What He Saw in Her

Fire lord Ozai looked down upon the writhing flesh underneath him. As the girl moaned for his touch he examined her. In her excruciating need her usually stoic and harsh face softened and looked more childish, more like her mother. Still, Ozai could see himself in the girl. He liked the way her eyebrows, eyebrows so like his own, arched as desire undulated through her body. Her lips too were his, thin even with the lusty blood that filled them. As if to prove his possession he wrapped his own over her bottom lip and bit down hard. The girl shuddered under him, waiting for her father to quench her thirst.
“Patience, my dear, is a virtue” he said, bringing his hand to her neck and trailing down slowly; between her breasts, down her stomach and stopping just above where she wanted him most.
“But then again, you aren’t a virtuous girl, are you Azula?”
Ozai pushed down the last of the girl’s garments and began to feel her silky warmth. To think, he had created this. She was his own flesh and blood. His own. The girl belonged to him and yet, she was him. The thought shot pleasure through his body and he was ready. Ursa had always said he was a narcissist. And with no ease or slowness, he gave Azula what she wanted.