Elena was jolted awake by a painful pressure in her lower abdomen and the unpleasant sensation of a cold, rocky wall scratching her back. Her eyes shot open and were instantly met with a dark, smoldering gaze.
Elijah.
"Elijah, what -"
Her voice died on her lips, her mouth forming a perfect "o", her eyes wide as saucers. She realized what the pressure in her womb was.
Her legs around his waist, Elijah was buried to the hilt inside of her; the juices from her previous orgasms lubricated his penis, allowing him to shove himself deep inside of her cunt. Her back arched off the wall when he pulled out completely and slammed back into her, hitting her g-spot – which he did again and again and again, until she felt tears leak out of her eyes to run down her face.
"Don't pass out on me again, Elena." Thrust. "You won't like the consequences." Thrust.
How could something so bad – so painful – feel so good? So right?
She whimpered in pain as he gave another particularly hard thrust, bumping her clit with his pubic bone. She gasped. She was surprised when one of his hands came up to brush the tears from her cheek, his impossibly soft lips kissing the rest of them away. His gentleness was a stark contrast to the demanding pace he set with his hips and the way his hand squeezed her bottom, holding her up between him and the wall. When his lips met hers, everything faded away.
He eventually pulled his head back, running his lips over her forehead, cheeks and eyes, ghosting them over her collarbone and laving at the sensitive spot just below her ear. She began moaning in earnest as the speed of his thrusts turned brutal, his hips battering her into the wall. The erotic sound of his skin slapping against hers caused another flow of liquid to come from her womb, coating his manhood and allowing him easier access. His pace increased even more, his deliciously thick cock penetrating her with ease and hitting her deeper and deeper with each plunge. God, he was so big; she had never felt fuller or more complete.
She would never get enough.
"You're mine, Elena," he said roughly, forcing her to meet his eyes. "Do you understand that?"
"Y-yes," she responded, her hands clutching at his shoulders, her fingernails digging into the smooth skin there. "I'm yours," she admitted, "but please, Elijah, you have to stop. I need a minute. I cant -"
He cut her off with a harsh kiss, his tongue pushing into her mouth. He suddenly changed his movements, grinding into her core in a circular motion, shoving his length as deep as it could go. He pulled his head back and stared at the column of her neck, brushing her hair back with his calloused fingers, exposing her pulsing artery to him. He felt his visage go dark, his fangs protruding, and couldn't stop himself.
When she came for the fifth time, shouting his name, he bit her. Sinking his fangs into her neck he let her blood roll over his tongue, teasing his taste buds, and run down his throat. He gulped it down in mouthfuls – slowing down when he remembered how fragile she actually was – and reveled in the taste. Why had he waited so long to do this? He should have fed from her the day they first met – and every day since. The taste and smell of her blood invaded his keen senses. His hands tightened on her buttocks and he pressed himself further into her aching core, finally releasing his seed inside her warmth. He groaned into her neck at his release, and she whimpered, clutching his head. He wasn't a novice; by now he had learned how to limit the pain inflicted when he fed on someone – how to even make it pleasurable. After her initial stiffening when his fangs pierced her neck she hadn't seemed to mind, if the way her hands had run through his hair was anything to go by.
When he felt her heartbeat slow down dramatically he pulled away, laving at the wounds on her neck until they started to clot. A single rivulet of blood had escaped and ran down her neck to gather in the dip of her collarbone. And what a beautiful collarbone it was. His collarbone.
