Three

My fingertips brush along my little butterfly's jaw, moving across her cheekbone to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear. Pink flushes her cheeks as she lowers her emerald gaze to the red Solo cup clutched in her hand, her fingers crinkling the middle with little divots. It's obvious she doesn't get this kind of attention often.

That works in my favor.

She told me her name hours ago, but I didn't care enough to listen. I came to this party with only one purpose, and making friends was not it. My hand leaves her hair to skim along the soft skin of her thigh, my lips twisting into a small smirk at the little jump she does at the unexpected touch. She's a shy little thing, more of a wallflower than the other girls I've noticed.

I knew she was my Papilio machaon, the moment I laid eyes on her. Her golden hair matched the beautiful hue of a swallowtail's wings, the buttery strands blowing in the breeze, begging me to reach out and grab them. I had resisted, of course, but I knew at that moment that she was meant for me. She was mine to keep and to love, to adore inside of my collection.

Giving her leg a light squeeze, I bend slightly to look into her face; the movement drawing her eyes back to me. "Dance with me?" Biting her bottom lip, she gives a slight nod at my question, pink blooming across her cheeks again. My heart thumps at her response, blood pumping below my skin as I verify her answer. "Yea?"

She nods again, more exaggerated this time. "Yes." It's breathy and unsure, a sweet little whisper that makes my pulse pick up another notch with anticipation.

I carefully peel her fingers from her cup and set it aside, keeping my smile in place to prevent her from vanishing. My fingertips lightly graze her palm to link our fingers, urging her from her seat and tugging her behind me toward the middle of the room before she can change her mind. The music is some mainstream pop hit with a loud beat, something I've never heard, nor care to remember. The surrounding bodies are all swaying and grinding in the dark room, other drunken students laughing and whispering among us. The lights are low enough to give an illusion of privacy as I tug her body close, fitting her back to my front as I move my hips in time with hers.

Her skin is buzzing with nervous energy, her shoulders stiff as my trembling fingers move in to palm her waist—her innocence is intoxicating.

Bring her upstairs.

Take her outside.

Get her alone.

The thoughts nag at the back of my skull, pushing me to hurry things along, but I shake my head, forcing myself to concentrate.

She's the high I want to bottle up, to store her memory like a keepsake to look back on. My chin tickles as she moves, the flowery smell of her hair teasing my nostrils as it brushes against me. Creeping my hands along her sides as she dances, I smile against her skin at the shiver that shakes up her spine. Dropping my face to skim my lips over her exposed shoulders, I trail them on her skin to speak into her ear. "Relax. We're just dancing."

Resting a palm on her bare midriff, I let the edge of my fingers brush the top of her waistband as she settles back into me again, a shy little look cast over her shoulder. "We don't have to just dance." It's so low I almost don't hear it over the music, almost like she's embarrassed the words ever left her pretty little red mouth.

I don't have to be in the light to know she's blushing again, my eager little butterfly. Looks like I'm not the only one wanting to get things rolling. I won't let her brave little words go to waste. "You have a room here?"

Her smile widening, she gives me another small nod and I beam at her.

Thump thump.

Thump thump.

Thump thump.

I almost can't focus over the whooshing of my pulse in my ears.

She takes my hand, her fingers softly grasping mine, and our eye contact breaks as she glances around the room. Moving through the crowd and up the stairs, I watch her back, eyes catching on the slight sway of her golden hair as she moves. Each step takes us further from the party below, my breaths increasing in their intensity with each place of my foot. Closing my eyes for a brief moment, I squeeze my vacant hand in a fist, focusing on the pinch in my knuckles to gain control.

Chewing her lip, she opens a door at the end of the hall, watching me through her lashes. I pull my fingers from hers and walk into the room. "Sorry it's a little messy, I wa—"

I spin and cut her off mid-sentence, yanking her mouth to mine in an aggressive smack of lips. Mentally calming myself, I soften the kiss while using my body to guide her backward, pressing her back against the door to shut it. Palming her face, I suck her bottom lip into my mouth, letting it slip through my teeth with a gentle, wet pop. "I don't care about the mess."

Her breath fans over my damp lips, quick little puffs that have my hands trembling again. Pulling her mouth back to mine, I pick up where I left off, my tongue running over hers to hide the impatient shake of my fingers. She tastes sweet like honey, a hint of Jack Daniels burning across my tongue with each swipe that passes through her teeth.

I want to suck the taste from her mouth until there's nothing left to taste and run my fingers through the yellow of her hair until I can't feel my fingertips and the color bleeds from the strands. I want to burn her touch into my skin, take everything from her and make it mine. She will be only mine to remember. My little Papilio machaon pinned to my wall by the torn edges of her golden wings. Tattered and defeated, but so fucking beautiful in all her disheveled glory.

My fingers trail along her skin, catching onto the fabric of her shirt as I move down her body, brushing along the brass of the denim buttons on her jeans as they move to press along the seam of her pussy. My lips part against her mouth in a pleased smile as I press into the heat between her legs. My little butterfly is more than ready for me, so hot I can practically feel the damp pool gathering in her panties through the thick denim.

I tighten my grip in her hair with my free hand, her little gasp of surprised pleasure wrapping around my heart beneath my ribs.

I want more.

I need more.

Turning us, I move her toward her bed, my lips twisting into a smirk at another gasp that slips from her chest when I push her back onto the pillows and climb up and over her body. My eyes burn over her as I watch her watch me, my tongue reaching out to run a wet path along her exposed belly. Her eyes close when my tongue dips to taste the flesh just under her waistband, and I reach behind my back to pull out the cotton binding I stuffed into my back pocket earlier. The soft fabric teases my fingers as I grip it in my fist, my belly growing hot with my own arousal.

My lips latch onto her skin as I move up her body, nose pushing along the edge of her shirt to kiss along the valley of her breasts. The fabric rises with me, and I sit back just a bit, admiring the swell of her big, beautiful tits as they heave with her excitement, the rose pink of her nipples straining against the soft mesh of her bra.

My butterfly is so fucking beautiful.

My fingers tickling up the length of her arms, I keep the binding tucked into my palm, guiding her arms so that they're pressed to her sides. I shift forward just the slightest bit in case she tries to fight me, pinning her limbs with my knees. My head drops to suck one of her tight rosy buds into my mouth through the thin mesh of her bra, running the tip of my tongue along its stiff tip. She looks beautiful from this position, helpless, at my mercy. Coming back to her mouth, I press a slow lingering kiss to her sweet lips, fingers shaking as I wrap my bind behind her head, fingertips catching onto a few stray strands of her golden hair.

Trailing kisses from her lips to her ear, my hand returns between her legs, palm pressing roughly over the bud of her clit through the rough fabric of her denim. The brass buttons dig into my wrist as I create the friction her thrusting hips are looking for. "Keep your eyes closed."

She nods almost aimlessly, lashes fluttering against her cheeks as she chews on her bottom lip with pleasure. I pull my hand away, eyes trained on the flush of her skin, the white mark on her lip from her teeth. Grabbing the loose ends of my bind, I quickly tie off the gag over her mouth, smiling at the little frown that creases her brow. My fingers run over her lips through the bind as she mumbles out muffled words that I can't make out. Her eyes are open now, but at the slight shake of my head, she refrains from any possible fight.

Ever the trusting little butterfly.

A familiar warmth is blooming in my chest, the comforting ache wrapping around my heart as my lungs press out quickening breaths. My heart bangs in my ears as I pull out another tie, making a show of it for my butterfly. I run it through my fingers and trail the end of it along her belly, over her nipples. I smile as she arches under the whisper of a touch, her skin flushed and pebbled with arousal. This is a game to her as much as it is to me, and that sends a thrumming of annoyance through my blood. Although easier, it's so much more fun when they fight.

The cotton over her lips is damp from her breath, the red of her lipstick shining through to tease and tempt me as I bring her arms up one at a time to rest above her head. She blinks up at me as I sweetly kiss the tender flesh of her wrist, wrapping my bind around them to tie her to the metal of her bed frame. Unable to resist any longer, I dip down and kiss her through the bind, the feel of the fabric across my tongue beating a rhythm between my legs. The sweet little whimpers leaking through almost have my own hips shifting, the knowledge of what's coming burning hot in my gut.

Lips still on hers, my little butterfly doesn't notice the sharp press of my knife slicing a long line from her wrist to elbow until I pull away. Her eyes widen in confusion as she blinks at the bloody tip, the slight quizzical tremble of her chin taking all my attention as I slice another long line along her other arm. It takes a moment for her blood to well up, but when it does, the fat, dark, tear-shaped drops that slide down her arms come in thick spurts that trickle onto her shoulders, sliding over her ivory skin to stain the yellow blond of her hair the prettiest shade of red.

I get lost in the hue, the rich berry of it painting her pillow with every shake of her little head. Her golden wings are losing their dust as she thrashes below my hips, the soft, weak edges tearing as they get stained with red. She's so, so beautiful. More beautiful than I thought she could ever be. Her screams are muffled through the bind, and I almost reach forward, fingers curling into my palm above her face to stop myself. Not that anyone would hear her over the music downstairs, but that's too risky.

Crystal clear tears leak down her cheeks, deep water pools of seafoam pleading to a lost cause as she stares up at me, brows pinched to match the frown of her crying lips. Uncurling my hand, I use a single fingertip to wipe one of her tears away, the wet drop stirring a whirlwind in my gut as I bring the lone drop to my lips to lick the salt away. Only spending another moment to watch her, I reach back into my pocket and pull out a small paper butterfly.

Its yellow edges are crinkled from being stuffed away, but it's okay; it's just like my perfect little butterfly. I don't smooth out the edges. Instead, I let it stay rumpled, watching its little paper wings flap and fly along her skin with each heaving breath that leaves her chest. When my little butterfly's eyes become droopy, I move my attention to her pretty little face, swallowing as her body twitches beneath me in a last-ditch effort to save herself, paper butterfly wings flapping one last time as she takes her final shaking, shallow breath.

That's always my favorite part. Those last few moments before they die. Their body has so much to say in those last few seconds, and I savor every silent word, store every painful whisper inside my heart, and watch the light leave behind nothing but a shell to rot.

Reluctantly shifting off of her, I wipe the blood from the tip of my knife onto her stained pillowcase, carefully tucking it away as I brush off my own clothing. Triple checking for any stray droplets of blood, I take the time needed to make sure I'm clean. Satisfied, I look down at my beautiful butterfly and run my fingertips over her cheek in a whisper of a touch that burns the very tips of my fingers. Closing my eyes to stop myself from staying any longer, I burn her image into my memory, pressing all of her into that bottle of memories, then slip out of her door and into the hall, quietly clicking it shut behind me. Taking a shallow breath, I retreat down into the main house, grabbing a stray drink off of a table as I pass. Inserting myself into a near group, I fake a laugh as someone tells a joke I missed the beginning of, flawlessly immersing myself back into the fray like I had never left.

Hours tick by as I continue to mingle, the shaking of my fingers lessening as my high slips away with the hands of the clock. The fallout gets worse every time, the high never lasting quite as long as the last. A fact I'm finding both annoying and alarming. It's just after two a.m., my arm poised back as I play beer pong, when a bone-chilling shriek leaks down the stairs and into the party. I crunch the plastic beer pong ball between my fingers as confused chaos ensues, girls screaming from the stairs that my butterfly is dead. I smile into my cup, using it to hide the expression stretching across my cheeks as I revel in my secret for the briefest of moments. It bleeds over all the music, waves of panic spreading throughout everyone. The lights cut on and the music pauses, students starting to buzz as the news starts to travel.

Several of the students around me are sobbing into their phones, a pair of frat boys blocking the entrance to the stairs to prevent anyone from going up. It's only a matter of time before the authorities will show up. I let a girl next to me grab my arm, her cries burying inside of my chest as she tugs us toward the exit, her tears streaking mascara down her cheeks. Following the dispersing crowds, we stand outside of the sorority house, blue-and-red lights blinking down the street as they come speeding up toward the lawn. Using the scattering partygoers as cover, I duck off and out of sight before the police pull into the drive, sliding my hoodie up over my head as I step into the shadows.

My hands tuck into my pockets as I walk back to the car I parked down the street, the shadows of the night hiding the smile I let out now that I'm alone. My little butterfly will be all over the news in the morning, and I have my television set to record.