I love the way that your heart breaks
with every injustice and deadly fate.
He’s too lost now to hear her. Too far gone to recognize her demands for release. He has already receded into that space in his mind that lives only for pain and pleasure (so tangled together that one will never exist without the other). Her struggles are pitiful against him, her kicks butterfly wings against the coarseness of his skin. Instead he tastes the faint copper on his tongue and groans against her.
Pulling his teeth from her battered crest, he runs his his rough lips softly along the marbled skin of her neck, a burning trail of deceptive gentleness. “No,” he whispers hoarsely against her skin. “Mine.” His to burn and teach. His to tenderly rebuild.
With a rough sigh, her gently lays his scarred, charcoal face against her neck. No doubt the bite of a brand to her, but a heartfelt, affectionate gesture to him. “Mine,” he gutteraly repeats.
When he lifts his head once more, the scent of seared skin stirs a thrill in his gut. A satisfaction. He nuzzles the burned patch of skin on her neck, the impression of his own features staring back at him. His licks the split, charred skin, savoring the taste on his tongue.
As he nuzzles that brand, his lips find a piece of skin that had pulled away from the muscle beneath. He nuzzles it for a moment before his teeth close gently upon the charred flap. With agonizing slowness, he peels the skin away from flesh, revealing red, bleeding muscle and sinew. Pressing a gentle kiss to the newly exposed wound, he pulls back slightly to admire his handiwork, lips pulling into a bloody grin.
Raelynx