Birthright

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When Sabrina woke up, sunlight was just beginning to shine through the window. She felt exhausted. Her limbs ached, and her skin was sticky with sweat. She couldn't have wished for a more perfect day.

Everything was peaceful. Strong but gentle fingers ran through her hair. Memories of the previous evening flooded her mind, and a lazy smile appeared on her face.

"Good morning," she whispered.

"It certainly is that."

She hummed her agreement, "How long have you been awake?"

"Not long," he informed her. His voice was deeper than usual, still husky from sleep, and it confirmed his statement.

She blinked away the last remnants of sleep from her hazy eyes, "You could've woken me up."

"And deprive you of your well-deserved rest?" Caliban asked incredulously, "I think not."

She playfully smacked him on the shoulder, and he laughed in response. It sounded lower than usual, and she bit her lip. Somehow, his laugh sounded even sexier than normal. It was downright sinful, and she was looking forward to waking up with him more often.

Her hand was still on his shoulder, and she noticed something strange. Red lines stained his skin. She placed each one of her fingers on them. They lined up perfectly. She stroked them softly as if she was trying to make up for the pain she had caused.

"You have nothing to be sorry for."

Her eyes flickered up to meet his, "I didn't hurt you?"

He pressed a reassuring kiss to her cheek, "Hardly, Princess, but you're more than welcome to."

"Is that what you want?" she asked, daring to put the slightest bit of pressure on the marks, "For me to hurt you?"

It wasn't a surprise, not when she could recall every low, primal sound that left him when her hands tangled in his hair or the way his thrusts faltered when her nails grasped for a new place of purchase on his back.

She could do it; she could crawl into his lap, sink her teeth into the skin of his neck, and rake bright scratches down his chest while his fingers pressed bruises into her hips.

He gently ran his fingers along the outside of her thigh, and she realized that she had unconsciously pressed them together. "I would, but what about yourself? What does your heart desire, Sabrina?"

She responded without hesitation, "Everything."

That was what she had always wanted. She devoured everything she was given, like food to the starved. Licked the remnants from her fingers and reached for seconds. No matter how much she consumed; it was never enough. One day she asked Zelda why. Why the gaping maw inside of her was never full. Zelda told her that only fools were satisfied, and Spellmans were not fools.

Ambrose then preceded to lecture her on Utilitarianism. The difference between higher and lower pleasures, and how the greater the intellectual capacity, the deeper and more complex the craving was, therefore the harder it was to satisfy. A fool, for example, had a very small intellectual capacity, therefore no craving for things he called 'the pleasures of intellect.' Things like art, music, and education. Fools, he said, only indulged in pleasures of mere sensation; food, drink, sex, and so forth.

Those were all wonderful things, on that she and Ambrose could agree, but Sabrina wanted more, and she had it here. Caliban held her, listened to her, talked to her. In his desire to keep her safe, he brought her home, into his bed, and he seemed eager to indulge in whatever form of debauchery she could come up with.

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