For a creature so intense, bolstering brutality as though that was the only language he’d known in decades worth of living, there was this remarkable display of courtship to how Marcellus took the initiative to gently pry Astaria’s hand away from those tight knots around her wingspan so he could knead them into relief himself. Every press of those impressive fingers seemed to comb straight through her muscles. Heat surged within her, bright and nauseating in its pleasure, and the sound that spilled out of Astaria’s lips didn’t belong to anyone civilised.
How unusual it was, to be handled with such reverence.
Men who delighted in pain, she’d learnt, often did so the way fire consumes: greedily, thoughtlessly, reducing beauty to ash just to watch it burn. But his attention… his touch… it had the intoxicating focus of a ritual, the kind you weren’t sure if you were about to be worshipped or sacrificed.
And gods, she she was addicted to it already.
“Fuck, Marcellus…” Astaria’s voice poured out in a winded exhale, all the air in her lungs fine-tuned to surrender. “You’re not one for small mercies, are you?”
Teeth, pointed and dangerous, soon took to toying with those sensitive elven ears, and before Astaria could hope to stop herself, her breath had already scattered out in tiny, winded fragments.
“Blood—” She tried to speak, canting her head sideways to expose the graceful arch of her neck to him. “It would make me whole again, yes.”
Old wounds mended, hymen restored depending on the amount of blood consumed.
With her body still tingling pleasantly in the wake of the tiefling’s touches, so oversensitised now, all pert nipples and clenching inner muscles, the absence of Marcellus set Astaria herself into motion. It wasn’t until the tiefling abandoned her skin that she followed suit. A sharp sting immediately rewarded her for the attempt, halting all motion just after she’d swung her legs off the mattress and grasped tightly around its edge with one hand. The other one tried to rid her temples of a migraine’s assault, feeling her skin throb unpleasantly under the press of icy fingers.
Getting up took effort. Not doing so would have been like open fire on her pride. She hauled herself up and used the wall as a conspirator, dragging her way toward the tub with the stubbornness of someone who refused to look weak even when her body was still cataloguing every recent violence.
Each step was a fresh little shock: ah, yes, there. And there. Especially there.
“I wouldn’t be terribly offended if you helped me climb into this thing, you know?”
When the vampiress fully stood, gravity made a cruel point to show exactly what he’d left inside her. It spilled from her cunt in a steady, copious torrent, warm evidence of their private extracurriculars gliding down from her thighs in a way Astaria couldn’t even hope to ignore.
