09-09-2019, 11:00 PM
you are sacred because i have made you sacred.
Beelzebub
She cries when she’s angry. Has he ever been so delighted? When he first saw her, did he ever think it would all come together so perfectly? The way she presses back against him so he can plunge that much deeper inside her, the way she makes herself sick with all that want pooling into her every moan – it sends a shiver up his spine. Her voice says she hates him but it comes out empty the first time. The second try, though, is all bile and bitter and it makes him groan. He wants to bury his face against the arch of her steaming back but he wants to watch her more.
But even as the shame and that spine-gnawing hunger flood her, she doesn’t fight back or try to throw him off. Still, he holds her a little tighter any way and trails smaller bites across her shoulders until little beads of blood swell from the love marks. Beelzebub finds a thick lock of her mane between his teeth and he pulls at it roughly, laughing around her hair and listening for some fresh moan to come tumbling so recklessly from that pretty mouth.
He jerks his hips forward to cut off any noise she might make, to kill it before it finds its way from that beautiful throat that he wants to crush. In another life, she’s the kind of girl he would pluck roses from the bush for. He’d let the thorns cut his lips just to lay them at her door and court her. But that is not here. That is not how their story will go. In this life, he will only take from her, he thinks as his hips slam into hers again.
A short moan catches in his throat as he finishes inside her, shuddering as he releases the tangle of her hair and buries his face against the back of her neck. His legs flinch with tiny thrusts before he stumbles back, panting as his wings hang exhausted at his sides. Beelzebub slides from her back and tries to steady himself as that drunken afterglow settles into his muscles.
“You’re mine, Little Sunset,” he says, smiling and laughing weakly. “You tell everyone your lover Beelzebub gave you those marks. Tell everyone those perfect sounds you made when I did.”
And he watches her, golden eyes memorizing her expression for when he dreams of her. He thought he would be able to forget her but something sick part of his heart still licks its fingers just to remember the taste of her.
“I will find you again. And again.”
But even as the shame and that spine-gnawing hunger flood her, she doesn’t fight back or try to throw him off. Still, he holds her a little tighter any way and trails smaller bites across her shoulders until little beads of blood swell from the love marks. Beelzebub finds a thick lock of her mane between his teeth and he pulls at it roughly, laughing around her hair and listening for some fresh moan to come tumbling so recklessly from that pretty mouth.
He jerks his hips forward to cut off any noise she might make, to kill it before it finds its way from that beautiful throat that he wants to crush. In another life, she’s the kind of girl he would pluck roses from the bush for. He’d let the thorns cut his lips just to lay them at her door and court her. But that is not here. That is not how their story will go. In this life, he will only take from her, he thinks as his hips slam into hers again.
A short moan catches in his throat as he finishes inside her, shuddering as he releases the tangle of her hair and buries his face against the back of her neck. His legs flinch with tiny thrusts before he stumbles back, panting as his wings hang exhausted at his sides. Beelzebub slides from her back and tries to steady himself as that drunken afterglow settles into his muscles.
“You’re mine, Little Sunset,” he says, smiling and laughing weakly. “You tell everyone your lover Beelzebub gave you those marks. Tell everyone those perfect sounds you made when I did.”
And he watches her, golden eyes memorizing her expression for when he dreams of her. He thought he would be able to forget her but something sick part of his heart still licks its fingers just to remember the taste of her.
“I will find you again. And again.”
there is no burning that i did not create.
@[brunhilde]