Warnings: Smut! Minors do not interact! PinV, unprotected sex, ghost face mask on during sex, masked men sex, killings mentions, murderer boyfriend, blood mentioned (on mask)
Summary: You have been helping your boyfriend and his friend Stu with the recent town murders, yet tonight is the first time you see him with the mask on, for some reason you aren’t scared, in fact, it turns you on
Characters: Billy Loomis x Fem! Reader
The town I grew up in and loved has experienced recent murders and I’m not scared at all, because I know who is doing them, my boyfriend Billy and his closest friend Stu. On top of me knowing about it, I’ve been helping them out.
I have been giving them information on their victims, I’ve helped them get to know the victims, get to know the lay outs of the victims house. I helped with it all.
It was a terrible thing, but it just happened once and then continued.
As I laid on my bed thinking of the victims, I heard the sound of someone climbing onto the wooden fence type ladder by the side of the house, then my window lifted open.
I knew it would be Billy, he was the only one who did that. So I moved to sit up on my bed, ready to see my boyfriend climbing inside my bedroom. But instead of seeing his familiar features. I was met with him in the outfit they called Ghost face.
He wore all black and the mask stood out.
Even though I’ve helped him and Stu out, I have never actually seen him wear it in front of me.
I fixed up my white, silk nightgown and looked over him. The sight of the mask scares everyone, yet the sight of it, turned me on.
I didn’t feel scared at all.
“Billy.. the mask.. still has some blood on it” I say, almost choking on my own spit
“Don’t worry, no one saw me come here.” Billy said and I could tell he was grinning under the mask as he came over, climbing onto the bed.
Billy moved until he was on top of me as I fell back down onto the mattress. Gazing up at him, taking in the sight of the mask, slight blood drops splattered on it.
His hand moved, touching my thigh, then slowly pushing up the silk fabric of my nightgown.
I gulped, feeling myself growing wetter.
How did such a simple thing as a mask turn me on so much. So intensely.
Billy managed to tug the nightgown up and off of my body. He drew a shape on my stomach before he moved his hand up, about to remove the mask, but before he could and before I could even think, I reached up and grabbed his wrist.
“Keep it on.. please” I gulped
My words made Billy freeze momentarily, then a chuckle left his mouth.
His hand moved away and he forced my hands down above my head on the pillow.
“Like it that much?” He spoke, his voice both seductive and cunning
Billy was so evil, yet so attractive.
His left hand remained there, holding my wrists tightly above my head. While the other moved the black fabric up, he unbuttoned and unzipped his pants underneath. Freeing himself.
I’ve had sex with my boyfriend before, but this time I felt both worried and excited more than I’ve ever been.
Was it the mask? I asked myself.
Billy let his gloved hand stroked himself a few times, I knew his body language. He could see how hungry I looked right now and he loved it. He admired to sight before him.
Then he adjusted his position, lining himself up.
He pushed himself inside of me, the familiar feeling still made my body take a moment to adjust to him. Billy moved at first, slowly.
And then, Billy moved forward even more, pushing himself deeper inside of me, moving his hips faster.
Moans left my mouth as he moved like that.
My eyes watched him move in and out of me, before I gazed up at the mask again.
Shit I could feel myself on the edge already.
Billy groaned as he felt me tighten so suddenly.
His gloved hand moved down, his thumb moved to my clit, moving in a specific motion that had my eyes roll back.
This had me hit my orgasm fast.
Billy was definitely smirking under that mask, he was definitely proud and smug about it under there. Yet he didn’t stop, instead he moved a little, then pulled my legs up, onto his shoulders.
Pushing himself so deep I nearly cried his name.
His movements were so deep and fast. He was definitely enjoying this just as much as I was.
Billy groaned as he felt himself slipping. And with that, he shot his hot liquids deep inside of me. My body feeling so much pleasure from the sensation alone, made me hit another orgasm.
He moved, letting my legs fall back down onto the bed. His body moving as he removed the mask from his head, throwing it on the floor.
“I’m fucking you with that on more often.” He stated, not even letting it be a question
Then he leaned down and crashed his lips onto mine. My hands finally moved from where there were, falling to his hair.
Billy was right, that was definitely not the last time you two would do that with the mask on.
Pairing: Priest!Remmick x Fem!Reader - AU. (No Beta)
A.N.: I haven't written this much in so long. Here's my attempt at Priest!Remmick. This story will consist of multiple chapters, I'm unsure of how many exactly. So I'll only post the CW/TW in the first chapter. Likes, Comments & Reblogs are appreciated. Thanks in advance to those who take the time to read! 🖤♥️
Summary: After the unexpected death of your parents you drop everything to attend their funeral and decide to stay for a few days with your Grandmother. You're introduced to Father Remmick, who has darker intentions for you.
Divider Credits: @uzmacchiato & @priestboy
Here's Chapter 2
𝕾𝖆𝖈𝖗𝖎𝖑𝖊𝖌𝖊 & 𝕾𝖆𝖈𝖗𝖆𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙
~Chapter 1~
"Welcome home, dear." Your grandmother's voice, a brittle whisper, barely carried past the threshold as she held open the heavy oak door. "Come closer, let me see you."
You stepped inside the dimly lit parlor, and the scent of honey enveloped you.
"You've grown, haven't you? Still so small, though. My little sparrow."
You smiled at the nickname you hadn't heard in years since you left this small town at the age of 21. It had been a long time, almost too long. A few months short of ten years since you've been back.
"Time does that, Gran. Not much growing left to do." You replied as you embraced her in a tight hug.
"I can't believe they're gone. Just like that." A sigh, heavy with unwept tears.
They were driving home when they hit a deer, or at least that's what the police report said. Accidents like that happen.
"You look tired. The journey?"
"Yeah," you sighed. "The travel. Everything."
"You must be famished. I've made your favorite stew. Just like your mother used to make."
"Thank you, Gran." A soft smile crossed your face as she led you to the kitchen to sit as she brought you a bowl and spoon. She sat across from you as you ate.
"Tell me about the city. All those years away." She urged with interest and excitement.
"There's not much to tell. Books, lectures, libraries. The usual."
"And no young man to tell me about?" A hint of a smile, fleeting.
"No, Gran. Just the books."
"Always the books. You've always been like that, weren't you? Head buried in stories. Perhaps that's why you never say what was right in front of you."
You paused mid-bite, brows furrowing in confusion. "What do you mean?"
"Never mind that. Eat... We'll talk more later. There's a Mass tomorrow. For them. Father Remmick will be there."
Who?
"Father Remmick? Is he new?"
"New? He's been here for years. A year or so after you left."
The following day, the weather was partly sunny as you approached the church. As soon as you stepped inside, the sun barely peeked past the thick clouds. Dim sunlight pierced through the red stained-glass, casting jewel-toned dust motes into the air. You sat beside your grandmother, and the faint scent of incense lingered in the air.
"He's a good man, Father Remmick," your grandmother whispered, nudging you. "Very devoted."
A figure emerged, the cassock, black as midnight, seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it. His hair, dark and slicked back, framed a face that was surprisingly unlined for a man your grandmother described as 'not new'. His eyes, when they swept over the congregation, were a startling blueish-grey. They paused, for a fraction of a second, on you.
"Welcome to this solemn remembrance." His voice, a low baritone, resonated through the room. "We gather today to mourn, to pray, and to seek solace in the eternal light of our Lord."
The Mass unfolded, a familiar ritual you hadn't experienced in years. When the time came for communion, your grandmother went forward. You stayed in your seat.
"You didn't go," your grandmother observed, her voice hushed as she returned.
"I...I haven't in a long time, Gran. Doesn't feel right." You explained.
"He noticed, you know."
"Who?" A shiver traced its way down your spine.
"Father Remmick."
After the service, as people shuffled out, offering hushed condolences, your grandmother steered you towards the Priest.
"Father Remmick, this is my granddaughter. My Rose and Thomas's daughter."
Remmick's gaze, when it met yours directly, felt like a physical touch. Intense, unwavering. A flicker, almost imperceptible, deep within those blue-grey depths. He extended a hand, long and slender; his touch was cold against your skin.
"My deepest condolences." His voice was a low thrum that resonated in your chest. "Your parents were cherished members of our community. Their loss leaves a void."
"Thank you, Father." You managed, your voice a whisper as you pulled your hand away, and a strange unease settled over you.
"Even in sorrow, there's always a path to solace. Our doors are always open."
Days later, the funeral a raw wound, you found yourself adrift in the quiet house. Your grandmother, always pragmatic, had a solution.
"You're coming to Mass with me." Her voice was firm, brooking no argument. "It'll do you good. Give you strength."
You hesitated. Church hadn't been a part of your life for years. "Gran, I'm not sure—"
"Nonsense. Your parents would have wanted it."
The old church, smelling of books and incense, was a familiar yet alien place. You sat beside your grandmother, the hymns a distant echo of your past. Remmick stood at the altar, his presence commanding, his voice filling the open space. He spoke of faith, of resilience, of finding light in the darkest corners.
But you felt his gaze, again and again, drift toward you, a subtle, almost possessive focus that made the hairs in your arms pickle.
After the service, your grandmother tugged at your sleeve. "Father Remmick wished to speak with us."
He stood by the sacristy door, a faint smile on his lips. "It's good to see you here again."
"Thank you, Father." A faint blush crept up your neck.
"Your presence brings a certain...vibrancy to our congregation." His eyes held yours. "I trust you found some comfort in the service?"
"It was...different." You admitted. "I haven't been to Mass in a long time."
"A long time indeed," he nodded slowly. "Life pulls us in many directions. But the path back to grace is always clear. I noticed your stillness, your quiet observation. A thoughtful soul."
Your grandmother interjected, her voice carrying a hint of expectation. "She needs guidance, Father. She's been through so much."
"Yes," his smile widened, a flash of something sharp in its depths. "The confessional offers a unique solace, a cleansing of the spirit. Have you ever experienced it?"
You shook your head. "No, Father. Never."
"Then perhaps it's time." His voice was soft, persuasive. "A change to unburden your heart, to find peace in forgiveness. Your parents would want you to find that peace."
The mention of your parents, a subtle manipulation, struck a chord. Your resistance wavered.
"I-I suppose I could."
Remmick's smile didn't quite reach his eyes, which held a glint of triumph. "Excellent. I'm available tomorrow, late evenin'. Just come to the rectory. The confessional is there."
The rectory was an old stone building next to the church, shrouded in the deepening twilight. A single lamp glowed in the window, casting long, dancing shadows.
Your heart hammered a nervous rhythm against your ribs as you approached to heavy oak door. You haven't felt this kind of trepidation since your college interviews. You knocked, the sound echoing. A moment later, the door opened. Remmick stood there, his eyes seeming even more intense in the dim light.
"Come in." his voice was a low invitation.
The interior was sparse, the air was heavy with something faintly metallic. He led you down a hallway to a small room that had a red hue due to the stained-glass. A heavy wooden screen divided the space.
"Take a seat." He gestured to the kneeler on the other side. "I'll be in the other."
You knelt, the lush red cushion did little to support your knees as you sank and made contact with the wood underneath. You could hear the rustle of his clothing on the other side, the faint creak as he settled into his chair. The silence stretched, heavy and expectant.
The confessional booth smelled of old wood, damp wool, and wax.
Remmick ran his tongue along his teeth. His skin prickled, not from the crucifix now biting into his palm, but from the scent threading through the confessional cracks. Something warm, human. Alive. His jaw ached. He hadn't fed tonight. Deliberate.
"Speak what is in your heart. This is a sacred place, a sanctuary for truth. What burdens you?"
The scent of your grief coiled around him. Suffocating and intoxicating. His nostrils flared as the scent of your tears hit him. He wanted to trace the tear rolling down your cheekbone, taste the salt of it. His gums throbbed. His tongue pressed against a fang, the sharp edge drawing a bead of blood. Discipline.
He's disciplined himself for centuries. But this, this unraveling, this raw, pulsing humanity was different.
"I keep forgetting they're...gone." A hitch in your breath before you quickly wiped the tear away. "I feel guilty. I wasn't here, I was away. I should have been closer."
"Guilt is a heavy burden." His voice was soft and soothing. "But it is often misplaced. Did you not love them?"
"Of course I did."
"Then your absence is not a sin. Don't punish yourself for somethin' out of your control." His voice grew softer, almost a murmur. He wanted to tell you faith was worthless compared to the heat of your blood, the weight of your gaze.
"Tell me what else troubles you. What secrets do you hold within that seek release?"
That question, so direct, so intimate, startled you. A strange urge overcame you, an urge to confess everything. To lay bare your deepest fears, your unfulfilled desires. It was an unsettling sensation, the sudden openness.
"I've always been a solitary person, Father. I keep to myself. Sometimes I feel...disconnected. From everything."
"A quiet strength. Or a fear of vulnerability?" He seemed to probe, to peel back layers. "Do you fear connection? Do you fear the intimacy that comes with true communion?"
You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. "Maybe. I don't know. I've never...I've never truly allowed myself to be close to anyone, not really. Not since I left home."
"And why is that?" His voice was like a silken thread, drawing you in. "What keeps you guarded? What walls have you built around your heart?"
His questions weren't what you expected from a confessional. They were too personal, too probing. Yet, you found yourself answering, drawn by the hypnotic quality of his voice, the near darkness of the small room, the strange intimacy of the screen between you.
"I'm afraid of being hurt. Of losing people. Like..." Your voice cracked, unable to finish the sentence. "It's easier to just keep everyone at a distance."
"A defense mechanism." He mused. "But a lonely one. To truly live is to open oneself to both joy and sorrow. To love deeply is to risk profound pain. But the alternative, that is the true tragedy."
A long silence stretched, filled only with the sound of your own soft breathing. You felt exposed, vulnerable, yet a strange sense of catharsis bloomed in your chest.
Remmick's fangs scraped his bottom lip. He'd watched your parents die—had made them die—their throats torn open by his hand, not the deer. The memory was still fresh in his mind. Their screams, the scent of blood. It made his fangs ache.
"Father," you whispered, "do you ever feel like...God isn't listening?"
Remmick suppressed a smirk at your question as he thought carefully on how to answer. The irony was delicious.
"Oh, He listens." He murmured. "The question is whether He cares to respond."
Your breath stuttered as his chest tightened with hunger. He could almost taste the salt of your despair on his tongue. His fingers twitched, aching to lick away the lingering tear. To press his lips to the hollow of your throat where your pulse fluttered like a trapped moth.
"You think He's abandoned you," Remmick tilts his head. The crucifix around his neck swung slightly, catching the dim red light. His voice dropped to a whisper, "But abandonment implies He was never there to begin with." He watched your pupils dilate. Fear or fascination? He couldn't tell. Both excited him.
You shivered. The air in the confessional seemed to grow colder, despite the strange warmth that had begun to spread through you.
"That's...bleak," you breathed.
The scent of you thickened in the air as he inhaled deeply, letting it gather in his dead lungs. He could hear your heartbeat stutter, the rush of blood beneath your skin.
"Truth often is," he replied. "You came here for comfort, not platitudes." His voice dropped lower. "Tell me what you really want to say."
"I want..." You swallowed, "I want to scream at Him. At them."
"At me?" He asked.
Your pulse spiked; he heard it, smelled the iron-rich rush of blood beneath your flesh. The air thickened with something darker, something that made his dead nerves sing. A strong mix of hunger and desire flooded him.
"I think I should go now..." You whispered before getting up.
Remmick watched you through the divider as you adjusted your coat, talons digging into his thighs. He could smell your fear. The creaking of wood and fabric shifting filled the silence, accompanied by your rapid heartbeat that made his fangs and cock ache. His nostrils flared as he recognized the sensation he hadn't encountered in so long: arousal. His own arousal.
He followed you outside of the booth, watching your every move before he broke the silence with a confession of his own. "They were in the way."
You paused; his words didn't make sense. An unnatural hum grew louder, a vibrating pulse as cold dread washed over you. You reluctantly turned to face him; his expression was neutral, which only made it more unsettling.
"An inconvenience. A necessary sacrifice for a greater purpose." The faint light caught his eyes, and for a moment, they seemed to shift. A faint crimson glow flickered within their depths.
You stood motionless as your mind struggled to process his words. "What are you talking about?" Your voice cracked, a desperate plea for clarity amidst the encroaching horror.
"You...you had something to do with their deaths?"
"Had somethin' to do with it?" A low, guttural chuckle rumbled in his chest, a sound that grated against your nerves. "I orchestrated it."
The world tilted. The hum became a roar in your ears, drowning out the storm that had begun outside. Your knees threatened to buckle.
"No," you breathed, shaking your head. "You're lying..."
His eyes, now undeniably glowing a faint, menacing red, swept over you. A possessive, hungry gaze that made your skin crawl. You stumbled back as he suddenly appeared in front of you.
"You're a monster."
He chuckled, a dry, rasping sound. "Perhaps. Or perhaps, merely an apex predator in a world full of sheep. And you, you possess a unique vintage. A rarity." he reached out, his long fingers brushed your cheek. The touch was icy, yet it burned. "Your sorrow...your grief, it's ripened you beautifully. Made you irresistible."
You recoiled, slapping his hand away. "Don't touch me!" Your voice, though trembling, held a surprising strength. "You killed them."
"They were obstacles." His voice remained calm, almost detached, as if discussing a minor inconvenience. "They were beginnin' to ask too many questions about certain...disappearances. Certain anomalies in the perish records. They were too close to the truth."
The hum intensified, and you realized it wasn't just a sound; it was a feeling, a vibration that lingered in the very air, a low, resonant frequency that seemed to emanate from Remmick himself.
"You're insane," you whispered.
"No," he laughed, a chilling sound that echoed off the stone walls. "No, I am ancient. I am powerful. I am what mortals fear and in your darkest moments, worshipped. I am a vampire."
The word hung in the air, a physical weight. Vampire. Not a story, not a legend, but a horror standing before you. The man who had preached comfort at your parents' funeral.
"And you," he continued, stepping closer, his red eyes fixed on you, "you were mine from the moment you walked into that confessional, your soul, your very essence, called to me. A vibrant, potent force. I knew then that you would be my ultimate indulgence."
Your mind raced, a frantic scramble for an escape. The doors were behind him, and the building was deadly quiet.
"What do you want?"
"What do I want?" His smile widened, revealing too many teeth, teeth that looked unnaturally long even in the dim light.
"Everything. Your fear. Your surrender." He extended a hand. "Come."
"No!" You spat the word, defiance glaring within you, momentarily overpowering your fear.
"Such fire." He laughed, a low appreciative sound. "That's what I find so captivatin'. That spirit." He lunged, a blur of dark fabric, his speed impossible.
You barely had time to react, a choked cry escaping your lips as his hand clamped around your arm, his grip like iron. The chill from his touch seeped into your bones, making your body shudder.
"Let me go!" You struggled, twisting, kicking, but he held you effortlessly. Your struggles were no more than that of a child against his strength.
"Such resistance," he purred, his face impossibly close. His breath, cold and smelling faintly of something metallic, ghosted over your skin. His eyes, now burning a scarlet, mesmerized you, drawing you into their terrifying depths.
"It's futile, your will is strong. Yes. But mine is ancient. Unbreakable." He dragged you deeper into the building that seemed to stretch. Past a table, where a single, unlit candle stood. The hum grew into an almost unbearable roar, vibrating through your entire frame, blurring your vision.
He pulled you closer, his free hand reaching for your neck. His fingers, cold and hard, brushed against the pulse throbbing at your throat. "Feel that? The life force, so vibrant, so delicious. It calls to me."
You thrashed, a desperate, primal scream tearing from your throat. "No!" You raised your knee, aiming for his groin, but he moved with impossible speed. He shifted his body, and your strike landed against his thigh.
He chuckled, a low mocking sound.
"Foolish..." He murmured, his face inches from yours. His fangs, long and needle sharp, extended, gleaming wickedly in the faint light. "Your struggles only make it more enjoyable."
He pressed his lips to your neck, his breath chilling your skin even before his fangs pierced your flesh. A searing pain, sharp and intense, lanced through you. Followed by a strange, dizzying warmth as if something was being drawn from you. You gasped, your body arched involuntarily, a choked sound escaping you.
Your vision blurred, the world around you fading to red and black as your strength ebbed. Your limbs growing heavy, useless. The hum was now a deafening roar, a symphony of terror and dark ecstasy. You felt yourself slipping, falling into an abyss of cold, dark oblivion.
No, you refused to surrender. Not after everything he's done, everything he's taken from you.
With a surge of adrenaline, you found hidden strength. Your hand, trembling but determined, reached for the small, silver rosary your grandmother had given you. Your fingers fumbled with the chain, tearing it from your neck.
Remmick, engrossed in his feast, didn't notice until it was too late. With a guttural cry, you brought the crucifix up and stabbed him in the neck.
A shriek, raw and unearthly, tore from his throat. He recoiled as if struck by lightning, releasing you instantly. Smoke curled from where the silver touched his skin. A sickening hiss filled the air, and the scent of burnt flesh wafted through the room.
His eyes widened, the crimson blazing with a mixture of shock and fury. He roared something in a foreign language, his voice distorted, monstrous. He clutched his neck, his fingers leaving trails of dark, smoking blood.
You stumbled back, gasping for breath and ignoring the pain in your neck as it throbbed and bled. The pain was intense, but the sight of his pain, his shock, fueled you. The hum in the air faltered.
Remmick's face contorted, a mask of pure rage. The wound on his neck, though smoking, began to heal. The skin knitting back together with sickening speed.
He lunged again, but this time you were ready. You dodged, slipping past him, and raced towards the table as you quickly grabbed the candle holder. It was heavy, ornate and silver.
"You think you can stop me?" Remmick stalked toward you, his movements no longer fluid, but jerky and impulsive. His anger making him less precise.
He attacked again, and you swung the object, aiming for his head. Remmick, still recovering, was momentarily caught off guard. The silver struck him with a sickening thud, impacting his temple.
A louder, more primal shriek ripped from his throat. He staggered back, his hands flying to his head. The silver burned him, not a mere superficial wound, but a deeper, more agonizing assault. Smoke billowed from the impact point, and a guttural roar of pain and fury shook the room.
"You'll pay for this!" He hissed, his form flickering as his features momentarily shifted. Revealing glimpses of something ancient and horrifying beneath the priest's facade. His jagged fangs elongated, his fingers grew into clawed talons.
You saw your chance; he was wounded, disoriented. You wouldn't waste this opportunity, and so you ran straight to your grandmother's.
The roof sagged under the weight of the storm, its windows dark despite the late hour.
The ache in his fangs mirrored the relentless throb between his thighs. A dual hunger that threatened to unravel centuries of meticulous control. His nostrils flared at the way her scent lingered in the damp air. Every hurried step she took away from him sent fresh blood rushing south, her pulse a taunting drumbeat in his ears.
Remmick listened to your choked gasp when you found the front door open, the creak of hinges as you stepped into the pitch-black foyer. His lips curled into a smirk as he circled the perimeter. No need for niceties tonight.
Inside, the scent of rosemary and death lingered in the air as your footsteps faltered near the kitchen. Your breath hitched—once, twice—before the scream tore loose. Raw and guttural.
The sound licked up his spine like a match. He could taste your anguish in the damp air.
Your grandmother's corpse slumped in the chair, fingers curled around an embroidery hoop.
Remmick had arranged her carefully. Head tilted as if asleep. Only the pooling blood betrayed the violence.
Your knees hit the floorboards as your wails dissolved into gasping sobs that made his fangs throb. How pretty you'd sound when he reduced you to those same broken noises.
Remmick stepped over the threshold, his invitation still held. He made sure of that. The floorboards groaned under his weight, intentionally announcing his arrival. You jolted upright, your tear-streaked face turning towards the source of the sound.
Your scream died in your throat when he moved, too fast for your eyes to track as he clamped one hand over your mouth.
"Shh," he breathes across your temple.
You writhed beneath him as he effortlessly pinned you. His cock twitched beneath his pants, not here.
The church loomed in his mind, candles against stained-glass, while he imagined bending you over the altar. Your nails digging into the wood as he ripped away your clothes. You moaning beneath the crucifix, his fangs buried in your throat as he took you. But the risk was too great.
His crypt would be better.
Remmick hauled you up by your throat; your choked gasp fueled his need for you.
You bucked against him, nails digging into his wrist but it didn't stop him. His thumb stroked your windpipe; he liked the way your lips parted, the frantic flutter of your lashes. His grip tightened, cutting off your air supply, and the pressure made you whimper softly. The sound traveled straight to his groin.
"Still fightin'?" Remmick purred as he traced a clawed finger down your chest, causing the buttons on your coat to rip and fall to the floor. The front of your dress ripped vertically between your breasts, exposing your bra beneath. Your breath hitched.
He smelled it: your fear, salt and slick heat from sweat.
"Father...p-please!" The honorific trembled on your lips.
His cock throbbed at the irony as he tightened his grip, watching your face flush with exquisite slowness. Your pupils blew wide. Veins stood out on your temples. A strangled gasp escaped before your jaw slackened, eyes fluttering shut as consciousness slipped away.
He caught your limp body against his chest, inhaling the sweaty desperation clinging to you. Your pulse fluttered, weak but steady, against his palm. Perfect. Remmick slung you over his shoulder, your head lolling against his back. He kicked open the front door as the rain poured heavily. Lightning flashed, illuminating the trail to the crypt.
Remmick adjusted his grip, fingers splaying over the curve of your ass. The lace of your underwear had ridden up. He could feel the dampness between your thighs. Not just sweat. The realization made his cock throb. You were wet before he choked you unconscious.
His footsteps were silent as he crossed the abandoned graveyard. Broken headstones jolted from the earth like broken teeth. The crypt gate groaned on rusted hinges; the stench of mildew and stagnant air was heavy. He kicked the gate shut as he descended the stone stairs, plunging you into near-darkness.
He laid you down on the marble slab after thoroughly scrubbing the dirt away. He admired your limp body, fingers tracing the faint bruises on your throat. Remmick quickly lit all of the candles, savoring the scent that mixed with yours. Even unconscious, your body betrayed you.
The candlelight caught the perspiration along your collarbone, the way your nipples peaked beneath the thin fabric. His thumb lightly pressed the pulse point beneath your jaw, slow now but strong. He could wait. Centuries had taught him patience.
You stirred awake with a soft whimper, fingers twitching against the cold stone. Remmick leaned in, "Shhh," he whispered.
Your breath hitched, consciousness returning, I ragged waved. He watches your lashes flutter, the exact moment terror floods back into your limbs. You tensed, but his hands pinned your wrist before you could thrash.
"Look at me," he commanded.
Your pupils dilated, the candlelight catching the panic in your gaze.
"You smell like sin," he murmured against your jaw. The lace of your bra tore under his claws, the sound amplified in the small space. He joined you on the marble slab, placing a knee between your legs.
You gasped softly as his fingers traced the swell of your breast. Your hips bucked involuntarily, grinding against his thigh. The faint wet heat from your underwear betrayed you.
His laughter ghosted across your chest. "Even now, you can't lie to me." His fangs grazed your pulse point. Not biting, not yet. Just savoring the frantic drumbeat beneath skin.
Your pulse spiked as he tore what was left of your dress away from your trembling form. The cold marble leached the heat from your bare skin, but the heat between your legs grew hotter.
Remmick's fingers traced the soaked lace clinging to you, a mocking imitation of tenderness. "Look at you," he whispered, dragging a finger along the seam. "Drippin' for a monster."
You tried to move away, your hips jerking, only to be hauled back by his grip on your thighs. Thunder rattled the crypt's iron gate. His thumb pressed slow circles against you through the fabric, each rotation sending sparks up your spine. His other hand pinned your wrist above your head, fingers interlaced with yours in a mock of intimacy.
He released your wrist to roll you over onto your stomach. Before you could move his hand fisted in your hair, yanking your head back until your spine arched. Remmick's free hand slid between your legs from behind, pushing your underwear aside and thrusting two fingers inside without warning.
Your scream morphed into a ragged moan when he curled them just right, the pads of his fingers grazing your inner walls. The wet sounds of your arousal filled the crypt, mingling with your ragged breathing. Every thrust dragged another sound from you. You could feel his hardened length against your thigh, a promise of something yet to come.
"You're tremblin'," Remmick's fingers circled deeper inside, drawing a choked whine from you.
"Do you know how long it's been?" His lips traced the shell of your ear possessively. "Centuries since I've wanted to ruin something this thoroughly."
You gritted your teeth, your body arching as pleasure coiled tight in your gut; you hated him. Hated the way your hips rolled against his hand, the slick sounds of your own body's betrayal echoing. You could feel him smirk against your skin, the press of his fangs a silent threat just beneath the surface.
"You'll cum for me," he said confidently. His voice was dark with promise. "And then you'll scream when I take you proper." His free hand slid up your spine, between your shoulder blades, as he pinned you harder against the marble table.
You choked back a moan as his rhythm grew ruthless, deep, deliberate strokes that dragged along your inner walls in a way that made your toes curl.
"You're close," he states in a smug tone as his thumb circled your clit. "I can smell it."
Your hips lifted involuntarily as you attempted to drag yourself away, raising your hips so your ass was in the air. An obscene invitation that only made Remmick growl low in his throat.
His free hand dug into the flesh of your hips to pull you back against him. "No escapin' now," he purred. His breath chilling the sweat-slick dip of your lower back.
The sight of you spread open before him, trembling with reluctant pleasure, unraveled the last threads of his restraint. Small scarlet streaks smeared across your inner thighs, proof of how roughly he's taken you.
Remmick flipped you onto your back in one fluid motion, his grip bruising as he pinned your wrists above your head.
Your thighs shivered as he wedged himself between them. You could feel the rigid outline of his cock pressing against you, inhumanly large even through layers of fabric. His free hand traced down your ribs, claws leaving faint marks.
"Look at me," Remmick commanded, voice thick with centuries of hunger. When you clenched your eyes shut, he sank his fangs into the juncture of your neck and shoulder. Not deep enough to feed, just enough to make sure you felt it.
Your eyelids flew open, meeting his hungry gaze.
"Good girl," he praised against the wound, lapping at the twin punctures with a tongue that felt too long.
"Now," he murmured, dragging the swollen head through your slick folds, "let's hear you beg properly."
His fingers tangled in your hair again, yanking your head back to expose the frantic flutter of your pulse. Thunder cracked overhead as he notched himself at your entrance. Your breath seized when he pressed in, the stretch unbearable despite your body's traitorous wetness. Every inch burned as he muffled your scream with a rough kiss.
You tasted salt, tears, blood, the storm's electricity clinging to his lips. Remmick groaned into the kiss, his tongue mapping the roof of your mouth as he slid deeper. The pain created sharply, your muscles clenching around him in instinctive protest.
But then a spark of pleasure so acute it wrenched a sob from your throat. His hips stilled experimentally, dragging his cock along a hidden ridge inside you that made your back arch violently. Your teeth sank into your lower lip, drawing blood that flooded your mouth.
Remmick paused, nostrils flaring at the iron-rich scent. His grip on your hair tightened, forcing your head back. "Swallow it," he ordered, watching your throat convulse as you obeyed.
The sight sent a rash wave of heat through his groin—your submission, however reluctant, tightened his balls against his thighs. He withdrew agonizingly slow, savoring the way your inner walls fluttered around him, before thrusting back in hard enough to make your hips jerk off the marble slab.
Your scream dissolved into a ragged moan as he set a brutal pace, each snap of his hips grinding you against the unforgiving marble. Your thighs trembled violently—betraying you—as pleasure coiled tighter with every thrust.
"You're takin' me so well, lil' lamb." Remmick purred against your throat, his fangs grazing the tender skin where your pulse raced. His tongue lapped at the sweat beading along your collarbone, savoring the salt of you.
"Tell me, do you still pray? Beg your God for mercy while I ruin you?" He punctuated the question with a sharp snap of his hips that forced a broken sob from your lips.
Your head thrashed side to side as if you could shake loose from the pleasure growing low in your gut. "F-fuck you," you gasped, the curse turned into a whimper when he angled his thrusts deeper, hitting a spot that made your vision blur.
Remmick chuckled darkly, his fingers tightening around your throat just enough to make you gasp. "Language, mo ghrá," he scolded playfully into your ear, his brogue thickening with desire. "Such sweet blasphemy from a lamb who wept in my confessional." His hips rolled in a cruel, slow circle, grinding his cock against the sweet spot inside you until your body quivered.
"You're lyin' to yourself," he continued as his free hand traced the frantic flutter of your pulse. "I can taste it, the way your body sings for me." A sharp thrust punctuated his words, forcing a ragged moan from you.
"Look at you," he growled, "soaked and shakin'. Did you fantasize about this when you knelt for me?" His dark laughter echoed around you. "Confess. Tell me how often you touched yourself imaginin' my hands on you."
His hand moved between your legs, finding your clit swollen and throbbing. "I've n-never..." The confession tore from you barely audible over the slick sounds of your bodies joining.
Remmick stilled abruptly, his cock buried to the hilt inside. His exhale gusted against your damp temple. "Never?" The word curled between you both, heavy with implication. Centuries of preying on the experienced had dulled his memory of true innocence. The realization sent a familiar thrill through his dead veins.
His hips rolled once while he watched your face contort as he dragged his full length against untested flesh. Your breath hitched, nails digging into his forearms. The scent of your blood, mixed with the musk of your reluctant arousal, floods his senses. His cock swelled impossibly further, the veins in his length pulsing.
"Christ," he hissed through clenched fangs. "You're mine now. Only mine."
A growl vibrated deep in his chest as he withdrew to the tip, enjoying the way your walls fluttered in protest. Your soft whimpers morphed into a choked gasp when he slammed back in. Every thrust now carried the weight of centuries.
His possessiveness manifested in brutal snaps of his pelvis that left you breathless. "You've always belonged here. Between sacrilege and sacrament."
"You're close," Remmick muttered, voice thick with satisfaction. You could feel his smirk against your skin as his thumb circled faster. "I wanna taste it. That moment when your body forgets to hate me."
He laughed when your thighs clenched around him involuntarily. "There it is," he groaned, thumb rubbing your clit just as he angled his hips to grind deeper.
The dual sensation tore a broken moan from your throat. Half-protest, half-pleasure, that echoed off the crypt's walls.
"Cum for me. Let me feel how tight you get when you fall apart."
Your spine arched violently off the marble slab as your climax ripped through you. Wave after wave of white-hot pleasure that burned away thought. Every muscle locked as your vision tunneled to pinpricks of candlelight. Your cunt clamped around him with such force that he groaned through clenched fangs. The scent of you flooded his senses, sweat and sex.
You came silently at first, mouth gaping around a soundless scream before your throat convulsed. The cry that finally tore from you was ragged, broken sobs of half-terror and half-surrender as your hips stuttered against him.
He watched, enraptured, as tears spilled from your wide eyes to mingle with the blood smeared across your cheek. Your body moved without your permission, thighs trembling as aftershocks wracked you.
Remmick didn't slow—wouldn't—his thrusts turning brutal now that you'd broken. The obscene, slick sounds of your bodies colliding filled the crypt as he chased his own release. Your over-sensitized flesh dragged ragged whimpers from your throat with every snap of his hips.
"Ah, Christ—" his snarl cut off as his rhythm faltered, his cock pulsing deep inside you as he spilled centuries of pent-up hunger into your trembling body.
His fangs sank into your throat at last, not to kill, but deep enough to make you scream again. The dual violation of being filled and drained simultaneously wrenches another shuddering climax from your exhausted frame.
Your vision blurred a his fangs sank deeper, a searing heat that radiated outward from the bite marks in sync with the slowing pumps of his hips.
His groan reverberated through your bones as he lapped sluggishly at the wound, his tongue catching the blood that seeped down your collarbone. His cock twitched inside you, still half-hard despite his release, the sensation making your oversensitive nerves scream.
Rainwater dropped through the crypt's gate, the cold droplets striking your splayed fingers were a stark contrast to the heat pooling between your legs where he remained buried deep.
His lips traced the shell of your ear as he spoke, the words vibrating through you. "You'll remember this every time you kneel in my church." A claw-tipped finger dragged through the mess on your thighs. A mix of blood and cum. "Every time you take communion."
You turned your head away as escape scenarios flickered behind your fluttering eyelids. Waiting until dawn when he'd be at his weakest, running barefoot through the woods.
Outside, the storm crescendoed as his grip on your hair tightened, forcing your focus back on him as he slowly withdrew. His seed trickled down your thigh.
"Such pretty noises you make," he mused.
"Why me?" You sobbed softly. Was there a reason all of this was happening?
He brushed a finger over your lower lip, admiring the bruising that was forming there. "I planned to kill you originally, as I did your parents. But I smelled it in you the first time you entered the church. Somethin' I haven't tasted in centuries..."
"What?" You whispered, voice raw from screaming.
His nostrils flared, drinking in the scent of your confusion, your terror, and beneath it something darker. "Faith," he answered. "Not the performative piety of my flock, but the kind that burns." He chuckled as his fingers continued exploring your body. "I smelled it in you that first Mass, your prayers weren't rote. You meant them."
Remmick's claws traced your hipbone where bruises were already blooming. "I'm gonna keep you," he whispered as his thumb pressed against your clit. Making your body jerk suddenly against the marble. "This cunt," he murmured as you whimpered, "this throat," his fingers pressed down against your windpipe, "these pretty tears—all mine now."
Your breath came in shaking gasps as he slid off the slab, his feet soundless on the stone floor. The candlelight cast his elongated shadow across the crypt walls. He turned toward the stairs leading up to the gate, where rainwater pooled in the corners.
You could feel the mess between your legs as it leaked into to marble slab beneath you. Your mind drifts as you watch the water drip, until he speaks again.
"You think I'd let something this precious rot?" he asked, "centuries of fake devotion," he muttered softly against your knee, "and you arrive weepin'."
Reality set in as the gravity of your situation settled. You were his forever. You hated him, you hated God. If there was one. You were beginning to doubt the beliefs your parents drilled into you since childhood.
Your body registered the cold air against your ravaged skin, your mind adrift in a numb haze, until his fingers dug into your jaw. He forced you to meet his gaze.
With a sharp glare, you collected the strength to smack his hand away, consequences be damned.
Remmick's eyebrows arched, the candlelight catching the amusement in his cold eyes as he slowly flexed his fingers. "Ah, there's that fire again," he said, more to himself.
His palm cracked across your cheek before you could blink. The force snapped your head sideways hard enough to make your vision swim. A soft, pained cry escaped you, and that was the only noise you made.
You were determined not to give him any satisfaction in your reactions. The force of his slap was so strong that you tasted blood from your cheek where your teeth must have cut into the skin. The surface of your cheek was warm as you glared at the wall.
Remmick's lips curled in silent approval of the defiance etched into your trembling posture. The way your spine stiffened despite the bruises across your body. How your split lip still curled in something too sharp to be fear.
He caught your chin, tilted your face toward the flickering candlelight to examine the damage. "Lovely."
You struggled free of his grasp, not that he was actually trying, and moved to sit in the corner of the room.
He admired the way you curled into yourself, like a wounded animal trying to lick its wounds in private. Yet your eyes still burned with defiance. He knelt before you, already dressed.
You buried your face against your knees, blocking out the sight of him, the heat of him. Though you couldn't escape the scent of sex and blood that still clung to your skin. His shadow loomed closer, blocking out the light, but you refused to look up.
His fingers weaved through your hair, gentle at first, before rigging suddenly, tilting your head back. "You'll pray..." He paused as he admired your look of hatred. "When your body remembers the shape of my cock. When your thighs shake just passin' the confessional." His thumb pressed against your bottom lip, smearing the blood, "you'll beg for me as you begged for God."
"I'm never stepping foot into that church again." The thought alone made your stomach twist.
Remmick chuckled, sliding his fingers along your scalp in a mockery of comfort. "Oh, lamb." He smirked as he pressed his lips to your cheek. "You won't have a choice." His hand drifted lower, tracing the fresh bruises along your ribs.
"Dawn's less than an hour away. You'll walk back to your grandmother's house smellin' of me, and tomorrow evenin' you'll return to Mass." His teeth scraped your earlobe. "Because you'll crave this corruption more than the absolution."
"I'd rather die..." You whispered.
Something he said caught your attention. Is he going to let you walk back to your grandmother's? Hopefully, by then the sun would be out, and you could take that time to escape. Run and never look back. And then what? Pretend that none of this happened? Try to live a normal life knowing creatures like him exist?
His fingers tightened in your hair, wrenching your thoughts back to the present. There was a feral smile on his face; the expression was unnerving. It was almost like he knew something you didn't.
"You'll leave at first light, but not without my mark."
His mark?
His fingers slid between your legs, pressed against the tender flesh still swollen from the violation. You recoiled, but the wall stopped you as cold stone bit into your spine. His smirk grew as he drew his fingers away, then pressed them to the hollow of your throat.
"Blood and seed," he explained, then smeared the mess across your collarbones in a crude parody of anointing oil. "My signature." His finger traced the sticky trail lower, circling your nipple until it hardened. "Run if you like," he taunted, pinching the bud sharply. "Every person you pass will cross themselves. And when dusk comes..."
Your breath hitched as his other hand suddenly gripped your knee, forcing your legs apart with terrifying ease. The cold stone chilled your exposed skin, but it was the look in his eyes, calculating and triumphant, that made your stomach drop.
He leaned in, his lips brushing yours as he whispered, "You'll find yourself kneelin' at my altar, waitin' for my cock."
The light of day was slowly approaching.
He expected you to walk back with no clothes? What if someone saw?
Remmick smirked as he way he'd you glance at the torn remnants of your clothes, your fingers twitching with the futile urge to cover yourself. "Worried about modesty?" He chuckled darkly.
With a flick of his wrist, he tore a strip from his ruined cassock and pressed it into your palm. The fabric was still damp with rainwater and your blood.
"Wrap yourself in this. Consider it a favor."
You scoffed softly and reluctantly took the torn cloth, which wasn't much to work with. At this point, you were better off walking home as is.
Remmick watched in amusement, clearly enjoying your internal struggle as pride warred with practicality. The first hint of dawn painted the crypt's entrance in gold, and you realized with a jolt that this was your chance.
You shot up to your feet, ignoring the stinging ache between your thighs and bolted for the exit. The sun bathed your battered skin as your eyes adjusted to the light.
Behind you, he laughed softly. "Run, lil' lamb." His voice slithered after you like smoke. "The chase only makes the feast sweeter."
You ran up the stone steps and fell onto your hands and knees just as you reached the top. The faint sound of his laughter could be heard as he watched from the shadows. The sun was rising, and so was your hope. But you had no idea where you were, or how to get back to your grandmother's.
Your legs tremble as you stumble forward, your bare feet. The crypt loomed behind you as you clutched the torn strip of fabric Remmick had given you. I did little to shield you from the morning chill or the eyes you imagined lurking in every shadow.
You cried as you ran, trying to navigate the unfamiliar landscape. Despite your exhaustion, you ran in the direction that felt promising.
The scent of damp earth and morning dew clung to your skin as you staggered through the woods, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Every crunch or snap of twigs beneath your feet sent panic through your chest. Was that your own footsteps, or something following?
The crypt had long vanished behind the tree line, but the absence brought no comfort. Only the growing certainty that Remmick had let you run for a reason.
Your grandmother's house emerged like a fever dream. The front door was ajar, swaying gently on its hinges. Your knees buckled as you crossed the threshold. You immediately noticed your grandmother's body was gone.
Was Remmick responsible for this? You pushed the thought from your mind as the smell of him and sex filled your nose. You needed to wash away the filth he left behind.
The water scolded your skin as you scrubbed with a loofah, causing the bite marks to bleed again. Steam curled around you as you sank to a crouched position to cry again. Mourning your parents and grandmother. The life you had, the life Remmick had tainted.
You didn't bother packing and quickly dressed, a loose-fitting sweatshirt and sweatpants. After grabbing some cash, you put on socks and shoes before peeking outside the front door. As if you expected to see him waiting for you, but he wasn't there. The sun was his weakness. With a ragged breath, you stepped outside and headed for the Bus Stop. The same way you had arrived.
Your body ached with each step, the pain making you feel nauseous as you moved quickly through the trees, avoiding the main road, just in case. You reached the bus stop and waited. Luckily, the wait wasn't long. When the bus arrived, you climbed aboard, avoiding eye contact with the driver as you took a seat in the very back.
You lay down on the seat, curled up as the vibrations from the bus pulled you to sleep. You weren't sure how long you'd been asleep for as your eyes slowly flickered open. Panic immediately set in when you noticed the sun had begun setting.
The bus continued as the driver announced the last stop was coming up. The sunset was like a constant reminder as it reflected off the windows. When the bus finally halted, you stepped off, your legs still sore from running. Nearby, there was a train station, and with the money you had, you purchased a ticket, not caring where you were going.
The ride was long, but you didn't dare sleep again. You couldn't risk waking up to darkness, to him. By the time you reached the city, you were completely exhausted. You found a cheap motel near the train station, paying in cash with a fake name. The room smelled of mildew and cigarettes, but the lock on the door was sturdy. You shoved a chair underneath the knob for good measure, knowing deep down that the lock wouldn't stop him.
You collapsed onto the stiff mattress, your body screaming in protest. The bite marks and bruises throbbed. You pressed a damp cloth to them, willing them to stop aching. But the deeper wounds weren't physical. Every time you blinked, you saw his smirk in the dark. Every exhale tasted like crypt dust and him.
Your stomach growled, you hadn't eaten in... You couldn't remember how long it's been. Ignoring the pain, you got up and opened the mini fridge, hoping to find something. Anything to eat.
Empty. Not even a bottle of water inside.
Luckily, you had money left, maybe you could go outside for food. Was it worth the risk? Your stomach growled again, like it was urging you to hurry up and make a decision.
A few blocks away sat a diner, still open. The bell above the door chimed as you entered, the scent of coffee and food wrapped around you like an unexpected hug. You sat at the booth in the far back, ignoring the stares staff and other customers gave you.
Eventually, your coffee arrived first, bitter and scalding, but you gulped it down, letting the heat anchor you. Soon after your order of eggs and bacon arrived. The first bite made you realize how starved you had been, though every swallow felt like swallowing glass due to the soreness of your throat.
One of the waitresses had asked if you were okay or if you needed help. Did they notice the marks? The fear in your eyes? Or how you finished your food in a matter of minutes. You lied and said you were fine, but that was far from the truth. A part of you was screaming internally for help but you couldn't risk getting innocent people involved. You had just lost your family, and couldn't help but blame yourself.
You left a tip before heading for the motel. The key turned stiffly in the lock. Inside, the room was exactly as you had left it, aside from the chair you were using on the door. Relief pooled in your chest as you climbed back on the bed, lying on your side as you faced the door.
The scent of iron clung to your skin, making you feel sick. Or was that smell coming from somewhere else? Your gaze drifted to the bathroom door, slightly ajar. The shadows inside seemed darker than before. You covered your mouth to stifle a gasp when the faucet dripped.
The metallic scent thickened, copper and rainwater and him. Your body ached as you inched backwards, the bedsprings groaning as you shifted. You grabbed the ceramic lamp, turning it on as you sat with your back against the headboard while your eyes scanned the room.
Your fingers curled tighter around the lamp as the dripping was replaced with silence. The first drops of rain pattered against the window. Then came the whisper, so soft you almost didn't hear it.
"Lil' lamb."
Your breath froze in your chest; the sound hadn't come from outside. It came from inside, from the bathroom and was accompanied by a familiar smell of wet earth and blood, just as the door creaked open another inch. No footsteps. Just the slow, slick sound of something dragging across the floor.
Your fingers trembled around the lamp as you accidentally tore the cord free from the outlet and hurled it at the door. The ceramic shattered, light bulb exploding in a burst of sparks, but the darkness swallowed the noise whole. By the time you realized throwing the lamp was a mistake, it was already too late. The only source of light was the neon sign outside.
The darkness was absolute, and the scent of damp soil and iron grew thicker as the bathroom door swung fully open. No footsteps, just the whisper of fabric brushing tile. Every hair on your body stood upright as the temperature plummeted.
Your instinct screamed 'run', and you bolted for the door. Moving the chair out of the way of the front door and undoing the locking mechanism. Your hands trembled as you struggled with each task.
The scent of damn earth intensified right behind you, but you didn't dare turn around. The chair clattered to the floor just as the cold fingers grazed the nape of your neck. You screamed, wrenching the door open, and collided face-first into a solid chest.
"Miss?" A bewildered security guard gripped your shoulders. "You okay? Heard glass breaking—"
His grip on your shoulders was too tight, or maybe it was because your body was so sore. "I think there's someone in the bathroom." You stammered as your heart hammered in your chest. The guard carefully walked inside as you stood outside, watching with bated breath.
The scent of iron was thick as you watched him disappear into the dark bathroom, flicking the light switch on and off.
"Nothing seems out of the ordinary, and there's no one here."
Your embarrassment was strong as your gaze dropped to your feet, muttering an apology for the trouble and the broken lamp. You watched as he stepped back outside, he hesitated, and you noticed his eyes lingering on your neck.
He leaned closer, "Miss, are you—"
You slam the door in his face. The deadbolt clicked seconds before the bathroom faucet turned on full-blast behind you. Water hitting porcelain. The stench of wet earth and blood lingered in the air. You ran to shut off the water, crying from the overwhelming emotions and exhaustion.
The faucet handle snapped off in your grip as rust-colored liquid surged over the sink's edge. Splattering your clothes as you stumbled back, your bare foot landed in something viscous. Not water, not anymore. The puddle darkened, then just as Remmick suddenly appeared, you jolted awake. Sitting up, drenched in sweat as you panted heavily. You were still in bed, the lamp was on the table, turned on, and the clock read 4am. It was only a dream.
You sighed in relief, but the smell of damp earth and him still lingered in the air. Your hands trembled as you wiped the sweat from your brow. The bite mark throbbed, a painful reminder that some nightmares were real.
The dream weighed heavily on your mind as you pulled the thin blanket up to your chin. You stared at the ceiling, counting the water stains like constellations. Anything to keep your thoughts from spiraling back into terror.
Dawn's light slowly flooded through the windows and into your room, bathing you in warmth. You rolled onto your side, facing the door as your eyes fluttered closed. Then you woke, your gaze immediately drifted to the window where you noticed the sun had begun to set.
How? You had only lain down for a moment, hadn't you? The neon sign outside flickered on, casting the room in a pink hue as shadows stretched unnaturally across the floor. Your fingers curled into the sheets as you rolled onto your back. A sudden metallic taste sharpened in your mouth, copper and familiar as you stared at the ceiling.
The chair suddenly slid from beneath the doorknob and fell over as the door creaked open. Cold air rushed in, carrying the familiar scent of him. Your breath hitched.
Remmick's silhouette filled the door frame, not quite touching the floor as he crossed the threshold, letting himself inside. Moonlight caught the edge of his smile, glinting off an elongated fang. You didn't move; you lay there. Afraid, but no energy left to fight back. He closed and locked the door behind him.
Each step was measured as he slowly approached you.
"You're quieter than usual," he mused, tilting his head. "Disappointin'."
You clenched your jaw, your pulse fluttering visibly at your throat. The mattress dipped as he perched beside you. His fingers brushed your collarbone, tracing the marks with satisfaction.
"You left without saying goodbye," he murmured, leaning in close enough for his breath to stir your hair. "Rude."
Rude? You resisted the urge to roll your eyes as you remained silent. He wasn't worth the breath or effort. Your fate was sealed; no matter where you went, he would find you.
"Still playin' at defiance, are we?"
With one hand, he slipped beneath the blanket, fingers teasing the hem of your sweatshirt. His fingers moved higher, grazing lightly over your ribs. The anticipation alone made your muscles lock as pain and unwanted pleasure curled tight in your gut. A soft whimper escaped before you could stop it.
"Ah," he breathed, triumphant. His lips grazed the shell of your ear. "There she is."
You shut your eyes, but it only heightened the sensation as his fingers mapped your ribs like a blind man memorizing scripture. The scent of him filled your lungs.
"Look at me," he whispered, but you kept your eyes shut. Even as his nails bit into your skin while his other hand wrapped around your throat. "Or shall I make you?"
Your eyes opened as you reluctantly met his gaze. Remmick's smile widened, predatory satisfaction gleaming in his ageless eyes. "Better." His fingers tightened around your throat—not choking, just the threat of it, the promise.
In the blink of an eye, he had removed the blanket and your clothes, exposing the bruises along your body as he admired his handiwork, his claim.
The cold air hit your skin, nipples hardening against your will. His gaze darkened, pupils swallowing the irises. "Still respondin' so prettily," he whispered. "Even now."
You flinched but didn't pull away, you knew better. His tongue flicked out to catch a droplet of blood from the claw as it dragged down your sternum. The groan that rumbled from his chest vibrated through your body.
"Every drop," he paused against your skin, "sacrament." His hand slid between your thighs, fingertips pressing through the fabric of your underwear. Already damp. He chuckled, dark and knowing as you tensed.
You turned your face away, but Remmick caught your chin, forcing your gaze back to him. The hunger there made your stomach plummet.
"See what you do to me?" He guided your hand downward, pressing your palm against the ridged outline of his cock straining against his pants. Hot. Insistent. "Centuries of control," he hissed, rocking into your touch, "undone by your pulse."
Your breath caught, the sound wasn't audible to your ears, but he caught it. The heat of it pulsed against your palm. His hips shifted closer, an involuntary movement that only fueled his frustration and desire in equal measure.
"Look at me," he repeated, pressing his forehead against yours.
You blinked up at him, exhaustion hollowed out your defiance. His grip on your wrist tightened, guiding your fingers to undo his belt.
"You'll learn to enjoy it," he whispered.
Your fingers trembled against the button of his pants. Despite your trembling hand, you managed to undo the button of his pants. Then your hands paused. Almost as if you were waiting for direction.
He guided your hand lower, hissing as your fingertips brushed the hot length of him through fabric. "Touch me," he commanded. "Like you mean it." Remmick quickly pulled down his pants, his cock springing free.
Touch him. That's something you've never done. You could sense his growing frustration as he wrapped your hand around the thick shaft. Its size was intimidating as it twitched in your grasp. The heady scent of his arousal filled your nose.
Remmick's breath hitched, his fingers wrapping tightly around your wrist as you began to move your hand. Every inch you slid up, his hips jerked forward, pressing into your grip. "Yes," he hissed, "like that."
Your fingers tightened instinctively, warning a shuddering groan from him. His free hand tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to sting. His eyes were black with hunger as your hand stroked him slightly faster while your body reacted to every sound he made.
Precum beaded at his tip, the scent was musky and earthy. His hips moved in time with your strokes, driving deeper into your fist while his grip on your hair became painful.
"Slow down," he rasped, but his body betrayed him, thrusting harder. "I want—" The sentence fractured into a groan as you twisted your wrist slightly, just enough to make his thighs tremble.
You ignored his words and continued stroking him. Your eyes watched the bead of precum leak down onto your hand.
Remmick growled, a sound more animal than man as his hips stuttered against your grip. His fingers dug into your scalp, forcing your head back against the mattress. "Defiant even now," he hissed. But his cock throbbed in your hand, betraying how much your resistance thrilled him.
His cock pulsed in your hand; you could barely wrap your hand around it. Again, you ignored him. He suddenly straddled your chest, both legs bracketing your body. Another bead of precum leaked from the tip.
"You're not listenin'," his voice was dangerously low, silky with promised violence.
Your hand slowed down to a languid pace as you averted your gaze to avoid his intimidating one. His grip in your hair loosened as he sat back on his heels.
A smirk tugged at his lips. "You're stubborn," he mused, voice dripping with dark amusement. "But I like that."
You continue to avoid his case as you stroke him slowly. His thumb brushed your lower lip, tracing the seam until they parted.
His smirk widened as he pressed the head of his cock against your lips. "Open," he murmured.
Reluctantly, you opened your mouth, and he didn't hesitate to press his hips forward; the broad head of his cock pressed against your tongue. The taste, salt and iron, flooded your senses as he groaned.
"Wider," he orders in a rough voice. You obeyed, your jaw aching as he pushed deeper, the velvet heat of him stretching your mouth.
Remmick's thighs trembled against your body, his breath vomiting sharp, ragged bursts. The neon light outside flickered, casting his face in fractured shadows. Even half-lidded, gangs glinted as his hips rocked slowly, savoring the wet heat of your mouth. The way your throat fluttered around him.
You gagged as he pushed past the resistance of your throat; your head instinctively tried to pull away, but you had nowhere to go.
He exhaled sharply through his nose, fingers tightening just slightly in warning. "Swallow," he ordered, as if it were the easiest task in the world.
You gagged again, your throat convulsing violently as the thick intrusion pressed deeper. Your hands gripped his thighs, fingers tightly gripping the fabric of his pants. He tilted his hips, angling himself deeper, until your nose brushed the wiry curls at his base. Tears welled in your eyes, spilling down your cheeks as you struggled to breathe.
Remmick sighed, fingers loosening just enough to stroke your damp hair. "There," he said softly. "Isn't this better?" His hips rolled once, shallowly, dragging a choked whimper from you. The sound seemed to vibrate through him, his cock twitching against the tight clutch of your throat.
Outside, the neon sign died, plunging everything into darkness. He pulled back slowly, savoring the slick drag of your tongue along the underside before thrusting back in with a snap of his hips, your cry muffled by flesh.
He groaned, both hands holding your head in place as he fucked into your throat with slow, relentless strokes. Each thrust drew another tear, another shudder, your body resisting even as your throat accepted him greedily.
His breath hitched when he left you swallow around him, purposeful this time. "Good girl," he purred as his thumb brushed away a tear. "You'll learn quickly," he pulled back until the tip remained between your lips, watching the string of saliva that connected you before sliding home again.
Your fingers dug harder into his thighs, lungs burning, but you no longer fought. Your body arched slightly, Throat working around him as if trained by instinct alone.
Remmick's groan vibrated through your skull. "Christ, your mouth," he hissed as his hips jerked erratically. "Like you were made for this."
His thrusts lost rhythm, turning brutal in their urgency. The slap of skin against skin filled the room, mingling with your choked gasps when he allowed you to breathe. One hand left your hair to wrap around your throat so he could feel himself moving inside you.
"Fuck...a-almost," he gritted out, his voice raw. His hips stuttered as his cock swelled against your tongue. You knew what was coming. The realization sent panic down your spine. You tightly gripped his thighs to brace yourself.
A ragged, broken moan escaped him, the he came. Hot and thick, flooding your mouth with the copper tang of him. You gagged, but he held you firmly in place, forcing you to swallow every pulse. His groan echoed through the small room, dripping with satisfaction before he finally allowed you to pull away.
His grip on your throat vanished as your head fell back on the bed. You lay there panting heavily in between coughs as the scent of him clung to your breath. His release trailed down your chin, mixing with your saliva.
Remmick exhaled sharply, admiring the mess he's made of you. Lips swollen, tears drying on your cheeks as his cum lingered on your skin. He traced a fingertip along your jawline, collecting what had escaped your mouth and bringing it to his lips.
Despite him having just cum his semi-hard cock twitched against his thigh, never going soft, while not fully hard. Your tongue darted out instinctively to clean the mess from your lips, only to freeze when you tasted him again. Metallic and oddly herbal.
He watched the realization flicker across your face; his chuckle was a low rumble. "You'll crave it soon," he promised, pressing his damp finger between your parted lips. "The hunger is already in you."
Your brows furrowed in confusion at his words, not understanding what he meant. The mattress dipped again as he shifted his weight, his knee pressing between your thighs. You tensed as his fingers traced idle patterns along your inner thigh, avoiding the soaked fabric of your panties with cruel precision.
The neon sign outside came back to life as you stared at the ceiling, refusing to acknowledge the heat pooling low in your belly. His finger crept higher, slow and taunting, until his knuckle brushed the damp cotton.
Remmick inhaled sharply through his nose, "still wet," he purred as he dragged his fingertips along the seam. Your thighs clenched instinctively, trapping his hand. His chuckle vibrated against your throat. "Even after all this."
A deep blush spreads across your face as he lightly tugs your panties, pulling them away before letting them snap back into place. Smiling when you jolt while he admires the way the fabric clings to your cunt like a second skin.
Your breath hitched when he pressed his palm against the soaked fabric, rubbing slow circles that made you shiver. His lips graze your earlobe.
"You think you hate this." He whispers, fingers slipping beneath the waistband, "but your body knows."
The first brush of his fingertips against bare skin makes you gasp, hips bucking into his touch before you can stop them. He exhales, triumphant, as his middle finger slides through your slick folds.
"There it is," he coons. "That sweet shameless pulse."
You bite your lip to suppress any noises, but your traitorous body arched into his hand. His fingers circle your clit with cruel precision, once, twice, before dipping lower to press bluntly at your entrance. He stops there, teasing, letting you feel the threat of penetration without granting it.
His fingertip barely breaches you, just enough to make your inner muscles clench around nothing before withdrawing.
Your breath comes in short, sharp bursts, your thighs tremble with the effort to stay still. The ache between your legs was becoming unbearable as your body coiled tight with denied release. You hated the way your hips lifted involuntarily, chasing his retreating touch. It was humiliating.
Remmick withdrew his hand completely before bringing his fingers to his lips, sucking them clean with a groan. Suddenly, he tears your underwear from your body, tossing them aside. The cold air on your exposed skin makes you shudder as he spreads your thighs.
His cock, still glistening from your mouth, brushes against your inner thigh. Hard again. The thick head nudges at your entrance, and your body betrays you with a pulse of wet heat around nothing. Remmick groans, sinking his teeth into your shoulder as he rocks forward. Just enough to stretch you, but not enough to breach.
Your body shudders uncontrollably, and he chuckled at your reaction as his cock twitched against your slick entrance. The neon sign outside flickered erratically, casting his predatory grin in jagged light.
"Already clenchin' 'round nothin'," he mused.
"You knew I was here the whole time?" The question left you before you could stop it.
"Every moment," he muttered. "The bus seat you chose, the train, every paranoid glance. I let you run."
"Do I have to go back?" Truthfully, you'd rather go anywhere else but there. That town held too many memories.
"Run if you'd like, but you'll always find me waitin' when the light dies." He pressed two fingers hard against your clit. "And you will go back," he continued, circling torturously slow, "because I've buried things in that soil you'll dig for with your own hands."
"P-please, don't make me go back. I'll go anywhere else with you... Please..." You pleases softly, hiding back tears that threatened to spill.
Remmick paused his teasing, lifting his head to study your face with an intensity that made your skin prickle. "Tell me why." His voice was deceptively soft, like a priest coaxing confession, not a predator circling prey.
"I don't want reminders of...them." You muttered honestly, referring to your parents and grandmother.
His thumb pressed against your clit as his lips curved at your unintended honesty. "Ah," he breathed as his thumb slid lower. Dragging through slick heat before pressing at your entrance. "But darlin'—" A shallow thrust, just enough to stretch you, "—you'll dig them up anyway."
Had you heard him correctly? Dig them up? Why would he want you to do that? You gasped softly as his finger barely slipped inside. "No," you sobbed. "Please..."
"My gifts under their ribs," he explained as he pressed deeper before circling the digit upward. Remmick withdrew, then brought it to his mouth to lick it clean. "You'll dig 'cause you'll need to know." He slid in two fingers this time, slowly pumping them before he continued, "Every inch of you protests and yet your cunt weeps for it."
The motel phone rang, Remmick stilled mid-thrust, fingers still buried as you both turned towards the sound. It rang again as his fingers twisted deeper inside, his smirk widened at your involuntary clench around his knuckles.
"Answer it," he breathed against your throat.
"N-no...you're insane if you think—"
His fingers curled inside you, drawing a muffled cry from your lips as his free hand reached for the phone. The plastic creaked as he pressed it to your ear. Your ragged breath was already audible to whoever waited on the line.
"Say hello."
"H-hello," you whispered softly as you tried to ignore his fingers that continued teasing you.
"Oh, thank God! I've been trying to reach you all day!" Your grandmother's voice cracked through the line. His fingernails scraped your inner walls, causing another traitorous squeeze around his fingers.
Your stomach dropped at the sound of her voice. It shouldn't have been possible. She's dead. The phone fell out of your hand as you froze, and he caught it before speaking.
The scent of damp earth suddenly choked the room, impossible, hallucinatory, but the voice on the line kept speaking.
"Father Remmick? Where's my granddaughter? She was supposed to—"
His fingers twisted deeper as his thumb circled your clit in a slow, taunting rhythm as he interrupted. "She's quite safe." His fangs grazed your shoulder. "Aren't you, lamb?"
You couldn't find your voice to speak, your mind was in overdrive a you tried to process what was happening. Were you dreaming again?
Remmick hummed softly as he lifted the phone away from his ear, holding the mouthpiece near your inner thighs. Letting the wet sounds of his fingers travel through the receiver. "She's just...overcome with emotion," he murmured. Watching your face twist with horror and pleasure as the implication sank in.
Finally, he hung up just as he coaxed an orgasm from you. Muscles clamping around his fingers as your back arched off the bed. He laughed against your throat as get heat gushed around his knuckles. "There she is," he purred. "Lil' grave-digger."
You sobbed beneath him, your body still shivering from the aftershocks of your climax. He withdrew his fingers slowly, slick with your release, and pressed them against your parted lips. "Swallow," he encouraged, watching your mouth wrap around his fingers as you sucked them clean.
He shifted, his cock dragging against your inner thighs, leaving a trail of precum as he pressed his forehead to yours. Suddenly, an emotion you hadn't felt since you smacked him surfaced. Rage. Before you could stop yourself, you pushed on his chest, desperate to get him off you. You didn't want to be near him. Then you used your feet to kick, not caring if you got hurt in the process.
Remmick caught your wrists effortlessly. "There's that fire I've missed. Careful, lamb." He warned, "or I won't be able to hold back."
You had used up what energy you had as your body collapsed against the bed while your breathing slowly evened out.
He weaved his fingers through your hair and yanked your head back sharply, exposing your throat. "That's better," he whispered before sinking his fangs into the tender flesh. You gasped, the pain mixing with pleasure as he drank deeply. His free hand roamed down to cup your breast, thumb brushing over the peaked nipple.
When he finally pulled away, his lips were stained red with your blood. He swiped his thumb across them before pressing it to your lips, forcing you to taste the metallic sweetness. "You can't run. Every heartbeat ties you closer to me." His hand moved lower, fingers slipping effortlessly back inside your cunt. "Feel that? Your body sings for me, even when your mind rebels."
You noticed dawn slowly approaching but it was clear that today would be cloudy with no sun. He seemed completely unaffected as daylight seeped through the curtains. You swallowed hard; your saliva tasted like him now, metallic and strange.
"Daylight," he murmurs, tracing the bite mark on your neck with his tongue. "But not sunlight. There's a difference, lamb." his hand slid down to grip your waist, fingers dimpling your skin as he shifted lower, his breath hot between your legs.
Your pulse jumped when his tongue flicked out. A slow, testing lick along your inner thigh. You shuddered, fingers twisting in the sheets that now smelled of sweat and arousal.
A soft gasp escapes you when his tongue finally presses against you, long and slow, lapping up your wetness with deliberate relish. The sensation absent sparks up your spine, pleasure mixed with revulsion.
His laugh vibrated against you, "still so responsive. Even when you hate me."
Instinctively, you closed your legs, glaring down at him. Feeling disgusted at yourself for enjoying it, and most of all, loathing Remmick.
He let your thighs clamp around his head with deliberate perversity, inhaling deeply through his nose as your wetness enveloped him. "Mmm," he moaned. The vibration made you shudder. His hands slid beneath your hips, gripping hard enough to bruise as he dragged you closer. "Even your hatred feeds me," he whispers before plunging his tongue inside without warning.
You gasp, louder than before, as his tongue enters you. Your walls flutter around his tongue, panting softly while you squeezed your eyes shut.
Remmick groaned as he ate you out with no mercy. His tongue curled inside, flicking against that sensitive spot. His nose brushed your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through you. You could feel yourself getting closer, your soft moans growing louder despite your best efforts to stifle them. He chucked darkly, pulling back just enough to speak.
"Beg," he demanded, "beg me to let you cum."
You turned your head away, "no."
"You're tremblin'...but not from fear this time." Suddenly, his lips sealed around your clit, sucking hard enough to make you cry out and slipped two fingers inside. Your vision whited out as your climax crashed through you. He drank everything down like wine, his groan vibrating through your pelvis.
When he finally pulled away, his lips glistened with your release. "My greedy lil' grave-digger."
With a glare of disgust, you smacked his hand away, only realizing your mistake when it was too late. Instinctively, your arms covered your face as you braced yourself for impact.
Remmick laughed and grabbed your wrist before guiding it down to press against the rigid length of his cock. The heat of him was intense.
"Mine," he growled possessively between your breasts before leaning back. His eyes roamed over your body as he moved down between your legs again, then his gaze locked onto a part of you he's never touched. You suddenly felt his hands spread your ass.
A feral sound escapes him, half-groan and half-snarl. Your body tensed the second you feel his thumb lightly trace the rim. "No one's taken you here," he purred while he simultaneously pushed the tip of his finger against the tight entrance. The way your body tenses, the way your breath hitched was intoxicating for him.
He positioned his cock at your back entrance. You twisted beneath him, panic flooding through you, but he effortlessly pinned you down with unnatural strength.
"Shhh," he soothed, though his voice dropped with menace. "It'll hurt less if you relax."
"N-no! Please d-don't." You pleaded. The thought of him going somewhere you considered off limits made your stomach twist.
He chuckled, "You'll learn to beg for what you're pleading against now." His hips rolled forward, just enough for the broad head of his cock to breach the tight ring of muscle. Stretching you obscenely with one slow, inexorable push.
Your scream tore through the room, nails raking down his shoulders as your body trembled violently. Remmick groaned through clenched fangs as he forced himself deeper. "Christ, you're tight," he gasped.
Every inch burned as your body tried to accommodate him, the stretch bordering on mutilation. Yet, when he finally bottomed out, your cunt pulsed around nothing. Dripping shamelessly onto his cock as it stayed buried to the hilt in your ass.
Remmick covered your mouth to stifle the sounds, not wanting to bring any unwanted attention to the motel room. You couldn't suppress the noises that escaped you as your body tried its best to adjust to him. It seemed impossible.
He groaned low in his chest, the sound vibrating through your tensed body. "Every muscle," he whispered into your neck as his hips shifted subtly to seat himself deeper. His fangs teased your pulse point as your inner walls fluttered around him. Tightening and releasing in involuntary spasms that drew a ragged moan from his throat. "Even your pain sings for me."
Your choked sob was muffled against his palm as he slowly withdrew; the drag of his cock was an exquisite torment. The stretch burned, too much and too thick. But when he thrust back in with deliberate brutality, your cunt pulsed with traitorous interest, slickness dripping down between your ass.
He laughed as he felt it trickle onto his cock, and with one hand, he slipped it between your legs to gather the evidence. Then he smeared it across your clit, circling roughly as his hips snapped forward again.
You tasted salt—tears or blood, you couldn't tell. The pain sharpened when he withdrew slightly only to slam back in deeper, the thick ridge of his cock dragging against places never meant to take such violation. Your thighs trembled violently, caught between the instinct to clamp shut and the overwhelming need to accommodate him.
Remmick kissed you sloppily before he snarled against your lips, his hips pistoning in short, brutal thrusts, each one stretching you further. "Look at you," he rasped, thumb swiping through the mess of tears and spit on your chin. "Takin' me like a fucking saint."
Your scream dissolved into a broken moan as he set a relentless pace, each thrust punching the air from your lungs. The pain blurred into something sharper, hotter. Your nerves were alight with conflicting signals as your ass stretched around him.
Remmick used one hand to hold your hip down against the bed while he roughly gripped your hair and yanked your head back. "Look," he snarled, forcing you to watch your reflection in the grimy motel mirror as he fucked you. Your flushed face, the way your breasts bounced with each thrust. "See how pretty you are when you're ruined."
You turned your head in the opposite direction, refusing to watch as you shut your eyes.
He growled and tightened his grip in your hair. "No, look. Or I'll fuck you through the mattress until you forget your own name." His hips thrusted forward with punishing force. The slap of skin against skin echoes as your body jolts from the force.
You reluctantly opened your eyes and looked at your blurry reflection. Remmick’s fingers splayed possessively over your abdomen, his lips curled in triumph as he watched your face in the mirror, drinking in your humiliation.
"That's my good girl," he purred, thrusting deeper to punctuate his praise. His free hand slipped between your thighs again, finding your clit swollen and throbbing despite the pain. "See how wet you are?" His thumb circled, forcing a broken sound from your lips. "Your body knows who it belongs to."
Your breath hitched as your ass clenched uncontrollably.
"Fuck—" His hips stuttered, and his rhythm faltered for the first time. Your body's betrayal was unraveling him as his thrusts grew erratic. Your arousal eases the brutal glide just enough.
"You'll take every inch." Each word was punctuated with a thrust as he hammered into you. He watched your reflection with fascination, the way your lips parted around silent screams, the flutter of your lashes when the pleasure momentarily eclipsed the pain.
His fangs scraped your shoulder as you groaned, the tight clench of your ass milking him ruthlessly. "Gonna fill you," he panted, hips stuttering. "Mark you inside where no one else—" His words dissolved into a guttural snarl as he came, his cock pulsing violently inside you. The heat of his release made you whimper, a visceral reaction that made him growl against your damp skin.
The mirror reflected his lazy smirk as he withdrew, watching his cum drip from your gaping hole. His thumb pushed the mess back inside with a possessive growl. "Mine," he murmured, licking the remnants from his fingers. You trembled, your humiliation heightening when he dragged his tongue through the mess.
You rolled over onto your side, facing away from him and the mirror as you stared at the entrance to your motel room. He trailed a finger down your spine.
"Thinkin' of runnin' again?" He asked, "You won't make it to the door," he promised.
The bed creaked as he shifted, draping himself over you. His cock, already hardening again, pressed against the curve of your ass. Outside, thunder growled.
"You'll dig tomorrow," he murmured as his lips brushed your shoulder blade. "But tonight..."
You could feel the exhaustion creeping in; your body was spent as you lay pliant on your side while he lay behind you. Your eyelids struggled to stay open as he traced the curve of your hip with his fingertips.
"Sleep, you'll need your strength." The words slithered into your ear, laced with a promise that made your stomach twist.
Remmick gently rolled you into your back. You were too exhausted to resist as you fell asleep. He could feel it in how your body completely surrendered to him. Still, he paused at the sight of your sleeping face, and something tightened in his chest. A sensation that's been dead for centuries. Disgusted, he crushed it beneath the weight of darker impulses.
Your thighs fell open as he lay between them. He slipped two fingers inside your cunt with ease. Your walls squeezed around the digits in sleepy resistance.
Your hips rolled sluggishly as your breath quickened. He watched your body's reactions while he curled his fingers, pressing against that spongy spot inside you until your thighs trembled. A choked moan escaped you.
"There she is," he purred softly, withdrawing his fingers just to plunge them back in harder. The scent of your arousal thickened when he dragged his fingers over your clit in slow circles.
You whimpered softly in your sleep, hips bucking with helpless need. He chuckled in amusement, "greedy thing," he taunted.
The mattress dipped as he dragged your legs over his shoulder. The first press of his tongue against your clit forced a startled cry from your throat. Your eyes flew open just in time to see him smile wickedly against your cunt before he devoured you. Every such drew another broken sound from your lips, your back arching as the pleasure raced through you in intense waves.
Your fingers tightly gripped the sheets, breath hitching when he sucked on your clit hard. You bit your lip, trying to muffle the sounds, but Remmick's fingers dug into your hips to pull you closer, forcing your moans from you.
He withdrew his fingers and pressed them against your lips, "taste." You obeyed, his fingers slipped deeper than you anticipated as he triggered your gag reflex, causing your teeth to clamp down with all the force your exhaustion would allow.
Remmick froze in surprise, assuming it was intentional, he quickly withdrew them from your mouth. He examined his fingers, the indentations were already vanishing. Before you could speak, he flipped you over onto your stomach with inhuman speed, pinning you face down into the mattress.
His laugh was a low vibration as his thumbs dug into your ass before spreading you open. "You're drippin', even now." Then, without warning, he slips two fingers inside again, making sure to target your G-spot.
The sudden pressure was intensified as you felt the sensation of a full bladder. Your muscles clenched around his fingers in protest, but that only made him groan against you as his tongue rimmed your back entrance.
"W-wait!" You gasped, thighs trembling from the need to relieve yourself as well as from his relentless assault. "I can't—"
Remmick's laugh vibrated against your ass as the pace of his fingers continued. "Can't what?" He taunted.
The pressure was unbearable now, a hot, urgent weight low in your belly that made your body arch. Every deliberate press of his fingers against your G-spot sent a jolt through your bladder, your breath hitching in panic.
"I n-need...if you keep doing that—" Your body writhed as you lay helplessly on the bed. The dual sensations of the rising pleasure and unbearable fullness grew more overwhelming with every passing second. "Wait—" You choked out desperately as his thumb circled your clit in sync with his fingers.
The pressure built, unbearable, until your body betrayed you in a hot and humiliating rush. Your thighs jerking as warmth spilled from you, soaking his chin and the sheets beneath.
Remmick groaned against your cunt, the vibrations sending fresh tremors through your oversensitive nerves. "Fuckin' hell," he growled, lifting his face just enough to watch the aftermath drip down and pool between your thighs. He slowly withdrew his fingers, glistening, and brought them to his lips.
You whimpered into the bed in humiliation as a deep blush spread across your body.
His grin was feral as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. You felt him shift behind you as his cock, hard and throbbing, pressed against your entrance. Then his hips jerked forward without warning, stopping once he was halfway buried inside.
He exhaled sharply, "God's, you're still tight as a fuckin' vice."
Remmick pulled out almost completely, letting you feel every ridge of him before slamming back in. This time to the hilt. He groaned as he set a punishing rhythm. The slap of skin against skin filled the room, mingling with your ragged whimpers.
You shuddered as his cock pulsed deep inside. A muffled moan escapes you as you bury your face into the bed. Your vision blurred around the edges as your body sagged, muscles gone slack. The last thing you remembered was his groan, the hot spill of him deep inside before darkness swallowed you whole.
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