I don't remember deciding to do it, don't remember thinking or considering at all. I just grab his hair and drag his mouth to mine because I can't stand the words anymore, can't stand anything but the need clawing at my insides, demanding something only he can give.
His response is immediate—a sound like a snarl caught in his throat, his hands fisting in my hair, his body pressing me backward until my shoulders hit the headboard. The impact jolts through me, sharp and bright, and I bite his lip hard enough to draw blood because I need to taste him, need copper on my tongue and his groan vibrating against my mouth.
He kisses me like he's trying to devour me. Like he's been starving for three hundred years and I'm the first meal he's been offered. His tongue sweeps against mine and I moan into him, my hips rolling up of their own accord, seeking friction, seeking pressure, seeking anything to ease the ache that's been building for days.
His hands find the hem of my shift and he tears it off me in one rough motion, the thin fabric ripping like paper, baring me completely. The cool air hits my fever-hot skin and I gasp, but then his chest is against mine—when did he lose his shirt?—and there's nothing but heat, his body covering mine, skin to skin.
"Harder," I gasp against his teeth. "Don't be careful with me—I can't stand careful right now?—"
He stops being careful.
His hands find my hips—right over the scars he left on the altar, the changed skin that's harder than flesh should be—and his grip tightens until I know I'll have bruises tomorrow. Good. Iwant the bruises. Want evidence that this happened, that I chose it, that my body got what it was screaming for.
He lifts me like I weigh nothing, repositions me beneath him on the ruined sheets, and I wrap my legs around his waist and feel the hard length of his cock pressing against my core through his leather pants. Even through the fabric he's thick and hot and I can feel him throbbing, can feel how badly he needs this too. The pressure makes me cry out—not enough, not nearly enough, but God, it's something, it's contact, it's him where I need him even if there's still too much between us.
"Off," I snarl, yanking at his laces with clumsy desperate fingers. "Get these off, I need to feel you?—"
He rears back just enough to tear at the laces himself, shoving leather down his hips, and then his cock springs free and I can't help but look. Can't help but stare at the sheer size of him—thick and flushed dark with blood, the head slick with precum, veins standing out along the shaft. I remember how it felt inside me on the altar, remember the stretch and the fullness and the way he ruined me for anything else.
Then he's pressing against me, the head of his cock sliding through the slick mess I've made of myself, nudging against my entrance without pushing in. I can feel every ridge of him, every throb of his pulse, the heat of him like a brand against my most sensitive flesh.
I make a sound that's not quite human. Needy and broken and so far past pride that I don't even care anymore.
"Please—" The word tears out of me. "Rhystan, please, I need your cock inside me, I can't?—"
He drives into me in one brutal thrust.
The stretch is devastating—his cock forcing me open, thick and hot and so deep I feel him in my throat. My back arches off the bed, a scream caught somewhere between my lungs and my lips, and for a moment I can't breathe, can't think, can only feelthe impossible fullness of him splitting me open, his cock buried so deep our hips are flush.
It hurts. Of course it hurts—he's too big and I'm too tight and he didn't ease into it, didn't give me time to adjust. But the pain changes almost instantly into something else, something that winds through the pleasure and amplifies it, makes every nerve ending light up like I've been struck by lightning.
"Yes—" The word comes out broken, barely recognizable. "That's—oh fuck, that's?—"
He doesn't give me time to finish. Doesn't give me time for anything. Just pulls back until his cock is almost out of me—the emptiness already unbearable, my body clenching on nothing, trying to keep him—and then slams back in so hard the headboard cracks against the stone wall.
I rear up and sink my teeth into his shoulder.
His blood floods my mouth—copper and smoke and something wild underneath, something that tastes like dragon fire and ancient magic. He snarls above me, his hips snapping harder, driving his cock into me with punishing force, and I drink him down like I'm dying of thirst.
"Fuck—" His voice is gravel and ruin. "Your teeth—when you bite me like that?—"
I bite him again. Different spot, higher on his shoulder, closer to his throat. Feel the way his whole body shudders, feel the way his cock twitches inside me, pulsing against my inner walls, feel the wave of savage satisfaction that rolls through the bond from him to me.
He likes it. Likes the pain. Likes that I'm not just taking what he gives but taking pieces of him too, marking him the way he marked me on that altar.
His pace turns brutal. Each thrust drives his cock deeper than I thought possible, drives me up the bed until he has to grab my hips and drag me back down onto his shaft, until I'm bracingmy hands against the headboard just to stay in place. The sound of our bodies coming together is obscene—wet and slapping and punctuated by my desperate moans and his animal growls, the thick slide of his cock in and out of my drenched cunt.
He shifts his angle and the head of his cock hits something inside me that makes the world go white at the edges.
"There—" I'm babbling now, can't stop the words spilling out of me. "Right there, don't stop, please don't stop?—"
He doesn't stop. Keeps hitting that spot with every thrust of his cock, relentless and precise, like he's mapped the inside of my body and knows exactly where to strike. The pleasure builds and builds, coiling tighter in my belly, my thighs trembling where they're wrapped around his waist.
His hand slides between us. Finds where we're joined, where I'm stretched around his cock, where I'm swollen and sensitive and dripping down his shaft. His thumb presses against my clit and I shatter.
The orgasm rips through me without warning—pleasure so intense it borders on pain, so complete it feels like dying. Every muscle in my body locks tight around him, my channel convulsing in rhythmic pulses that seem to go on forever, squeezing his cock so hard he groans like I'm killing him. I scream against his shoulder, the sound muffled by his flesh, my nails raking down his back hard enough to draw blood.
He doesn't stop.
