Her teeth catch the skin just below his silent pulse point and tug...tear. Blood wells up. Tiny droplets march across his pale white skin. No embalming fluids make him this ghostly, but he is a well-preserved corpse. She follows the thin line of red with her tongue...chasing it up to his sharp chin and over, where she traces his quirked lips with a coppery kiss.
His fangs score her full bottom lip and tug...tear. Her wheat-blond hair is caught tightly in his fist as he tastes borrowed life on her mouth. She is flush with colors. The pearly flash of her mercenarial smile. The rose of her lips. The cream of her complexion. The tip of his tongue paints pinkish designs on her cheeks, marking her as his.
Even though she cannot be owned.
Not by him.
She rises, thighs clasping his hips as she proclaims her dominance. Her face is stained with the shadow of blood. His...with the shadow of something else entirely.
His head bangs repeatedly on the cold slab of the tomb.
Violence. Glorious violence fills his system.
Fills her bright green eyes.
And he echoes their beginning.
"Niiice work, Luv."
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