27.
Enjoy!?
Few days later.....
There were no windows. No clocks. No sound.
Only red.
The room swallowed her whole the moment the velvet blindfold was lifted.
Crimson walls. Crimson velvet drapes. Crimson-tinted lights bleeding from iron sconces like veins.
Isolde stood barefoot on a marble floor slick with warmth—not water.
Blood. She didn’t scream. She didn’t ask questions anymore.
She knew this was another Bloodplay.
The air smelled of roses and rust. Of perfume and pain.
Her dress had been removed. She stood in a simple silk shift, nearly translucent, clinging to her thighs.
Her wrists bore the faint marks of past bindings. Her collar remained fixed, a symbol of her tether to him.
Two masked servants entered silently behind her, each carrying silver buckets.
The floor beneath her trembled as warm liquid splashed around her feet.
Blood of tigers.
Thick. Warm. Fragrant.
She gasped as it hit her skin—cascading down her shoulders, between her breasts, pooling around her toes.
It wasn’t fresh but it wasn’t fake either “You are being purified,” one of the masked servants female whispered as he poured the second bucket slowly over her head.
“Reborn in his likeness. Its a family tradition of Valencourt happening for generations.”
Her hands trembled. But she stood still. She always stood still now
The door opened.
And he entered. Dante.
Bare-chested. Black pants. Bare feet. A blood-red robe draped from his shoulders like a crown made of flame.
His chest bore her name ISOLDE, carved into his skin with surgical precision, the blood dried into the script.
He was everything she feared.
And everything her body had come to crave.
His eyes drank her in. Soaked. Naked beneath the clinging silk.
Drenched in blood that wasn’t hers—but could have been.
He crossed the room, slow and deliberate.
Every movement said You are mine.
“I told you once,” he said, circling her, “that pain would teach you obedience.”
He stopped in front of her, lifting her chin with one blood-slick finger “Now I’ll teach you the other half of my love.”
He stepped behind her.
His lips brushed her ear “I will Worship you today.”
He lifted her into the crimson pool like a holy object—cradling her body against his chest, her limbs limp with shock, her breath shallow.
The blood-warmed water licked up her thighs and kissed her hips, her breasts, her throat.
She flinched, gasping as the thick liquid clung to her skin. The scent—iron and roses, sweet rot and heat—wrapped around her like silk soaked in death.
Dante eased her down into the tub until only her shoulders and face remained above the surface.
Her hair fanned out in blood like a drowning halo.
He slid in after her, straddling her hips, his thighs pressing hers apart beneath the water.
His body was massive.
Muscled. Slick with blood.
Every movement sent ripples across her stomach and up to her chest.
His eyes darkened as he looked down at her.
“Look at you,” he murmured, dragging his fingers from her throat to the curve of her breast. “Drenched in worship.”
She swallowed hard, shaking beneath him.
“This isn’t—”
He cut her off with a kiss.
Not soft. Not cruel.
But hungry. Mouth claiming hers like he meant to consume her voice, her breath, her identity.
His tongue slid against hers as his hand sank below the surface fingers parting her slowly, deliberately, his thumb circling that sensitive spot until she whimpered beneath him.
“Say it,” he breathed against her lips.
“Say you want this.”
She shook her head.
He pinched her clit—firm, sharp, enough to make her gasp and arch upward.
“Say it.”
Her voice broke. “I—I want…”
“What?”
“You—”
“That’s not enough. ”
He slid two fingers deep inside her, his palm pressed tight against her, grinding small, brutal circles while his other hand rose to her throat and wrapped around it.
She gasped, her head falling back, exposing her neck, smeared with red.
“I want you,” she sobbed.
“I know,” he whispered.
Then he pulled her forward, shifted her onto his lap, and lowered her onto his cock in one devastating thrust.
Her scream echoed off the stone walls. She was already wet.
And he held her tight. One hand gripping her ass beneath the blood, the other fisted in her soaked hair, forcing her to look into his eyes.
She clung to his shoulders, trembling.
“Move,” he growled. “Ride me like the sin you are.”
She whimpered—but her hips obeyed.
Blood spilled down her thighs as she began to move on him, slow at first—tentative, broken.
But he thrust up to meet her, hard, fast, relentless.
She cried out. He moaned.
“Good girl,” he hissed. “Look at you. Fucking me in a bath of blood like the bride of hell.”
He bent forward, took her nipple into his mouth, sucked hard until she cried out again. Then bit it.
Not to break skin. Just to brand.
Her nails dug into his shoulders. Her thighs trembled.
Her moans turned ragged, high-pitched, broken.
He reached down, rubbed her clit again, faster now, his voice low and filthy.
“You like it, don’t you? Drowning in death. Covered in proof that you’ll never be clean again.”
He didn’t stop.
He slammed into her harder, deeper, growling her name until he came inside her, groaning against her mouth, his teeth grazing her bottom lip.
Blood lapped against their skin.
Her head fell against his chest.
Felt his fingers in her hair, undoing the braid. Pulling it free “You look like a holy thing,” he whispered, “draped in death.”
His hand dipped between her thighs, brushing her soaked skin.
Not rough. Not fast. Possessive.
“This,” he murmured, fingers moving slowly, “is mine.”
She gasped. He kissed her.
Low. Slow. Deep.
His tongue tasted of iron and wine.
She moaned before she could stop it.
Her body betrayed her long ago.
She arched, trembling beneath him, her body and mind unraveling in tandem.
It wasn’t just sex.
It wasn’t even dominance. It was consumption.
He moved with primal precision dragging her soul to the surface one thrust at a time.
His mouth found hers again.
Their bodies moved like two halves of a ritual older than morality.
He drove her to the edge—and held her there.
“Not yet,” he hissed. “You come when I say. When I take you so far into madness you forget you were ever free.”
She sobbed beneath him from pain and pleasure.
But she didn’t stop him.
She didn’t want to.
Because some broken piece of her now believed the lie That she belonged here.
That this was love.
That drowning in him was the only way to breathe.
He finally let her fall—trembling, crying out into the blood-slick room, her body shattering beneath him.
He followed with a low growl, his climax drawn out, savage and sweet.
Then silence.
They lay together, tangled in blood and heat, hearts beating out of sync.
He brushed a kiss to her temple.
“You’re mine,” he whispered.
She didn’t answer. She couldn’t.
Because it was true.