a constant hum of noise were now utterly silent. Gotham had always given off a faint glow at night, a brilliantly illuminated strip of land along the coast - now it was absolutely dark.
It was eerily beautiful and the wind had whipped softly around them, humming in their ears as he’d wrapped an arm around her shoulders and she’d wiggled in close against him.
As far as the eye could see, on either side, there was nothing but darkness and silence. Even the park below them was obscured by night. It was as though they hung on that ferris-wheel, a great circle of rainbow brightness, at the end of the earth.
She was shivering and he thought perhaps she was cold but when he looked at her face he saw it was more than that. He had been waiting for the strange sensation to dissipate but it seemed, obstinately, to get stronger. She was clinging to his lapel with one black-gloved hand and he’d reached over and taken her little paw in his large one, and she’d blinked up at him nervously.
He’d bent through the night, with the blinking reflection of multi-coloured lights bouncing off of their faces, and kissed her.
Her lips had been soft, her mouth warm and although she seemed nervous at first she quickly responded. It was different to the kisses exchanged on the couch at Arkham, where she had seemed to be trying to devour him while he sat there, solid and implacable, easily resisting while responding just enough to satisfy her.
Now, he was turned to her, his chest pressed against hers, one hand grasping hers tight, his other cupping the back of her head, holding her still while her free hand clung to his shoulder. Their mouths opened and he penetrated hers with his tongue and she took it in eagerly, gratefully and he sucked gently on her lips. On and on it had gone, in that strange, silent darkness and he had grown hard and hungry and a little heady as well.
When they’d finally paused to take a breath, her gasping with barely restrained passion, his forehead bending to hers, he’d allowed himself a low chuckle, then opened his eyes, meeting her own directly.
“So Harley,” he’d whispered. “Forgive me if this is too presumptuous, but d’you think it’s time we took our relationship to the next level?”
Her eyes had boggled and she’d gulped, then nodded frantically. Quite unusually, she seemed to have nothing much to say that night, but that was all as well. So he’d signalled to the man below and down they had come.
And now, here he was, with her, in the little room she’d set up as his bedroom, and they were holding hands and chinking champagne glasses together.
He drank his glass down in one hard gulp, and she followed suit, then sputtered a little and he’d laughed. The tension was damnably difficult to work with, it was even throwing him off a little and he’d welcomed the sight of her trembling hands. He knew the girl was hardly a virgin, but knew also this was the point of realisation of all her most fervent fantasies for the last almost-two years. Seeing her hopeful nervousness and the achingly ardent love in her face spurred him on and he resolved to give the performance of his life. Well, one of the performances of his life, anyway. His real genius he saved for another, after all.
He drew her close against him and wrapped his arms around her. She was so small and he had to bend at the waist to reach her, reach her sweet mouth which opened so eagerly against his own. Without breaking the kiss he took hold of her hips and gently walked her backwards to the bed. She sat down on it heavily, as though her legs had given way just in time and he knelt down before her, working her mouth harder, getting a little more savage. Her head rolled like a drunk’s and he cupped it firmly, keeping it in place.
When he broke the kiss her eyes stayed shut for several moments, her face transfixed with a dreamy bliss and he’d smiled at the sight.
He filled her glass again, then took a swig from the bottle, pushed his lips against hers and let her mouth fill with the champagne. She half-giggled and swallowed it, then drank her glass down in two or three gulps. Already her pupils were beginning to dilate and she was getting a little more giggly.
He stood up, crawled onto the bed beside her and danced his fingertips over her shoulders, smiling into her face. She shivered with delight.
“Ooh,” she whispered, “your touch is like magic. It makes me all tingly like - ”
And he silenced her with another kiss.
He scooped an arm around her, laid her down and she went passively, happily then lifted a hand and ran it down his cheek. Her touch tingled a little too. He wondered if his own pupils were wide. She ran it down his neck and over the collar of his pyjama top, toyed with the top buttons, then looked at him with the sweetest uncertainty. She wasn’t a virgin, but she felt like it, and in way, perhaps she was. She’d certainly never been with anyone like him before. Perhaps this, more than anything else, was the line drawn between her old life and her new… he wanted to consume her.
He chuckled, dropped kisses on her cheeks and eyelids, and emboldened, she began to undo his buttons. His skin flushed with pleasurable goosebumps with every shift of the fabric and when she pushed it off his shoulders the air felt deliciously fresh. She ran her fingertips over his chest and sighed, licked his jaw devotedly, nuzzled at his neck. He worked his mouth around her earlobe, over her throat, coming up to bite her lower lip and she let out a long, delirious sigh. Her fingertips stroked one nipple, toyed with it and he felt it pucker beneath her touch. He rubbed his nose against hers and chuckled, then pulled away from her.
She whimpered, her arms reaching out for him, yearning, then fell quiet when he straddled her and bent down low, his hands stroking lightly up both her arms and down again, up, across her shoulders, down over the swell of her breasts. She shuddered pleasurably and he watched as her nipples peaked beneath the fabric of her silly little negligee. He slipped his fingers beneath the straps and locked eyes with her. She was transfixed with an expression of anticipation and when he smiled down at her a look of glee came over her face and she wiggled beneath him as he hooked the straps and pulled them down, off her shoulders, peeling the material off her small, perky breasts.
She actually flushed, a soft blush of colour across her chest and throat and he’d laughed teasingly to see it, lifting one hand to cup one of the soft little globes gently, and licked her mouth. He teased her, hovering inches from her lips while her head rolled back and forth on the pillow and when she finally dared lift it to kiss him, he jerked back and she made a playful moue of disappointment.
When he lowered his head to her breast, she forgot her petulance and gasped. Her hands came up to coil in his hair, trailing softly against his scalp. It wasn’t that unpleasant. He rolled the little bud of her nipple between his teeth and she gripped him tighter. His first instinct was to jerk back, to hit her, but he knew this was what people did during activities like this. She wasn’t attacking him. It was a singularly odd experience, enacting these strange rituals like this. He knew them all of course. He didn’t know how he knew them, but he did. He supposed the person he had been before he became the god he was had learned them all - the average man seemed rather hung up on such matters and if he’d been at all the perfectionist he currently was, he’d have learned them well. He’d practiced them a few times since his rebirth, of course, but there was always something in it for him. Not like now.
And that made him hiss and sit up. Harley’s eyes flew open and she stared up at him with a sudden trepidation.
“Puddin’?” she murmured and he dove forward and pinned her wrists hard to the bed, glaring fiercely at her. She gaped, and cowered at him while he silently fumed, his cock still hard in his pants, the desire to keep going mingling with the desire to hit her, over and over, until her face was nothing but pulp and blood.
There was something in it for him, he told himself. There was a willing, obedient little slave who adored him and understood him and actually appreciated his genius and who would do anything he said. This was part of a grander scheme in keeping her subservient, controlled. It was necessary. Yes, it was just the finishing touch; after this she’d ever more be putty in his hands - useful, self-sacrificing putty. And just think what people would say, when they found out she’d once been his Doctor.
And he chuckled, breaking the tension, beaming down at Harley who blinked at him fearfully.
“I just want you so badly, Baby. I’m getting a little tense.” He said, injecting his voice with a little touch of coddling.
Her expression softened and he eased up on her wrists. She lifted her hands to his face and cupped it, feeling the long bones of his jaw beneath her thumbs. Her expression glazed over with adoration as he looked at her. Her face blurred briefly, and there was another there, laid faintly on top of it, blonde hair too but older. His throat felt suddenly constricted.
“I love you,” Harley murmured, her voice clotted with fervour. “More than anything. More than life.”
And he felt a sinister grin creep up his face.
“I know,” he replied and lowered his mouth to her breasts once again.
He kneaded one with his hand, rubbed his face on the other and she groaned and thrust her groin up towards him, brushing against his hard-on. It made his cock twitch and he revelled in the sensation before swapping his attention to the other breast. Her fingers snaked through his hair, stroked his earlobes, played over his shoulders and he decided to move downwards before it got really irritating.
He moved his mouth over her ribcage, obscured by the floaty silk of her baby doll. He pushed it up to bare her stomach and he could smell her then, ripe and fresh and he flashed back suddenly to Arkham and her sitting next to him on the couch, her leg pressed against his, his hand rubbing her inner thigh softly, tracing teasing patterns while he spoke to her about how they were kindred spirits, her naïve blue eyes gazing trustfully, lustfully into his.
He traced his tongue into her navel and she half-shuddered, half-giggled, and let her legs part. He settled between them, placing one large white hand over her groin and she moaned, sat up a little to look at him and he smirked up at her from where he lay, his cheek pressed against one thigh, his hand cupping her pussy. Somehow, in No Man’s Land, she’d managed to remove almost all of her hair, leaving her pink flesh exposed and tender. He could feel it, hot and swollen, beating beneath his palm like a heart.
The drugs and champagne must’ve had a heavy effect on her because her head kept lolling back and finally she slumped back against the pillows again when he flicked his thumb against her cleft, parting it, feeling the wetness there, slick as oil.
He trailed his mouth down her thigh, then drew an outline around his fingers with his tongue. She quaked and moaned his name and he paused to enjoy the sound of it. Oh boy, he was good…
He nibbled her other thigh, right down to where it met her groin and she squirmed, pushed her pussy against his hand and he could feel its soft, wet folds hot against him.
“Heh,” he said and drew his hand down softly, trailing each tapered fingertip over her sensitive, excited flesh.
With her pussy now bared, she was going crazy with anticipation, whimpering a little and grinding her hips against the mattress. He grasped a hip in either hand, holding her still, then blew on her clit. She gasped, thrust up and he wondered how it must feel; an almost-touch when she was so aroused. Delicious, but not enough, serving only to frustrate her more. The thought made him smile, so he did it again and enjoyed the same response. He regarded her thoughtfully for a moment, looked up at her face, the very picture of agonised desire, then inclined his head forward and licked her softly.
She practically leapt at his touch, and the moan that wrenched from her throat was haggard and shameless. He touched his lips softly around her clit, again and again, sucked it gently into his mouth, swirled his tongue around it, released it again. She hit the bed with her fists and almost screamed, in a frenzy of want and he let her feel his chuckle vibrate against her.
He softly sucked on her outer lips, down and then up again, swirled his tongue around her clit, and placed his lips firmly over the top of it. He began to flicker it gently with his tongue, then slipped a hand off her hip, brought it down and pushed a finger just inside her, up to the first knuckle. Her muscles were tight, she was soaking wet and he pushed his finger softly back and forth as he toyed with her clit and felt her whole body tense, a hand leap down to entwine itself in his hair, her thighs come up on either side of her head and then she released, with a loud, ragged series of moans and whimpers, her pussy contracting.
She took a rather long time about it and he kept up his attentions throughout until she seemed spent, flopping back down against the mattress, still gasping heavily. He gave her a final warm kiss, and sat up, smirking. Well. That all came off rather satisfactorily. Harley was lying there, her face covered by her hands, still twitching and shivering. He laid his hand over her pussy again, feeling the occasional spasm in her muscles, then retrieved the champagne bottle, and stretched out beside her, taking a swig and laying kisses on her hands so she drew them apart to stare at him like he was the Second Coming. Which, as it so happened, he would be.
“That was the best darn head I ever got,” she managed to gasp and he drew his brows together.
“Of course it was,” he said in response, confused. What else did she expect?
She grasped the bottle from him and took several long, hard gulps, then placed it aside, grasped him by the shoulders and jerked him towards her. He was momentarily startled but then she was kissing him so he went with it.
No longer nervous, though whether that was due to the drugs or the revelatory experience of her orgasm (or both), her grabby hands were at the waistband of his pyjama bottoms in seconds, brushing over his still-hard cock. A flush of sensation went through him and he peered down towards it. Truth to be told, he’d practically forgotten about it, but it apparently hadn’t forgotten anything and was behaving very strangely as he lifted his hips to assist Harley to divest them of their covering. Indeed, it seemed to be tingling with a funny sort of anticipation and as Harley’s tongue entwined with his and her bare breasts with their hard little nipples brushed against his chest, it twitched and got very demanding, wanting to know why his hands had felt her slick insides and it hadn’t, yet.
Peculiar, he thought, quite unsettled by it all.
He drew back to look at Harley who blinked doe eyes and stared at him with slavish adoration and it got even louder in its demands. She went off the deep end for you, it seemed to scream, look at her! She was a respected doctor and now she’s a nutcase who dresses up like a harlequin and moulds her life around serving you!
In response he said: “Oh Harley!” And grasped her head, yanking her towards him. It was all so romantic, he didn’t feel quite like himself at all!
Her hands trailed downwards, smoothed over his balls, and she whimpered needily against his mouth, cupped them in her hand, squeezed them gently and he was reminded by just how not a virgin she was. Then the flat of one palm ran up his cock and it was she who broke the kiss now, purring a little, her lips looking bitten and red, as swollen as her lower lips were. She looked down for her first sight of him - or it, rather - rock hard and white all over, apart from a blush of colour at the tip. Her eyes widened when she saw him revealed, as though all her dreams had come true and he couldn’t help but roll his eyes a little. Well, if all she cared about was size, then he was everything she could want, but he knew size didn’t count, once you got down to brass tacks. Still, he let a vain grin sidle up the corners of his mouth as she slid down his body, eyes round as saucers, like a kid in a candy store, until she came level with his cock.
“Oh, Puddin’,” she breathed and looked back up at him with disbelieving elation. “You’re so perfect in every way!” she enthused and he grinned. Well, that was true, he supposed.
He stayed stretched on his side, one arm propping his head up, watching her as she peppered soft little kisses all over the head of his cock, which twitched in a slightly-alarming fashion. She giggled to see it and chased it with her mouth and he lowered a hand to entwine in her blonde curls. She glanced back up at him from lowered lashes, all coy and innocent and he resisted the urge to yank her backwards, slam her into the mattress.
She flickered her tongue across the head and he expelled a heavy breath through his nostrils. She repeated the action a few more times, looked up at him again and the let her lips part.
Just when he thought she was about to close them around him, she dropped her head and began nuzzling his balls. Good girl, he thought and kneaded her scalp with his hand. She sucked and licked the flesh, rubbed it between her fingers, nibbled his thighs and kissed her way back up the length of his cock, where she began swirling her tongue around the head.
He let his eyes roll up in his head. She knew all the spots, particularly the point right on the underside which made him feel like he was going to explode.
When she finally wrapped her lips around him and slid down, taking a good amount of his length in the warm, slick confines of her mouth, he let out an audible sigh. She was good, but he’d expected no less of her, not after the stories she’d told him. She sucked on him tenderly, then fiercely, hard and soft, varying the pressure and the speed and he felt a little giggle burble out of his throat and quite unexpectedly let his arm flop, let himself lie completely down, softly laughing as she paused to swirl around the head, tease that special little spot, slide back down again. She breathed in hard through her nostrils and pushed right down and he felt himself enter her throat, which relaxed, and heard himself groan in a voice that didn’t seem to be his. She gagged a little, relaxed a bit more and then began to circle her head so that her throat softly massaged the tip of his cock. Aw, hell.
He knew he could keep going. As long as he wanted to, he could keep this up. But he didn’t want to. He wanted to get there and even though this weakness was clearly her fault and he should probably punish her for it, right then he couldn’t be bothered.
He wrenched back on her head as gently as he could, freeing himself from her mouth, reached down and grabbed her by the shoulders, hauling her up to him. She let out a squeal of delight and spread her legs without a second’s hesitation and he rolled on top of her, hearing himself growl.
He paused a moment, let his cock twitch against her wetness and she groaned and ground her hips against his. He smirked down at her, feeling a bit better about things.
“Good things come to those who wait, Pooh,” he murmured and she whimpered and rocked her hips back and forth like a child stomping its feet for something it wanted now.
“Naughty, funny little girl.” He chuckled and pushed himself gently against her opening. Her expression opened, ready to become one of relief, but again he stopped and abject frustration flooded it instead. He laughed openly at her and she clung to his shoulders and fluttered her eyelashes.
“Pleeease, Puddin’. I need you so much. You’ve no idea how much. I’ve never needed anything so bad.”
But no, she was going to learn. She was never going to get anything simply because she wanted it. She was going to get what he chose to give to her. So he pushed his cock teasingly against her, back and forth, and nibbled at her neck and down, sucked at her nipples while she whined and squeezed his shoulders and kissed desperately at his head and ears and forehead. Her warm wetness felt delightful and inviting and he bit one nipple hard and she groaned loudly and her pussy contracted and she buried her face into his hair.
He laughed hard when he realised she’d just orgasmed again and she blushed and slapped him lightly across the shoulders.
“My sweet little Harley-Girl, on tap,” He mocked and she purred, wiggled so her pussy tantalised his cock and he relented, pushing deep inside her.
He shut his eyes so she did not see the way they rolled back as he filled her, as the luscious sensation of her heat and wetness and the tight sheath of her muscles enveloped him. She wrapped her legs around his back, her ankles crossing against his buttocks and he began, very slowly, to thrust in and out of her. Ooh. It was very, very nice.
Harley clearly thought so too, because she was making lots of little, hungry, happy noises, kissing him lustfully and lovingly at intervals, purring against his cheek, her hands moving from his hair to his shoulders to his back, coming around to toy with his nipples, sliding back around. It wasn’t bad but maybe it was a little distracting so he grasped hold of her wrists and pinned them down to the bed, on either side of her head and her eyes gleamed excitedly when he did so and she pushed back against him eagerly.
“You’re the best, Mistah J,” she nuzzled against his cheek and he bit hers and thrust a little harder, urging another delirious howl from her throat.
“I love you,” she whispered again and again, her breath hot and tickling his ear and he tittered and made his thrusts long and slow and soft and bent his head to lick her nipples. He sucked one up, played his mouth on and off it, kept his groin flat and hard against her mound and suddenly she sighed, her thighs squeezed his waist and he felt her come, again, and picked up pace a little, even as she continued to contract hard around his cock. That felt damn good too. He propped himself up on his hands and stared down into her face, marvelling at her expression of bliss, of love, of fervour. He marvelled at himself, too, and what he was doing, at the very ordinariness of it all and how, despite all that, it was so damned delicious. How very surreal. It was like he’d crossed into another reality, somehow.
“Only with you, Harley,” he breathed, and it was true. She was so wonderfully unique, had taken so easily and readily to seeing the world through his eyes, that how could he help but indulge her a little?
And everything he did, no matter how small or offhand, seemed to delight and exhilarate her; she swooned and moaned and trembled and squeezed herself around him, gazed up into his eyes with an almost disturbing passion - and well - gazed into his eyes at all. Not many people had accomplished that feat for more than a few seconds, but she seemed to thrive on it, giving herself willingly over to being swallowed by his gaze.
He lowered himself down onto his forearms, picking up the pace, thrusting harder, deeper and she moaned wantonly and thrust back against him. “Ooh yeah, Puddin’,” she murmured, “You’re the best. I love you.”
It occurred to him then, that she’d never asked him about that. She seemed to take it for granted that he fully and easily returned her ardent, excessive feelings. He felt a gasping little laugh burst from his mouth, brushed his nose against hers, kissed her and thrust harder still. A powerful, delirious sensation was building in his groin and the harder he pounded her the more she seemed to open to him, her body utterly relaxed and taking him easily, submitting delightedly to his ardour.
And why not, he mused to himself, driving his tongue into her mouth, making her take it, bruising her lips, growling against her. He’d said it before, to others, when it was necessary. It was nothing. Only words. If it helped. He did what it took. To get what he wanted. Simple as that.
He drew back, breathed into her, directly into her lungs like his words were oxygen: “I love you, Harley.” and she gasped, her eyes flew open, and then she climaxed hard, fierce, frenziedly, screaming with the intensity of it; her strong thighs tight around his waist, her arms brutal around his neck, holding him hard down against her and her cunt like a vice around his cock, hard and contracting and holding him inside her ravenously. She was insatiable, he realised, and she’d never stop wanting from him. Never stop wanting this and never stop wanting that, what he said, but not the words. The words would never be enough.
And in saying them he’d been struck by a strange and alien sensation, something that made him feel nauseous, made his head buzz, prompted his hips to speed up, vicious now as he pounded, and the intense, blissful sensation in his groin built until it began to overcome his whole body. It rose rapidly upwards, threatening to suffocate him, obfuscate his lungs and heart and smother them beneath it. Then he was flooded with a sense of singular euphoria, rocketing him from head to toe and swirling crazily in every inch of his body, and felt himself empty inside her, heard himself groan loudly in a voice that said far too much, though no words were uttered.
She was breathless as he slumped down on top of her, reeling, and cooed in his ear and stroked his hair back off his damp forehead as he stared blankly into the pillows. She pressed little kisses against his cheek, and murmured those words again, and again: “iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou,” and he felt himself soften inside her but still she gripped him, not wanting to let go.
He sat up very quickly, and touched elegant fingers along several points of her neck and she passed out, sweetly and silently.
He pulled out of her, rolled off, sat back on the bed sheets and stared at her unconscious form for several long, staggering moments. His body still tingled, still twitched, but inside he felt a very uncomfortable sensation, looking at the pretty, naked girl who so completely adored him in his bed.
So this is what it came to.
She had to die.
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