Deal with the Devil

Chapter 39

Elena rolled onto her side, pulling the pillow over her face as she did. The world was too bright, and her body ached in ways that were unfamiliar to her. It felt as though she'd been repeatedly stabbed in her womb.

The bed shifted and an arm slung across her waist, bringing her in tighter to whoever she shared a bed with. Fingers tickled at her bare hip and she nuzzled against the muscled chest against her face. The scent of the flesh was vaguely familiar, though tainted by the salty bite of sweat and something muskier that made her stomach clench almost painfully.

She sighed and grabbed the person in bed with her. A soft laugh sounded against her ear and she blearily looked out through heavy eyelids. "What?"

"Shh, pet." She hummed. "Go back to sleep."

That voice was wonderful and the hands on her body were tender. She snuggled into him and threw a leg over his hip. Something hard and heavy pressed against her.

"If you keep that up, I won't be able to resist." The hand travelled up to stroke her hair. "Sleep. We can play more later, doll." Fingers danced over her soothingly and she drifted off again.

--

She woke some time later to a heady mix of pain and pleasure coursing through her. It was as though she floated in sensation, and she groaned and pushed herself toward it. The voice from before guided her through it with twisted murmurs that had no place in reality. The sharp glide between her breasts mingled with the pulsing heat inside of her. Something soft lapped at the warm pool forming on her chest. Alien susurrations sounded against her ear, punctuated by a groan and one final thrust and she cried out at the pulsations, reaching completion then as well. A mouth bore down on hers, coppery and possessive.

"So good, sweetheart." Hands stroked her gently back to sleep.

--

She wakened to the comforting buzz of fingers massaging her scalp. Her forehead was pressed against something smooth and living and she reached toward it, wrapping her hand over the curve of a thigh.

A masculine chuckle came from above her and her eyes fluttered open only to squint in the light streaming in from a window. "Good morning, pet." Tom Riddle smiled down at her. He was nude, leaning against the headboard of his bed. Her head was against his hip, one of his hands in her hair and the other holding a book.

Elena frowned and backed away from him, pulling the sheet up over her breasts. She ached everywhere and she was still fuzzy from sleep and the remnants of the red wine. "What?" She shook her head and puzzled over what she wanted to ask. "What did you do?"

He set aside the book and arched a brow at her. "You didn't have that much to drink. Think back."

She combed both hands through her hair, pushing it out of her face and trying to erase Tom's touch. There were bruises on her arms roughly the size of fingertips, half-moon shapes, long scratches. Her breasts were beyond tender, her chest aching.

"I'm not a gentle lover, pet."

Elena lowered the soft cotton sheet enough to see the long wound on her sternum and the visceral memory of his tongue licking at her blood and the sliced flesh caught her off guard. "You drugged me," she at last, voice hoarse. "You ra—"

"No." The word demanded her attention and she looked up at him, his eyes flashing crimson. "The potion I gave you merely reduced your moral conscience. It did not eliminate your inhibitions, nor did it manufacture anything. Two gasses of red wine, even at your admittedly slight size, is not enough to intoxicate you past judgement. You wanted it, Elena."

She looked down at her bitten, bruised and sliced body and back at him, incredulous. "I wanted this, Tom? Is this what you like to do, batter women?"

"Don't play the victim with me, sweetheart," he sneered. "You were dripping as I hurt you, begging me for more. You licked your own blood off me."

Her cheeks burned with shame, tears filling her eyes and overflowing onto her face before she could stop them. The memory of him inside of her, impossibly large, his weight on her, flashed through her mind. She could hardly remember the second time, but he'd gripped her wrists with one of his hands and hissed into her ear even as he sliced her open. She'd thrashed beneath him for more reasons than pain.

"I thought I'd have to break you to have you begging me to hurt you." He laughed coldly. "Seems I can start heavy right out the gate. Dolohov will be thrilled. He might be a sexual sadist, but he's surprisingly romantic otherwise. Oh, sweetheart." Tom tugged her into his arms, and she could feel him stirring against her. He licked one of the tears from her skin, planting a kiss over the spot as well. "You have no idea how tempting you are like this." His fingers plucked at her and he rolled his hips against her. "I could keep you here all day, hurting you, coaxing tears out of you."

"I hate you," she whispered, trying to push down the self-loathing threatening to overwhelm her.

She could feel that the pronouncement thrilled him. His grip tightened on her and he nuzzled against the top of her head. "Mmm. I know."