Seducing Mara

The Serpent’s Gaze

Ettore lounged on their couch like a king surveying conquered land. The TV flickered, casting blue shadows across the sharp planes of his face—too sharp, Mara realized distantly. His jawline firmer, his stubble less grey than she remembered.

And his eyes—

Hazel, yes, but now threaded with flecks of gold.

"Dinner’s almost ready," Mara announced, her soft contralto too bright.

Ettore’s lips curled. "Smells delicious."

But he wasn’t looking at the kitchen.

No, Zeno's girlfriend, the young woman's womb, her tantalizing fertile pink glow made the old man drool.

He was looking at her in a way not even her boyfriend dared to. The Doppleganger's gaze was that of a hunter looking at delicious prey.

Mara’s nipples pebbled under her sweater. She hated the traitorous response, hated the heat pooling between her thighs.

Hypnosis, a voice whispered in the back of her skull.

The thought dissolved as Ettore’s fingers—longer than they should be, the nails darkened at the tips—drummed against his thigh.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Each tap synced with her pulse.

The Dinner Theater

Zeno prattled about work over pasta, oblivious to the way his father’s shoe "accidentally" brushed Mara’s ankle beneath the table.

"—and the promotion means I’ll finally have weekends free," Zeno said, beaming.

"Mm." Ettore swirled his wine, the red liquid clinging to the glass like blood. "Mara, sweetheart, you’ve outdone yourself."

The endearment slithered down her spine.

"T-Thanks," she muttered, stabbing a tomato.

Ettore’s knee pressed harder against hers.

Mara’s fork clattered to her plate.

"You alright?" Zeno frowned.

"Fine," she lied.

Ettore’s hand "dropped" to his lap, his fingers brushing the inside of her knee.

Mara jolted—but didn’t pull away.

"Why don’t I pull away?"

Ettore’s thumb traced slow circles on the pale beauty's skin.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Her heartbeat answered.