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“I love you,” he whispers against her shoulder as his fingers feather down her spine. They lay in bed together, soft sheets against even softer sins. They have only met like this a handful of times, and yet it does nothing to stifle the grief raging within Rook's chest.
“Illario, don't be silly,” she scoffs as she turns her face to meet the ice of his eyes. Missing the warm brown she once knew. Noticing he's started growing a beard, maybe to compete with what she lost in that fateful battle.
“But it's true, cielo. I loved you long before my cousin stole you from me-”
The mention of her dead love is like freezing water on her flesh. She sits up with a start, a snarl on her lips as her hand presses into the center of his chest. Dangerous. Deadly.
“Don't ever speak of him to me,” she growls as he simply meets her fury with that annoying smirk.
He's calculated. Cold as a flash of jealousy lights across his face as something in him shifts. The predator that always lurks beneath surges forward as he chuckles darkly, “Oh zorrita-”
She recoils from the name. Sensing the hidden insult as she backs away from him. The horror that she is the thing he claims. A vixen wearing the face of sorrow, but beneath the ugly truth scratches for release. A release she can only find with him. And he doesn't let her stray too far as his hand closes around her wrist and he leans his face to hers. “I know who you are. What you truly are. Only I can give you what you need. And you will always be mine.”
And the vacuum of his truth sucks her in once more as his lips crash into hers. Not even fighting when he presses her down and claims her again in a tangle of possessive need. She's powerless against him. Needs him like her next breath. The only thing keeping an ounce of her sanity as he takes what he wants from her.
“You're so beautiful, amante,” he chants as his lips find the hollow of her neck. Nips that make her gasp and leave bruises in their wake before he soothes them with his tongue. Gone is his earlier softness. Lost in the jealousy wrapping it's tendrils around his heart. Thorns digging in as contempt slowly oozes into the love they make. He will have his revenge with every strangled cry torn from her throat. Every time she finds her end a testament to his prowess. He's better. The superior Dellamorte. The Dellamorte that lived.
And as his mouth creeps down her the swell of her breasts to claim first one nipple and then a second, he knows she is completely at his mercy. Her head falling back as her fingers thread through his hair. Pinning her beneath him as his conquest. His Rook. His love. Even if she can't see it as his fingers dig into her hip and he drags his mouth down the smooth flesh of her stomach.
She fights for breath. For anything to hold onto other than the silken locks in her hands. She's falling. Crashing through the pain of loss and into the harsh reality as his mouth finds the curls between her thighs. His stuble scratches along her skin in such a familiar way. Usually this is the part where she floats. She forgets. She's lost to the memory of a time before. But today it is sharp focus as his tongue swipes lazily from her entrance to her needy clit. She can no longer envision the past as the world tilts and all she can find is Illario.
And she sobs as the reality hits her that maybe he is what she wants. What she needs. What she secretly craves now. A dirty love for a disgusting thing. Twisted perfection as he licks and sucks in the maddening way he knows she demands. Driving her quickly to her end despite her tears. One finger sliding inside her to hook and find her perfect spot as a moan reverberates from deep in her chest. Pleasure through pain. Through tears as she tugs painfully in his hair. A growl his reply as he doubles his efforts. Loving the effect he has on her. A triumphant gleam in his eyes when her back arches and every nerve ending sings in tortuous bliss with her release. Muscles tense as her orgasm rips through her with furious agony.
A few more moments to ride out her high before he releases her. Watching her curl her knees to her chest as her shoulders shake and she wraps her arms around herself. Hating what she's become, and yet unable to stop. Needing him more with every second. Every taste an addiction and him the only cure. Wanting to scream with protest when he roughly grabs her wrists and presses her onto her back. His knee between her legs to force them open. Seeking his own end. A plan to bury himself so deep inside her she will never forget him. Marking her wholly as his as she yields to him. As she doesn't fight despite the trembling of her lip. Her eyes closed against the thing that they are. The things that they do.
“Look at me, zorrita,” he commands as he grabs her face. Her eyes fly open to meet his. Rough fingers digging in as tears streak her cheeks. “You cry so beautiful for me, amante. That's how I know you really enjoy it.”
His lip curls as he leans down and his tongue catches the trail of a single tear with one long swipe. The bitterness only seems to inflame his need more as he hooks her legs around his hips and she goes almost catatonic. Unable to fight him. Knowing she can say no, but not wanting to. She deserves this. She invited this. She is his, and he plays her how he wants. And he won't stop until she's completely ruined by him.
“So good for me, my little chula. Let me take care of you,” he groans with a dark edge as he sheaths himself inside her in one swift movement. Not giving her time to adjust. Reveling in the cry from her lips at his sudden girth stretching her. How her hands come to his shoulders and she clings to him. Nails digging into his flesh as her body fights the sudden pain of his intrusion. Not even giving her a moment to breathe as he starts to move. Painfully slamming in and out of her as one hand holds her hips steady while the other comes to her throat.
“You will come for me, mi amante. Show me how much you like being used. How you like being mine.” He's not gentle as his fingers grip her flesh. He could kill her right now and she wouldn't protest, but that's not his game. No, the things he wants are so much more depraved. And her body betrays her as he presses with assassin's skill. Depriving her of oxygen. Her head swimming as a blackout looms. His body moving as she climbs. And she hates that he secretly knows this is the key to her. Something his cousin never discovered. Too much of a gentleman to play with her like this, but something Illario found rather quickly.
Her eyes are wide as he continues his assault. Walking the edge between pleasure and death. His mercy the only thing allowing her heart to keep its furious pounding in her chest. Bodies slick with their efforts as she wonders what it would be like for him to make a mistake. For this breath to be her last. To join her love in death, and face his judgement for the horrors she has committed.
But Illario has never been that kind, that generous. Instead he finds that angle, the one that has her body trembling beneath him. His movements are the only thing keeping her conscious as his hand around her throat continues to squeeze with delicious control. His body is a perfect instrument for hitting every spot that brings her closer than she's ever been. A count of one heartbeat. Two. Three. A deafening silence where the world almost freezes, and then his teeth sinking into her shoulder as his growl vibrates through her whole body and straight to her core. Not a gentle push over the edge but a shove into oblivion as agonizing pleasure throbs from her core outward. Blazing through every fiber of her being as it drowns her in excruciating ecstasy. Her rapture is quickly followed by his own. His iron willpower was the only thing that kept him steady behind the beauty that was her in the throes of her passion. And as he buries himself deep and fills her with all that he has, he vows to never release the claim he has on her.
This time she lays there with him, foregoing her usual habit of immediately disappearing as soon as she's finished with him. Their pants mix into a symphony as his head rests on her chest. Her fingers smooth through his hair. Across his shoulders. Seeking comfort as they float down from their high. There's still revulsion for what they've done, sure. But something new blossoms as he leans up and checks the wounds their brutal coupling has left. A smug smirk when she winces at his touch, and even greater praise when she refuses the healing potion he pulls from the table by the bed. She deserves these marks, and she will wear them with pride. A reminder of what she is, and what they have done.
Because he's right. It's not love between them, but she's his. And in their moments together it's the most beautiful lie.