Chapter Twelve: Poison Kiss:
Tsuzuki stared at his friend.
"What did you say?" he asked. The scientist took out his phone, pulling up the girl's photo from surveillance.
"This the girl you were talking about?" he asked.
"Yes!" Tsuzuki exclaimed.
Watari pulled up her profile. "Her name Jessie. She's a level seven demon." Tatsumi looked puzzled.
"Level seven?" he asked. "That can't be possible."
"I had to run the scan twice, but, yes," Watari said. "She is exactly a level seven here in Meifu." He turned to Tsuzuki. "Did you and Hisoka encounter a level seven demon in battle at one point? Think hard and try to remember." Tsuzuki dug back in his memory.
"We did fight a demon a few months back," he answered. Watari leaned in.
"Did it have any markings?" he asked.
"Yes, anything that stood out," Watari reiterated. Tsuzuki thought harder until one memory came to mind.
"There was a red lotus on its neck, here," he said, pointing to the right side of his own neck. Watari's face turned grim.
"I thought so," he said.
"But why is she here?" Tsuzuki asked. Watari's expression grew darker.
"When a level seven demon is defeated in battle," he began, "They attach onto the victor to drain them as revenge. They won't let up until their target is driven into ruin."
"You don't mean�" Tsuzuki said. The scientist nodded.
"But� why isn't she after me as well?" the older shinigami asked. His friend shrugged and shook his head.
"Can't tell you that," he said.
Every kiss reminds her that she owns him. She does, actually. That's their contract, after all. Her hands are buried in his blonde hair tonight.
"Take me," he moans. "I need you." All lies, he only wants to forget. Forget about his partner and his wife. Jessie is happy to help as she pins him to the bed. The deep burn of the lotus mark on her neck excites him. Her nails digging into his bare shoulders.
"Ow," he whimpers. She licks her lips at the sound of his pain. Suffer well, my precious! She presses her mouth further into his shoulder.
"Jessie!" he moans. She bites down on his shoulder. She sucks until a deep red mark appears on his skin. The ropes tying him down made his body burn. She could see the curse clear on his pale skin. Jessie smirks at him, squirming helplessly underneath her. She loves power just as much as sex; no, she loves it more than sex and drugs combined. Tonight, she has all three. Where to begin?
"Do you love me?" she asks.
"Yes!" he cries. It's a lie, all men lie, but she's used to it. They lie, she lies. He's just using her tonight and she is doing the same. Why do they do this? Aside from the easy answers, why? She bites into his neck again. This time, he lets out a choked up gasp. She leans down to his ear.
"You know what you have to say," she whispers.
"No!" he moans.
"Say it!" Her nails dug deep into his thigh.
"Please fuck me! I need you!"
She knows he is still lying to her. "Please fuck me, I need you, what?"
He shuts his eyes. "Please fuck me! I need you, mistress!"
She smirks. "That's a good boy!" Again, she rides him roughly. This time, she tries to choke him and he just takes it. It all numbs him from the recurring torture brought on by his partner and his wife. This will change with a little tide called repressed rage.