The Soul Collector

He was waiting, as always. She granted him a faint smile and approached, feathered feet silent. The kiss bruised her lips instantly, her back arching in wondrous pain as cloth tore, blunt nails scraping across the dirt, toes bleeding. She didn’t want this, not now. Indecision was eating away at her mind, a thousand pricks to her skin, disrupting stimulation, stunting her movements, channeling her thoughts. His turn had come and she wasn’t prepared.

He half dragged her across the dirt, ignoring the door to choose the moonlit grass, sparing a brief pause in inquisition of her apathy. She looked at him then, and he knew. They stared at each other, her eyes soulless and resigned, his stilled with despair. A moment passed.

He attacked her, with his lips and hands, tongue and teeth. She looked to the sky. Her pleasure, her comfort, her predictable fool... he was too kind, too trusting, too beautiful, like the rest.

The hair resting on her neck lifted, harshly, rapidly. The warm digits clawing up her spine moved faster, desperately. He worshipped her flesh, trying to give a reason to hesitate, slobbering on her. Her nipples ached, her thighs trembled, but her mind traveled far away.

Her fingers glowed blue; he began to choke. She felt his eyes on her. She heard the plea in his silence. She refused to return the glance. His skin darkened, drying, eye sockets sharp. She knew the terror that was appearing before her without seeing it. She had yet to forget the first. When she heard the last clink of bone, she looked, jaw clenching.

She added the fifth soul to the chain of soul gems between her breasts.

Curse the gods and their silly games; she was slowly losing her heart.
Inspired by a lovely painting. I don't like this. I see potential. Too rushed... but I wanted to capture it with few words.