he tastes of blood and salt when she runs her tongue down the fragile skin of his neck. he is painting when she does it, his hands dancing across her cheeks, her throat, her stomach, but she feels them
freeze
on her upper thighs. his fingers dig deep, and she clenches her jaw against his skin to keep from squirming under his hands. the fingers leave her thighs and trace their way up her body to her shoulders, soft and delicate until they suddenly are not. she's shoved roughly back down onto the table, hips knocking hard against the wood. bruises are a guarantee.
she can feel him pressing closer and closer and closer and closer until his mouth is on her neck. at first she thinks he's kissing her, but instead she feels his throat vibrate against her spine as he murmurs, "lydia, lydia, you're a strong girl." when he leaves he ties her bonds tighter around the bloodied raw skin of her wrists, because he knows that however strong she may be, he can break her.
