12-09-2017, 12:03 PM
god make me pay
like the devil i am
like the devil i am
He is hungrier than he has ever been, whether it be for blood or for sex, he cannot tell. The two desires are twisting and turning together and he cannot decipher them, nor separate them. As her blood enters his mouth - metallic as all blood is - he groans; her blood is somehow more intoxicating, more invigorating, as it dribbles down her slender neck and stains his teeth and lips. At his touch she falls into him, and he is there to catch her. He has left her breathless and vulnerable, the idea furthering the intense burning in his loin.
“You marked me,” she snarls, and he merely stares at her in response. As if she did not know that she was his? She is clever, and he knows that she desires to belong to him as he belongs to her (though neither will ever admit it). With bloodstained lips he creeps towards her, even though he knows she is overwhelmed by him, but craving more and more, and she is not quelling the desire that lingers beneath the darkness of his eyes. His decision has been made, and even the tightening grip she has on his heart will not stop him. Though the grasp she has on his heart causes his pulse to slow, he knows she will not deliver the final blow - she could allow the organ to burst in his chest, but she will not.
Dragging his ivory muzzle through her still-wet wound that he created, shivering as he inhales the smell of the blood, the smell of the heat from her backside, he is sure that he will murder her, that he will kill her. He moves his lips across the length of her spine, leaving maroon droplets across her lavender flesh. Suddenly his lips are forming kisses - sweetened by her blood, yet forceful and commanding against her, as if at any moment they will become dangerous and seek to break her pearlescent skin once again. She demands something from him, for he hears her voice (delectable, sweet venom) but he does not withdraw; if anything, his touch becomes more fervent, encouraged by her scolding to continue to do what his body and mind craved.
He can feel the thickness swelling beneath him, and the carnal desire within him suddenly shifts - it is not her death he craves. He continues forward, his shoulder at her haunches that are now stained with her own blood as he dances his lips across her skin, now nipping forcefully at the supple curve of her rump with a festering rumble of a growl in his throat, as if a warning; if she does not react as he wishes then perhaps something else will click on - something far worse than what he has in his mind.
Maugrim inhales deeply, a shuddering sigh racking through his body as the smell of her enters him again, eyes rolling. Impatient, he shoves the weight of his body into her so that she will move from the protection of the tree, and so that the demon she has been foolishly playing with can have its way with her.
“You marked me,” she snarls, and he merely stares at her in response. As if she did not know that she was his? She is clever, and he knows that she desires to belong to him as he belongs to her (though neither will ever admit it). With bloodstained lips he creeps towards her, even though he knows she is overwhelmed by him, but craving more and more, and she is not quelling the desire that lingers beneath the darkness of his eyes. His decision has been made, and even the tightening grip she has on his heart will not stop him. Though the grasp she has on his heart causes his pulse to slow, he knows she will not deliver the final blow - she could allow the organ to burst in his chest, but she will not.
Dragging his ivory muzzle through her still-wet wound that he created, shivering as he inhales the smell of the blood, the smell of the heat from her backside, he is sure that he will murder her, that he will kill her. He moves his lips across the length of her spine, leaving maroon droplets across her lavender flesh. Suddenly his lips are forming kisses - sweetened by her blood, yet forceful and commanding against her, as if at any moment they will become dangerous and seek to break her pearlescent skin once again. She demands something from him, for he hears her voice (delectable, sweet venom) but he does not withdraw; if anything, his touch becomes more fervent, encouraged by her scolding to continue to do what his body and mind craved.
He can feel the thickness swelling beneath him, and the carnal desire within him suddenly shifts - it is not her death he craves. He continues forward, his shoulder at her haunches that are now stained with her own blood as he dances his lips across her skin, now nipping forcefully at the supple curve of her rump with a festering rumble of a growl in his throat, as if a warning; if she does not react as he wishes then perhaps something else will click on - something far worse than what he has in his mind.
Maugrim inhales deeply, a shuddering sigh racking through his body as the smell of her enters him again, eyes rolling. Impatient, he shoves the weight of his body into her so that she will move from the protection of the tree, and so that the demon she has been foolishly playing with can have its way with her.
m a u g r i m.
@[Deathwish]