A Siren's Hunt | Alastor Fanfiction

CH 48: Aftercare

**Trigger Warning: Still mild discussion of BDSM in the beginning.**

~ Alastor's POV ~

She was simply bewitching the entire time. I had longed for her touch, for her bites, for her scratches, for far too long. There was no way I was ever going to let her go, despite her attempts to avoid me or throw me sass. All this time she had been focused on avoiding me or fighting me that seeing her like that was hypnotic. It was a movie I wanted to replay in a constant loop in my mind. She came so beautifully undone for me, that I just knew in my soul that she still harbored all those emotions she once had for me.

She lays in my arms, cuddled up like a small kitten all spent and weakened. Except, her skin was engulfed by the numerous marks I had left in my wake. I couldn't help myself, her blood had always been the sweetest delicacy I've ever had the pleasure of indulging in. She was my greatest sin and I loved to ravish her. 

She tasted like sweet strawberries mixed into a strong red wine. 

Truly delicious.

As I walk her to the bathroom in the back of this dressing room, I realize it's filthy and that just won't do. I shake my head in disgust. No, she deserved a lot better than that. I needed to make sure I tended to her with the upmost respect and consideration. With a wave of my hand, I transport us back to my hotel suite and place her on the bed.

"Wait here, I'll run you a bath." I see her scramble on the bed to sit up, trying her best to cover herself in her torn dress.

Shame, it was a nice one.

Oh well...

I turn and walk into the bathroom, beginning to draw a warm bath. I plug the drain and turn back into the room, peering outside the doorframe. "Are you able to walk, dear, or do you wish to be carried?"

She continues to look down at her dress, playing with the torn pieces, not responding. I take a few steps closer, carefully picking her chin up with my finger. She often got like this after we would fulfill our fantasies with one another, becoming quiet and almost within a trace. She wasn't this way on a typical basis, but every time she was left satisfied, she would usually become putty underneath me. She needed a while to regain herself.

It was something I had treasured the most about having the honor to be intimate with her, the moments afterward where she would need me tenderly instead of in a primal craze.

"Dear..." I whisper in a nurturing manner, "Are you ready for your bath?" She looks up at me with those huge green eyes, blinking slowly until she nods twice. She's still a tiny little thing compared to me, and is not a trouble at all to be carried. She's as light as a feather for me. I gently scoop her up, allowing her to rest her head on my chest while I carry her to the bathroom. She's still shaking from her high, but that will soon subside. 

I place her on the ledge of the bath, helping her remove her dress and garments. She's left completely bare in front of me, looking more like an artwork than a person. A beautiful painting of red, purple, and blue blotches. She was a canvas and for that moment I was suddenly Picasso.

Perhaps I went overboard? It has been several decades of me watching her with a starved desire burning within me.

She didn't seem to mind. In fact, she welcomed it.

I guide her into the tub and stroke her hair lovingly as I see her chest rise and fall slowly. She still hasn't said anything but keeps looking up at me now and then as I pour the warm water over her body.

"Did any of that hurt too much, my darling?" I ask with genuine concern for her.

"N-No..." She whimpers, but I know it's not from sadness or despair. That whimper meant 'take me a million times over' and she was still very much in the moment. "It felt nice." She mumbles.