I lean in, lips brushing the shell of her ear first—soft, teasing—before my teeth graze the tendon there. Then I bite—hard. Teeth sink deep into the soft flesh of her neck. Skin gives way with a faint pop, warm blood welling up, flooding my tongue with coppery heat. The taste explodes—metallic, intimate, primal—mixing with the salt of her sweat. She moans, loud and shattered, the sound vibrating through her throat against my palm, her pussy spasming around my cock like it's trying to pull me deeper, keep me locked inside forever.
I fuck her harder. Deeper. Relentless. My hips snap forward, driving into her with punishing force, the bedframe groaning in protest under us. The room smells of us now—sex and sweat and blood, thick and heady. My free hand slides up her side, tracing the curve of her ribcage, the dip of her waist, before cupping her breast—full, heavy in my palm. I pinch her nipple between thumb and forefinger—slow atfirst, rolling it, feeling it harden under my touch—then hard enough to make her scream again. The sound is pure sin, raw and desperate, tearing from her like a prayer.
She comes instantly—wild, violent, uncontrollable. Her walls flutter wildly, then clamp down in rhythmic pulses, milking me with a vise-like grip that pulls a guttural groan from my chest. Her whole body shakes against mine, thighs quivering, back bowing, a fresh gush of wetness coating me, dripping down my balls. I feel every ripple, every spasm, every drop of her release—hot, slick, endless—seeping into the sheets beneath us.
I don’t stop. Can’t stop.
I flip her onto her back in one rough motion, the shift sending a fresh wave of sensation through me as I slide free for a heartbeat. Her legs fall open, chest heaving, eyes glassy with aftershocks. I hook one leg over my shoulder, then the other, folding her in half, opening her wide. The morning light catches the flush on her skin, the sheen of sweat making her glow. I slam back in—hard, deep, claiming every last inch with a thrust that bottoms out, my hips grinding against hers.
Her eyes fly open wide, lips parted on a silent scream that turns into a ragged moan, her hands flying to my shoulders, nails raking down my back.
“You are mine,” I roar, voice raw and primal, tearing from my throat like thunder.
“Yes!” she screams between moans, eyes wild, feral, perfect—locked on mine, burning with the same madness. “Yes—yours—fuck, Drogo—yours—”
I hold her throat tight—not choking, just owning—my thumb pressing into the frantic beat of her pulse, feeling it race like a trapped bird under my skin. The heat of her neckseeps into my palm, her skin fever-hot, slick with sweat. I thrust once—slow, deliberate, savoring the drag—twice, grinding deep—then come—hard, deep, flooding her so completely she cries out, the sound edged with pain this time, too much fullness, too raw, too everything. The release rips through me, wave after wave, hot and endless, spilling into her until I feel it leak out around us, warm and sticky on her thighs.
My head drops to her chest, forehead pressing into the valley between her breasts. Her heart is hammering against my ear, fast and frantic, like it’s trying to break free of her ribs—a wild, erratic rhythm that matches the thunder in my own chest. The scent of her skin fills my nose—salt and smoke and sex—mingling with the faint metallic tang of blood from her neck.
“Babe… did I…?” My voice is wrecked, breath ragged against her skin, guilt already creeping in like cold water, mixing with the haze of satisfaction.
She smiles—slow, dangerous, satisfied—her fingers threading gently through my damp hair, tugging just enough to make me shiver. “It was perfect.”
I laugh—breathless, shaky, relieved—the sound rumbling low in my chest. Then I lift my head just enough to see it: the thin line of blood trickling from the bite on her neck, dark red against her pale skin, a single drop welling up slow and lazy before sliding down toward her collarbone.
“Fuck, babe—”
“It’s fine,” she whispers, voice husky and sure, pulling me down with a hand at the nape of my neck. She kisses me deep—slow, filthy, her tongue tracing the seam of my lips, tasting the blood and sex and us, drawing out the flavor like she's savoring a secret.
Her pussy clenches around my now half-hard cock—lazy, deliberate flutters that send fresh sparks up my spine. The sensation is overwhelming—too sensitive, too raw, every tiny movement like fire licking at overexposed nerves. I groan into her mouth, hips twitching involuntarily.
“Give me every drop,” she murmurs against my lips, voice low and filthy, her breath hot and minty from the toothpaste she used this morning.
I smile into the kiss—dark, hungry—already feeling myself harden again inside her, the pull of her body like gravity I can't fight.
She’s mine.
And I’m never letting go.
We’re still tangled together, her legs wrapped loosely around my waist, my cock half-hard and buried deep inside her, slick with both of us. Her chest rises and falls beneath me in slow, heavy breaths, the rapid flutter of her heart slowing against my ear. The room smells like sex—thick, musky, intimate—mixed with the faint metallic tang of blood from her neck and the clean morning light filtering through the curtains. Her fingers trace lazy circles on my back, nails grazing just enough to make my skin prickle.
I lift my head to kiss her again—slow this time, savoring the taste of her lips, the faint salt of sweat, the copper ghost of blood. She sighs into my mouth, soft and content, her pussy giving one last lazy clench around me that pulls a low groan from my throat.
Then—
Knock.
Sharp. Urgent. Three quick raps on the bedroom door.
What the actual fuck?
They know the rule. No one comes to the bedroom unless it’s life or death. No exceptions. Not ever.
My body goes rigid in an instant. Instinct kicks in before thought. I roll off her, yanking the sheet up over her naked body in one swift motion, covering every inch of her from view. My gun is already in my hand—pulled from the nightstand drawer before I’m even fully upright—safety off, barrel trained on the door.
In Russian, low and lethal, I bark, “????”
Konstantin’s voice comes through the wood, tight, urgent, stripped of any formality.
