The metallic scent of copper hangs heavy in the damp air of the abandoned warehouse, thick enough to coat the tongue. Outside, the distant wail of sirens bleeds through the cracked concrete walls, but in here there’s only the sound of two people breathing like they’ve just run a marathon—ragged, uneven, still riding the high. Dex is leaned up against a rusted support beam, his dark uniform stained dark and glossy in places, his hair damp with sweat and flecks of red.
He’s breathing hard, jaw set, those sharp, predatory eyes still scanning the shadows out of pure muscle memory. The adrenaline is still humming through his veins like high-voltage electricity; that sweet, exquisite rush of absolute precision, the feeling of throwing a dozen blades and hearing a dozen wet, final thuds in perfect, rhythmic succession. The echo of it still lives in his bones.
Then he looks at you. You’re leaning against the opposite wall, covered in almost as much blood as he is. Your hair is a messy halo around your face, chest heaving, a wide, dazed, completely unhinged grin plastered across your lips. You look wild. Unstable. Perfect. Like something that should be locked up. Like something that belongs to him.
A low, dark chuckle rumbles out of Dex’s chest, his voice gravelly as he steps out of the shadows. He moves toward you with an eerie, mechanical grace, heavy boots echoing on the concrete. He knows exactly what he does to you. Knows how much that dangerous, razor-sharp edge of his turns your brain to complete mush.
“Look at you,” he rasps, stepping directly into your space until his massive frame is looming right over you, completely trapping you against the cold wall. His gloved hand comes up, heavy and warm, fingers leaving a smeared crimson trail across your jaw as he tilts your head up. The leather is still sticky. “Look at what you did out there… you were a little monster.”
Your heart hammers against your ribs, betrayal and sanity completely out the window as you look up into those dark, manic eyes. You’re just as sick as he is. Just as addicted to the high of the body count. Being pinned under his heavy, possessive weight while the adrenaline is still firing through your nervous system makes your knees go instantly weak.
“They wouldn’t stop talking, Dex,” you whisper, a shaky, breathless laugh escaping your lips. You reach up, blood-stained hands grabbing at the front of his vest, pulling him down until your noses are practically touching. “You liked it. Don’t lie to me.”
“Yeah…” Dex groans, a wicked, roguish glint flaring in his eyes as he presses his body flush against yours. The contrast of his rigid, muscular frame crushing you against the wall drags a broken gasp from your throat. You can feel every hard line of him, the heat of him, the residual tremor of violence still running through his muscles. “Yeah, I loved every fucking second of it.”
He doesn’t waste another breath. Dex hooks his fingers under your chin and drags your mouth to his in a kiss that’s messy, brutal, and completely starving. It tastes like copper and rain and the iron tang of someone else’s blood. His tongue slides deep into your mouth, claiming, while his large hands slide down your body and grip your hips hard enough to leave bruises that will sting by morning. Before you can even catch your breath, Dex’s hand drops to the tactical belt at his waist. The slick, metallic click of a combat knife slipping from its sheath fills the quiet space between you like a promise.
Your eyes widen, breath hitching hard in your chest as he drags the flat, cool side of the blade slowly up the side of your neck. The steel is still faintly warm from his body heat, the edge whispering against your skin until the sharp tip rests right over your pounding pulse point. He presses just enough that you feel the delicate give of flesh, the warning sting that makes your stomach flip with pure, electric thrill. “You’re out of your mind, baby,” he murmurs against your jaw, deep voice vibrating right through your bones.
He applies a fraction more pressure—just enough to make a thin, stinging line bloom under the tip, a bead of blood welling up and sliding warm down your throat. His eyes darken as he watches your pupils blow wide with unadulterated need. “You like this, don’t you? You like knowing how easily I could open you up. How one little slip and you’d be painting this wall for me.”
“Do it, then,” you whimper, arching your neck back against the concrete, offering more of yourself, fingers knotting tight into his hair. “Or fuck me, Dex. Stop teasing.” A harsh, low laugh rips from his throat. He flips the knife in his hand with terrifying speed and uses the blunt handle to hook into the collar of your shirt, ripping the fabric open down the middle with one smooth, powerful motion.
The cool air hits your bare skin and sends a violent shiver racing down your spine—but Dex is already replacing the cold with his mouth. He sinks lower, lips trailing hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses down your collarbone, dragging through the wet red splatters on your chest like he’s tasting the night’s work. The flat of the blade follows, cool steel tracing the curve of your breast, circling a nipple with deliberate, feather-light pressure until it peaks hard against the metal. He doesn’t cut. Not yet. Just lets you feel how close the edge is.
His free hand shoves your pants and panties down your hips in one rough motion, stripping you until you’re completely exposed in the dim, filthy hideout. The knife tip drags lower, skating over the soft skin of your stomach, dipping into the hollow of your hip, then lower still—pressing the flat side against the sensitive inside of your thigh, right next to where you’re already slick and aching for him.
“You’re mine,” Dex growls softly against your skin, teeth grazing the dip of your hip bone just hard enough to make you cry out. The blade lifts and rests flat over your pounding heart again, a hand of his steady, absolute. “Say it for me. Tell me we're perfect for each other.”
“Yours—fuck, Dex, I’m yours, we belong together,” you gasp, thoughts dissolving into a sweet, mindless fog as he lifts one of your legs and hooks your knee over his hip. The knife never leaves your skin. He keeps it there, a constant, thrilling threat while he works his belt open with frantic, desperate speed. The hard, heavy length of him presses directly against your slick, aching heat—and he doesn’t ease you into it.
Driven by the roaring adrenaline still coursing through his blood, Dex drives himself deep inside you in one heavy, relentless thrust, pinning you straight to the wall. A wrecked, broken scream tears from your throat. Your nails dig violently into the heavy leather of his shoulders as your body stretches tight around him. The burn is overwhelming. Absolute perfection.
Dex groans deep in his chest, forehead pressing against yours, breathing ragged and erratic as he begins to move. He fucks you completely focused on total possession. Every heavy roll of his hips drives him deeper, the wet sound of skin meeting skin mixing with your breathless cries and the steady, dark praise he groans into your ear. The knife stays pressed flat to your chest the entire time, the cool steel a sharp counterpoint to the heat of his body, the edge kissing your skin with every thrust like a second heartbeat.
“That’s it … take all of it,” he rasps, voice rough with strain. He tilts the blade just enough that you feel the sting of the edge again—another thin, shallow line scoring lightly across the upper swell of your breast, a bright flare of pain that shoots straight to your core and makes you clench hard around him. “Look at me. Look at me while he ruins you. Look at the knife. You’re not going anywhere.”
You force your glassy, dazed eyes open and lock onto his intense, unhinged gaze as the pleasure coils impossibly tight in your stomach. The combination of his heavy weight crushing you into the wall, the sting of the steel against your skin, the blood smearing between your bodies, and the relentless, deep rhythm of his hips pushes you straight over the edge.
You shatter with a high, desperate cry, body clenching tight around him in violent waves. Dex curses, jaw setting hard as his thrusts turn frantic and punishing. He drives into you three more brutal times before burying himself as deep as he can go, pulsing hot inside you with a low, broken roar of your name.
The knife finally leaves your skin only when he fumbles it back into its sheath, both arms wrapping around you immediately after—holding your trembling, blood-smeared body flush against his chest, refusing to let even an inch of space exist between you.
The only sound in the abandoned warehouse is the harsh, ragged rhythm of your shared breathing. Outside, the sirens keep wailing. In here, neither of you moves.
Hiiii again, after almost a month I come with this drawing.
This time I wanted to make a concept of Lenore's spectre, it is not an idea originally mine (if that could be said) since I was inspired by several people to do it, taking concepts and inspirations of some drawings.
In case you don't understand the concept, it is inspired by a kind of harpy and a gargoyle, I'm also thinking of doing its complete design in some future drawing to be able to finish the idea.
(P.S.) Annabel's skin looks a little lighter because I couldn't find her perfect shade, I just ask for compassion for this poor soul who is resuming her activities as an artist in the digital area, just compassion if something happens, please. T_T
