Saint Marchetti Feral Obsession

"Stay away from me, little spitfire." His voice served as a warning, but His hands were already gripping her waist, pulling her closer. "I'm trying to maintain what's left of my control." She raised her chin, challenging him regardless. "You have no idea what you're doing to me." His jaw tightened, every muscle in His body urging Him to walk away. She remained still, gazing up at Him as if she had no fear of the monster everyone had cautioned her about. That was His final restraint. He crashed His mouth onto hers, pinning her against the wall, twenty years of restraint shattering with a single breath. She tasted like everything He had vowed not to want—soft where He was sharp, warm where the fire had hollowed Him out, leaving only ash and hunger. Her fingers tangled in His shirt instead of pushing Him away, and something within His chest… something that had been silent since He was ten years old, screaming in a burning room… finally, "finally" went quiet. He should have stopped. He had dedicated twenty years to becoming a man who desired nothing he couldn't seize by force, who buried every tender part of Himself the same year He buried His name. He sought her out to use her, to make her father bleed in the same way He had bled, just like His parents had. He never intended for this… her mouth against His like an apology for sins that weren’t hers, her heartbeat pounding against His chest like something worth protecting instead of something worth destroying. She wasn't supposed to evoke this feeling. She wasn't meant to feel like "home." So, if revenge had been the sole thing keeping Him alive for twenty years… what was He meant to do now that she was the only thing He wanted to live for?