'Twas the Darkest Night

by Sophie Avett

  He followed the line of her panties with his fingertip, “No. For now,” he traced her pussy lips through the fabric, “your cunt is mine.”

  Her legs shook, knees wobbling as lust and fatigue made her tremble. Marshall commanded the shade to pin the back of her dress to the bottom of the bodice, tiny hooks holding the heavy bell into place. And then, he tore her underwear from her. Her waist jerked back, tugging painfully on her shoulders. Fabric rending scratched her ears over the pounding blood. Material momentarily cutting into her sensitive flesh, sending a splice of mild pain through her system.

  Her breath hitched in her throat as she heard rather than saw the smile carving a path across his beautiful face. Despite the tension ribbing the air like Viking drums of war, his pace was unhurried. In that leisurely way that suggested eternity would come to an end and he would still have plenty time.

  His large palm flattened on the small of her back and forced her spine to curve and her hips and ass to thrust out in invitation—she tried to fight, but the tentacles adjusted, banding across her mid-back to keep her in place.

  His warm palms settled on her ass. Thousands of nerve endings leapt to life beneath his hands as he caressed, careful to touch every curve of naked flesh until her skin was warm. Arousal pooled in her womb at his slow study and she drew her lip between her teeth as he pulled her cheeks apart, exposing her intimate seam to the cool air and his wicked gaze.

  Curse him, Odin. Curse him, especially.

  Lust snaked down Marshall’s spine, his cock jumping painfully as he gazed down at the naughty picture his little shrewish landlord made. Face against the glass, skirt hiked up, hanging in his shadows—her ass spread in his grip. Baring her tight little rosebud and the pink pouty lips peeking out of a red wiry thatch of pubic hair. She was wet. So very wet. His nostrils flared and the scent of her slick invitation teased his inner demons.

  “Tell me you want me,” he whispered in the moonlight. She writhed in her shackles, and her pussy contracted, squeezing another drop of honey free to glisten on the harsh curls. He bared his fangs as a vicious bolt of lust struck down his spine, his fingers spasming into her flesh. Ivory nails lengthened to pierce her epidermal layer, pulling forth lovely fat droplets of blood. “Tell me you want me.”

  “Go fuck yourself,” she snapped.

  He blinked a thick rivulet of sweat out of his eyes, wrestling with the shadows to restrain her. Vampires didn’t sweat, but he wasn’t a vampire. He wasn’t even a man. He was a monster, petrified and trapped in-between worlds. Trapped between the urge to fuck this witch into the glass like a demon and the impulse to practice restraint like a vampire. And then, there was something else he’d never quite been able to grasp.

  Conflicted—his mind was conflicted. Torn in two. Marshall found himself standing in a situation where he wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted to do. He’d chased her with every intention of forcing her submission, of forcing her to yield to him. And now that she hung in his chains, stubbornly fighting—prey any predator could be proud to conquer—it wasn’t enough.

  It wouldn’t be enough to fuck her senseless. She would want him. She would say it aloud. So when he made her scream, he would know it was ripped from her soul. He was going to make her beg. For mercy. For his cock. For everything he gave her. When it was done and she had taken every sin he had to give, he would cut her free. She’d probably hate them both, but that was just fine. Hate he could deal with. Hate was natural. The light in Elsa threatening to burn him like a moth on a flame wasn’t.

  Marshall hissed and the darkness swept up to maneuver her arms so that it was Elsa holding her ass open for him. Elbows bent, her fingers splayed across her cheeks, she let out a grunt, turning her face into the mirror.

  “No.” The shadow wrapped around her neck like a snug collar and pinned her cheek to the glass. “I will see everything.”

  Marshall opened himself to the desire spilling from her out into the night like buckets of deep, wet red paint. He attached himself to the cord of attraction, siphoned his way into her desire. And then, met…nothing. The doors to her desire were gone. Apparently, she’d sealed her mind from him.

  Clever witch. He tilted his head and cords twanged in his neck. “We will do this the old fashioned way then.”

  Hunger thickened his fangs to slide across his bottom lip as he leaned forward and pressed his straining cock against her center, his mouth hovering close to her ear. He didn’t speak. Words wouldn’t suffice. Not right now. He flexed his pelvis against her pussy. She squeezed her eyes shut. Her arms quaked as she bucked the restraints. Every thrust sent a gushing wave of dark pleasure and blood rushing into his cock until it was so hard, every individual steel tooth of his zipper embedded an impression on his rigid length.

  Elsa’s skin dragged against the mirror as he hammered his pelvis against her, dry fucking her with the same ruthlessness he would once she bent to his will. Her breath with every driving pump, her fingers leaving white impressions in her rosy ass cheeks. He threaded his fingers into her curls spilling down her shoulders, burying his face in the source of her scent. She smelled like something holy. That was the only way to describe it. It was a mixture of musky old books, wood and aged earth, like the solid thick pews he’d pressed his first conquest into, and spicy cinnamon.

  What would the thicket of red flowers nestled between her thighs taste like? Would the cinnamon burn the tip of his tongue there too? His mouth watered as a pang of hunger drove him to sink to his haunches—their clothes catching as he melted like butter, relishing the abrasive lace of her bodice scratching against his cheek.

  Grabbing her ass, he squeezed. Her ass was her best feature. Plump. Round. It was warm and malleable in his hands, filling them past what he would ever be able to hold. It was the kind of ass he could spank until red hot splotches were decorating it like tattoos of his ownership. The kind of ass a man could hold onto as he hammered home. Shove his face into, so he could feast in Eden.

  Speaking of Eden…

  He pressed his nose to her slit.

  “Vampire,” Elsa croaked, jerking vainly in the chains.

  Nostrils flaring, he absorbed her scent. Learned the tangy, primal, heady aroma. Breathing it in, filling his lungs with it, letting it mingle on the back of his tongue. Hunger—it sharpened to a fine point, twisting painfully in his groin, and he pressed his mouth to the source of his cravings. Her entire body went taut in her binds and he relished the tension and strength beneath his fingertips. And his pleasure at having her in chains drew him so deep into his own darkness that lust erected a burning wall between him, the world, and his urgency. He would have her. All of her. That was a given. But first, he would savor his meal.

  He pressed his fingers to her pussy. Her coarse hair matted with her juices. Her lips were slick beneath his fingertips. Warm and slippery. He raked his tongue across his fang, relishing the spike of pain as he peeled her lips open like rose petals. Answering honey leaked onto his fingertips and he blew on her. A throaty little mewl. It smacked into his mind like a freight train and he sealed his mouth over her, flattening his tongue against her opening. She shook in her binds, hissing a curse to her gods. Her vow raspy and thick, a gravelly purr slithering through the silence.

  Flavor exploded on the tip of his tongue. Signature to Elsa, it was a round and spicy benediction. Thick and heady. It curled around the back of his tongue. Salty. Tangy. He pressed the tip of his tongue into her burning channel and groaned as cinnamon seared his mouth. Her hips jerked, her spine dipping a fraction, seating herself a hair farther on his tongue, and he lost himself, sliding his mouth over her cunt in delicious exploration. Tracing every fold of her flesh. Outlining her labia, fucking her vulva, and finally pausing to flick his spaded tongue against the little bundle of nerves pulsing beneath her sensitive hood.

  Lust banked against his desire and every muscle in his body went taut as he realized he needed more. He needed everything. He pulled her ass farther apart and began to eat
her cunt. With purpose. Elsa’s hips rolled wantonly and she lurched in her chains. He suckled her turgid little clit into his mouth, dragging his tongue across the little bulb in figure eights. Dancing with it. Teasing it. Begging it to help him make her shake. He needed to see her shake for him.

  She deflated on a ragged breath and her spine dipped, her pussy thrust against his mouth. A primal part of his brain registered the change and he lapped at her in a frenzy. She arched as far as she could in her binds, her bud pulsing against the tip of his tongue. More. More.

  “Vampire.” It was a bitter whisper. And music to his ears. She was close. He grabbed her quivering thighs and snaked his tongue into her cunt. Fucking her pussy with so much intensity—he lost himself, his hips jumped a fraction as he stabbed the air. She tensed, every delicious sinew of her body drawing up in a neat coil. Her breath halted. Now. Elsa. He sealed his mouth over her clit. Need strangled his breath, his brow furrowing as his jaw began to ache. Her bud pulsed and he swallowed the urgent little heartbeat with wet kisses. Elsa. Now. Oh, God. Now—Please.

  Her orgasm was electric and he fucked her through the current, his ears straining. Thirsting for a careening cry that never came. Something inside him howled in tortured distress as he drank his only reward. Savoring and swallowing the liquid fire gushing from her cunt, coating his tongue and the back of his throat. Teasing him to madness.

  Goddamn her. He ripped his mouth from her, pressing his forehead against the curve of her ass. The signet ring seated on her middle finger dug into his brow as he squeezed his eyes shut through the force of the desire filling his veins. The raw need. What the hell was the matter with him? Want so painful it was better described as yearning expanded to the point of bursting his blood vessels. Pulling and torturing his cock. It ran bone deep, blurring his cruel intentions until he lost a clear grasp of just what he wanted from Elsa.

  More. That was his only coherent thought through the torrent, and even as some part of the businessman in him tried to wrestle back the reins, he couldn’t. He was as much a slave to his desire to possess her as she was his to possess in that moment. “I want to fuck you.” He pressed his hand to the front of his slacks, cupping the ache ribbing through his system. “Tell me you want me, Elsa.”

  “I don’t,” she croaked.

  “Liar.” He shot to his feet and smacked squarely on her lovely ass. The clap of flesh against flesh sang out through the air as the shock traveled up his arm. Squeezing his cock with one hand, he hauled the other back in preparation for another spank. “Tell me the truth, Elsa.”

  “I don’t want you.”

  Another spank. “Now.”

  “No.” She hissed through clenched teeth. “Never.”

  “Yes. You. Will.” Each syllable punctuated by a searing spank. And then another. And another. His palm collided against her skin, it rippled and she sucked against her teeth. A faint twinge of pain sparked across the four corners of his palm, but it was a feeble pain compared to the urgency eating its way through his control. His eyes narrowed, hunger spearing its wicked point through his reason. She was bewitching him. One spank after another.

  Her pussy blushed pink as she wriggled in her binds. Away from him at first and he imagined she felt every swat all the way down to her pride. Another spank. Fucking Christ, what a beautiful picture she made. Pain and pleasure hooking its fingers into her expression. Her eyes screwed shut, her mouth alternating between dropping open in a little ‘o’ and a tight clasp. Sweat pasted her hair to the sides of her oval face and neck. Thick droplets of moisture beaded on her naked shoulders, dripping down the middle of her spine.

  Smack! Smack!

  “Mmph. Mmph.” She winced, her pussy flushing a dark red. Swollen to match the length pressing against his hand. Her ass was hot under his palm, each stinging smack burning them both.

  Cassandra was their mother in everything. And he…he was Henry Ansley. More than anything, he was his father’s son. Especially now. He was the raping darkness, and the knowledge freed the wickedness he kept chained in a windowless crypt in his psyche. His eyes roving to her tight little rosebud, the knot of muscle tightened every time he wailed a wave of heat on her skin.

  “Tell me you want me.” It was a guttural whisper. Brandished from the place no man ever showed a woman. “Tell me you want me, you miserable little witch.” Even as he waited for a response, he dipped his fingers into her channel. They slid in her sweet little cunt with resistance.

  “Nnnoo.” She arched back, trying to sheath herself completely, and he gave her ass another stinging slap.

  “You’ll want to stay still for this next part, then.”

  Her ass was still red, a nice cherry red, from his spankings. His palm was still tingling. Throbbing from the contact. And he smoothed his fingers over the abused flesh, reveling in the warmth as he sank his thumb into her cunt. Rubbing her tender inner walls as he coated the digit in her juices.

  He watched the pleasure slacken her face before she tugged her bottom lip between her teeth and grappled with the shadows. That’s okay, little witch. Go on. Fight. Marshall’s jaw clenched as he pulled his finger out, using the pad of his thumb to work and smear her juices in a clear track to her asshole.

  “Vampire.” It was a growl. A terrible, catlike growl he had never heard before, and it urged him to seat the finger possessively against the little puckered opening.

  “Tell me you want me, witch.”

  Nothing. Silence. Milky skin was slick, flushed in the pale moonlight. Her pulse jumping wildly in her throat. Desire and anger painting a furious light in her lush mountain green eyes as her fingers spasmed around the coils. Marshall waited, poised on the brink. Balanced on a razor sharp edge. And as time was marked by an antique clock resting in the corner of the room, punctuating the pregnant silence, he realized that was her answer. Silence. She would not answer him.

  Anger seared a line through his passion and he pressed his thumb into her puckered opening without hesitation or quarter for her comfort. Forcing his way through the little ring of muscles until his thumb completely disappeared. Her ass squeezed his finger with a vise-grip. His cock twitched painfully in his jeans, jealous. She let out a strangled curse, jerking so violently in her chains, he grabbed a fist full of hair—tugging roughly. “You will be still or I will release the shadows and let you tear your asshole on my nail. Understood?”

  He didn’t wait for an answer. He was past that. With his thumb in her ass, he dipped his middle two fingers into her cunt. Her pussy fluttered deliciously against the invasion. Milking his fingers viciously as if trying to prove to him that her body knew better than she just how badly she wanted him to give her all she could take. His cock surged in his pants and let out a riddled little curse as he undid his belt with a pop. “Tell me you want me.” He pulled his thumb out of her ass, leaving the tip to linger and invade. “Tell me you want me. Now, Elsa.”

  He freed himself, his cock jutting from the splayed lapels of his slacks. Cool air kissed the heated velvet drawn over marble and he fisted himself. Pulling and tugging on his length as he pushed his thumb into her ass. Fucking it slowly. Gently. Mesmerized by the thin tissue separating one channel from the other. He rubbed the silken sheet between his fingers and moisture dotted his mushroom tip. Marshall opened himself to their auras, watching as desire leapt to life in a thick red cloud. Billowing about them in an angry cyclone. He scraped his fangs across his bottom lip. “Tell me, Elsa.”

  She shuddered, “You will pay…”

  Would she really kill him? He hoped so. Maybe she’d put him out of reach of the terrible darkness. Or would she do worse and walk away from their deal and leave him to figure out Mari’s whereabouts on his own? Strangely and miraculously—he didn’t care. He would have her now. Right fucking now.

  And just like that, he lost his grasp on control, the threads slipping through his fingers as he molded himself to her. Chest to her back, pulling his fingers from her pussy and thrusting his cock in with o
ne sure stroke. Fuck. Delicious friction massaged his length and he flexed forward, mashing his pelvis to her ass until there wasn’t a sliver of life between where their bodies connected. Her pussy suckled, walls closing to squeeze and bully his cock. Reveling in it—in all of it, he pumped forward. Two. Then three long, deep thrusts.

  His fingers sought her hair, tangling themselves in it as he dropped his forehead between her shoulder blades. Pleasure closed the doors to his mind and he lost himself in the shimmer pulsing around him, chasing him higher until the world narrowed down to her blissful cunt.

  Fuck. Her. Fuck her. Hard.

  And he did. Fucking her with a ruthlessness that was almost involuntary. Clinging to her as she hung in shadows, he pistoned himself in and out of her searing wet heat. Sweat dampened his hair and stuck his collared shirt to his back. Stroke after stroke, Elsa remained silent. And her silence grated in his mind like nine-inch nails on a chalk board, pushing fury through his veins.

  No, the darkness inside him howled, inflamed to the point of rising out of the surrounding shadows like a phantom, dark serpentine tongue licking at his heels until he was all but barreling into her. Chiseling his name on the inside of her. Hammering into her body the way her staunch silence was hammering into his heart.

  He caught the back of her neck with bruising force, snarling into her hair. “Tell me.”

  Elsa grappled against the shadows. “Vampire…”

  Her pussy rippled, her entire body arching back against him as she teetered on her quiet edge of oblivion. Every fiber of Marshall coiled. Tension sang through the room in waves. The lewd clap of skin against skin, and then, the muscles in her shoulders rippled as she let out a startled little whisper. “Fuck me.”

  His entire body jerked as he loosed a guttural noise against her throat. Sinking his fangs into her shoulder as her words rang like a sharp, hot, white bell. He fucked himself to oblivion, holding onto her like the shadows would fail him at any moment and tear her from his arms. Pleasure and pain. Desire and lust. Possession and anger. They riled him in a righteous symphony and he drove himself to the hilt, her cunt rippling tighter. Tighter. And…tighter.