Fuck
The library smells of old paper and candle wax.
Blake has filled the long table with low-burning beeswax pillars, their light pooling gold across the scattered books.
A single velvet chaise waits near the tall windows, deep crimson and wide enough for sin.
He stands in front of me, silver hair catching the flame, violet-blue eyes ringed in crimson that never fully fades.
“I want you to take me,” I say, voice steady even though my pulse is not. “Tonight. Fully. I’m asking.”
His eyes darken. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” I don’t look away. “I have waited long enough to find the right man. I’m sure it’s you. If we are never meant to stay together after this… then give me at least this. Something real to remember so I know it was never a dream.” My voice cracks on the last word. I beg without shame. “Please.”
He is silent for a heartbeat that stretches into forever. Then he leans in, fangs already lengthening, and breathes against my mouth.
“I will bite you.”
I laugh, soft and reckless. “I hope you do.”
“Oh, Lucy.” The words are a dark promise. “You have no idea what you are asking for.”
He reaches for the ribbon at my shoulder.
“You know that you can trust me, right?”
I nod, throat tight.
“Because I’m going to fuck you as if you shouldn’t.”
The words land like a brand. My pulse stutters. My hands fist in his shirt. “Fuck me with no mercy.”
He smiles—slow, dark, the smile of a creature who has waited centuries to ruin something precious.
He takes the dress from me piece by piece.
First the outer bodice, fingers working every hook with deliberate patience.
The fabric whispers down my arms. Next the chemise, sliding over my breasts so the cool air kisses my nipples into tight peaks.
He pauses there, palms cupping the soft weight of them, thumbs brushing the sensitive tips until I arch into his hands with a broken sound.
“Eyes on me,” he orders.
I force my gaze up. He lowers his head and takes one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard enough to make my knees buckle.
The edge of a fang scrapes the curve of my breast—barely a prickle, a deliberate threat.
Heat floods between my thighs. He releases the peak with a wet pop and moves to the other, sucking, scraping, never biting.
Shadows unfurl from the shelves at his command, cool silk coiling around my wrists and drawing them gently behind my back.
“So fucking wet already,” he murmurs against my skin. “I can smell it from here.”
He kisses me like he is claiming a battlefield. When he finally pulls back, the shadows answer him at once. They lift me as if I weigh nothing and set me on the edge of the massive oak table in the center of the room. The wood is cool against the backs of my thighs.
He finishes stripping me until I’m bare before him, shadows holding me open and offered. He sheds his own clothes with far less care. His cock springs free—thick, heavy, pumped purple with blood, the head flushed and already glistening. My stomach flips. He is too big. Impossibly big.
He leans down, fangs scraping the column of my throat, the underside of my breast, the soft skin just above my hip—never breaking, only promising. Each time he closes his mouth and sucks instead, hard enough to leave marks, the faint edge of teeth a constant, delicious threat.
“I could bite you here,” he growls against my breast, “and drink while I fuck you. Or here.” A scrape over my inner thigh. “You would come so hard you’d forget your own name.”
His palms cup my breasts again, thumbs stroking the tight peaks before his mouth closes over one.
He sucks hard, the edge of a fang scraping the soft curve hard enough to draw a single bright bead of blood.
He licks it away with a low sound of approval and moves to the other breast, repeating the torment, until I’m soaking wet, aching.
He steps between my legs and rubs the broad head of his cock through my slick folds.
“So fucking tight,” he murmurs. “And still untouched. Mine to ruin.”
He pushes in. The first brush of that broad head against my entrance makes me jolt.
“Look at me,” he says again. “I want you to watch every second of this.”
My tight flesh yields slowly to the thick intrusion. The stretch burns, sharp and overwhelming. He works only the first half of his shaft inside me, eyes glued to the place where we join, watching my body struggle to take him.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “You’re strangling me already.”
He bottoms out at the halfway mark and stays there, giving me time to adjust. Then he begins to move—slow, deep thrusts that never give me more than half his length. Every stroke drags against places I didn’t know existed.
“Good girl,” he praises, voice rough. “Taking me so well.”
He fucks me in measured thrusts, never seating himself fully, voice rough between every stroke.
“This cunt was made for my cock.”
Then he pulls free. Shadows seize my hips and flip me onto my hands and knees across the wide oak table. Cool air kisses my soaked, swollen flesh a second before his hands—and the living dark—spread me open.
“The perfect meal is now served,” he barks.
His mouth descends. He licks every drop of slick and the faint copper of blood, sucking greedily at the source. His tongue finds my clit and works it without mercy.
“Come for me when I tell you. Not before.”
He builds me higher, higher, until I am shaking and desperate. Only then does the faintest edge of teeth graze the swollen bud, he growls the order against me.
“Come for me,” he barks. “Now.”
I shatter on command with a loud, broken scream. One hand fists in my hair, the other grips my hip hard enough to bruise and he mounts me from behind.
He fucks me without mercy, exactly as I asked—deep, relentless, animal—while his fangs scrape along my shoulder, my spine, the side of my throat, never quite breaking skin.
“You wanted this,” he snarls between thrusts. “You begged for the monster. Now take it.”
I moan and push back onto him, lost in pleasure.
He shifts lower for a moment, pulling almost free so he can drag his tongue to where I’m the slickest. The sudden heat of his mouth makes me cry out. Then he surges back inside, cock stretching me open again.
He lifts me onto the chaise as if I weigh nothing, settling over me in one fluid motion
“That’s it. Take what I give you.”
Thrust.
“Good girl.”
Thrust.
“Feel how wet you are for the monster who owns you?”
Thrust.
“You jumped off a roof and still ended up here, spread open on my cock. What does that make you?”
I can only moan. The shadows tighten when I try to rock up for more. He won’t let me.
The faintest edge of teeth grazes my neck and I shatter. A loud, broken scream tears from my throat as pleasure rips through me. My walls clamp down on the thick length inside me. He fucks me through it, eyes never leaving my face.
When I can breathe again he is still moving, still scraping those fangs over every sensitive place he can reach.
“Again,” he demands. “You’re going to come on my cock until you can’t think.”
He drives me higher a second time, a third.
He is insatiable. My body is no longer my own. It belongs to the rhythm of his hips, the dirty praise, the constant threat of his fangs. Shadows hold me exactly where he wants me.
At last his control fractures.
“Lucy—” My name is a snarl. He thrusts deeper than before, his cock pulses hard. At the same instant his fangs sink into the side of my throat.
The dual sensation detonates through me.
His seed floods my spasming cunt in hot, heavy spurts while the first swallow of my blood pulls a fresh, violent orgasm from my body.
I convulse beneath him, screaming against his shoulder, every muscle locked in pure, overwhelming pleasure as he drinks and comes and claims me in the same endless moment.
He doesn’t t stop drinking until the last tremor leaves me. Only then does he withdraw his fangs, seal the wounds with a slow drag of his tongue, and collapse over me, still half buried inside my trembling body.
The candles burn low. The library is silent except for my ragged breathing and the soft, satisfied sound he makes against my throat.
“Good girl,” he whispers. “My perfect, filthy good girl.”
I can only hold on to him and try to remember how to exist in a world where this is real.