Pain opens first—raw, impossible—then deepens into something else, something that spreads and takes hold. His mouth seals over my pulse, drinking in quiet pulls, making me feeleverything. The ache, the pleasure, the heat blooming low and deep until I’m writhing in his lap.
My back arches, head tipping all the way back to bare more of me, mouth open in a silent cry as my whole body trembles. His name isn’t on my lips, but the sound I make is nothing short of a prayer.
God, this is darkness. It has to be. Itlookslike sin.
Then why—why does it feel like light? Likebathingin it?
I can’t breathe. Can’t think. His mouth is bound to my throat, his hands anchoring me open as everything in me rises to meet him. I’m still staring at the stars, head tipped back, utterly claimed—by his teeth, by his fingers, by the way his body surrounds me like a cage I never want to escape.
He drinks in short, restrained pulses, tongue flicking to catch what spills. I feel my blood on my skin, warm and slick. Feel the wet slide of his mouth, the overwhelming heat between my legs. The pressure of his fingers, still stroking, stillcurling—
My thighs tremble. He holds me close, hips pressing forward just enough to make mefeelwhat he hasn’t done yet—but could. Would, if I begged.
Every drag of his fangs sends another pulse through me, another wave of heat that melts into the slickness gathering between my legs. Wetness clings to his fingers, to me, obscene and hot on my skin. I feel it—how weak I am for him—and I want to die from it. I’m filth. I’m ruined. And yet I can’t stop pressing back against him.
He feels it too—and a low laugh follows.
"You sense it, don’t you?" he growls against my neck, tongue flicking over the wound he made. "That slick, messy little proof that youcravethis."
I try to shake my head, to pull away from the words, but he tightens his grip—one hand kneading my chest with greedy, possessive fingers, the other buried between my thighs, coaxing out more of that shameful avowal I can’t stop.
"Don’t lie," he hisses. "Not to me. Not to yourself."
I want to say no. I want to fight. I want to believe I’m not lost. But I can’t speak—not when he touches me like that. Not when I feel my body tightening around his touch, like I’m about to fall apart just from the sound of his voice.
"Tell me," he says, his fingers moving deeper, crueler, slipping in and stroking just right. "Does your holy god feel this good?"
I sob, because the answer’s already written all over my skin.
"He’s watching you," he sneers, lips brushing my blood-wet neck. "Do you feel him, witch? Do you think he’s proud of his sweet little lamb, whining and soaking my hand like this?"
His touch is relentless, and I cry out—too loud, too wanton, toofar gone. My head lolls back and I curse the way my body clings to his, desperate for every inch of contact like something starved.
"He sees you like this," he hisses. "Dripping. Moaning. Giving yourself to the monster in the woods like some needy little thing."
A sob tears out of me. Pleasure. Horror. Need. All of it wrapped so tight I can’t breathe around it.
He kisses my neck, sweet and mocking.
"You prayed to him, didn’t you?" His voice is colder now, biting. "Told him to protect you. Keep you pure."
His palm presses harder and I almost convulse, legs trembling violently.
"Where is he now, witch?" he snarls. "Where’s your god while I’ve got my fingers inside you?"
The stars swim above me in dizzy constellations and I realize too late—
I’m coming undone.
He’s sinking into me in every way—his hands, his mouth, his need—and I let him. My hands grasp at nothing. My vision flickers.
"Oh," I breathe, a high, broken sound. "Oh… no—no, no…God, yes."
My body arches, seizes, lets go in a single release. Something in me dissolves, slipping past its own confines, until nothing remains but sensation. My breath falls apart in ragged, uneven pieces.
He watches me fall apart, voice low and reverent in my ear as he feeds.
When he bites again, my bodyscreamsin sensation. I cry out, broken and breathless, one hand clawing at the moss beneath me, but his wicked touch never relents, and I feel the spiral coming again—tight, hot, humiliating.Exquisite.
