He cages me against the stone, his towering frame pressing flush against mine. The contrast is a physical agony—the freezing, jagged crystal biting into my spine, and the blistering, feverish heat of his cursed body branding my front.
"You can’t choose death over me!" he roars. His amber eyes are entirely consumed by the blackened pupil, wild and feral. "I survived a hundred years of absolute silence, Purna! I survived the rot you built! I will not let you take the only light I have found and extinguish it for penance!"
"Then punish me!" I challenge, my fingers digging desperately into the thick canvas of his tunic. The realization that we will likely die in this room within the hour strips away every lingering hesitation. "You hate the witch who cursed you, Khaelor. It is me. Take whatever you want."
He releases a ragged, devastating curse.
His mouth crashes down on mine; a bruising, punishing claim. A primal demand forged in the dark before the end of the world. His lips are scalding, his tongue sweeping into my mouth with a bruising friction that tastes of iron blood, dark spice, and the salt of my own tears.
I groan, opening to him completely, my hands sliding up his broad back to grip the silver-white silk of his hair. I pull him closer, craving the absolute, devastating weight of him.
The argument dissolves into a desperate, aggressive physical collision. His hands are everywhere, rough and frantic. He grips the collar of my worn leather tunic and rips it downward, thethick material tearing under the sheer, unbridled strength of his corrupted hands. The air of the vault hits my bare breasts, but he immediately covers me, his scorching palms molding my flesh, his calloused thumbs dragging harshly across my hardened nipples.
"You ruined my life," he rasps against the bruised skin of my neck, his teeth scraping the slope of my collarbone.
"I know," I gasp, arching into his touch, my hips rocking instinctively against the heavy, solid bulge straining against his dark trousers.
"And you are the only reason I am still breathing."
He drops to his knees, his hands gripping the back of my thighs. He tears the linen undergarments away, tossing the shreds onto the salt-rimed marble. He buries his face directly against my core.
The first sweep of his broad, hot tongue draws a raw, uninhibited scream from my throat.
"Khaelor!" I shout, my fingers burying into his thick hair.
He is merciless. He consumes my taste with a starving, territorial aggression, his tongue working a devastating, rhythmic friction against my most sensitive flesh. He laps and sucks, his large hands gripping my hips, holding me completely immobile against the crystal pedestal as the pleasure builds into a violent, cresting wave.
"Please," I beg, my thighs trembling, the wetness slicking his chin. "Please, Khaelor, make me come."
He pulls away just as I reach the edge, leaving me gasping and desperate. He rises, his amber eyes burning with a dark, possessive fire. He strips away his own ruined tunic and trousers, kicking them aside. The massive, thick length of his erection springs free, the ashen-violet skin marked with pulsing, black-gold veins, weeping a drop of clear pre-cum at the blunt tip.
“Please…” I moan, drinking every inch of him with my eyes.
“You will come… on my own terms, Purna,” he groans.
He grips my waist, hoisting me higher effortlessly until my back is pinned flat against the freezing wall of the vault. I wrap my legs tightly around his waist, opening myself entirely to the monster of Venn Manor.
He thrusts upward, burying his formidable length inside me in a single, brutal strike.
The sheer size of him stretches me taut, a deep, liquid fire that forces a high, keening moan from my lips. He does not give me a moment to adjust. He begins to move, his hips slamming against mine with a harsh, punishing rhythm. The physical connection is absolute devastation. The slap of our bodies resounds in the heavy silence, a chaotic counter-rhythm to the muffled booming of the siege magic striking the iron doors behind him.
"You are mine," he snarls, driving deeper, his teeth biting into the sensitive curve of my shoulder. "Mine to keep, Purna. Mine to use. Mine to protect."
"Only you," I sob, my nails dragging down the scarred, violet skin of his broad back. "Take me, Khaelor. Harder."
He withdraws completely, the sudden loss of his heat leaving me aching. He spins me around, pressing my stomach and chest flat against the freezing, smooth surface of the crystal pedestal.
"Spread for me," he commands, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that sends a shiver straight to my core.
I obey, gripping the edge of the stone as I open my legs wider. He steps up behind me. His scorching chest presses against my bare back, the contrast of his blistering skin and the freezing crystal a sensory overload. He grips my hips, his long fingers biting into my flesh, and slides his thick length back into me from behind.
He slows the pace. The brutal, frantic thrusts give way to a slow, agonizing grind. He pulls almost completely out, the thick head dragging against my wetness, before sinking back in with a deliberate, agonizingly slow rotation of his hips.
The slow burn is absolute torture.
"Khaelor, please," I whimper, my face pressed against the cold stone, my hips pushing backward to meet his thrusts. "Give it to me."
He reaches around my torso, his large hands capturing my breasts, his thumbs pinching and rolling my aching nipples. "Tell me who you belong to."
