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ALL ROSAMARIA CAN SMELL IS WINTER. She's tucked snuggly in Tom's arms, her head resting on his shoulder as his fingers trace patterns up and down her arms. It sends an alarmingly sensual shiver through her and she writhes against his figure, latching her leg around her hip as she tries to bring their naked bodies closer.
He holds a book in his other hand and briefly looks away from it as his eyes flicker to her. "Up so soon, darling? I thought I had tired you out?"
"I want you," she whispers, running her tongue along her bottom lip as her fingers dance across his chest.
Merlin does she want him. She was a virgin before Tom entered her life and roughly took it away from her. Ever since their first time, she's been so drunk off the pleasure he gives her. She wants it everywhere, anywhere, whenever, and however. Sometimes she thinks that Tom has snuck her some Amorentia by how badly she wants to feel his lips ghosting her lips and his nails digging into her flesh.
Tom, to his credit, has been able to keep up exceptionally well with her appetite. It's like neither of them can get enough of the other one, almost as if the acceptance of their destined future has hypnotized them.
This is why it surprises her when Tom says no.
"What?" she pouts, sitting up straight so the plush quilt falls to her waist and exposes her bare breasts. "But why?"
Tom clicks his tongue at her as he pinches her bottom lip. "Now, now, darling. Greedy little witches don't get what they want, do they? Besides, no matter how badly I'd like to sink back into that warm cunt, I think you need some time to recover."
Merlin, his words, she thinks as the blood rushes straight to her cheeks and wetness pools between her thighs. However, when she goes to protest, a sharp sting radiates from her hips. As if to confirm her suspicions, he pulls away the rest of the quilt so they can both look down at her naked form.
True to his word, she does need some time to recover. She hadn't realized just how rough he was with her, she never does until she sees the proof.
There are dark bruises covering her hips in the shape of handprints. Her stomach is littered with similar bruises and bite marks. She can see red rings around her wrists from being tied up, and they hiss when the air kisses them. Her legs ache when she tries to move them, more than likely being due to the various compromising positions he's put her in.
"So perfect," he chuckles, trailing his finger over every single mark he's left on her. "I think this one's my favorite..." He pushes her forward until she can see her reflection on the mirror across from them, revealing the red marks around her neck. "Or maybe this one." He bites her shoulder hard, solidifying the obvious and red bite mark there. "You're my perfect little witch."
Rosamaria's so flushed by his words, so entranced by the way he seems to worship her battered body, that she doesn't stop to wonder if his enjoyment of her pain should worry her. Instead, she swings her legs over his hips so she can sit on his lap, purring when she feels his hardened length all ready and waiting for her.
