It felt, truly, as if he was regressing. This was not hard to imagine—the man was all but a child, incapable of deeper feelings because they had not been taught. He knew of pain, and he knew the sensations of hot and cold, but he did not grasp anything deeper then primal things. Fear. Hate. He knew what hate was. He did not know love, though he attributed what he felt to Misery as such. He did not know what it was he felt now, breathing in the scent of a strange woman who felt oddly familiar to him. His heart raced as she pressed her warmth against him, and he felt the firmness of her breast, and he felt a heat down in his groin that was unfamiliar but welcome.
A trigger was flipped on in his brain. It was a chemical reaction to what his mind attributed to the adrenaline, which rushed through his blood and rode alongside building testosterone. He lifted his hands and grabbed her shoulders roughly. He could not think to form words. He could not think and so he did not. It was his body that obeyed, instinctively seeking the source of her heat. Almost as abruptly as he had grabbed her did his traitor hands obey the impulses that came, pushing her down with his weight, pushing her down as his teeth grabbed for her neck, as his body took on a life of its own and sought to bury itself inside of her.
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