Eternal Night

(II) Chapter 38: A Declaration of War

Marcus Augustine had never really been the kind of man inclined to take no for an answer. When he encountered something he wanted, sooner or later, he would obtain it – by coercion or through blunt force, the means made very little difference. Once his objective had been acquired, however, boredom would always follow, and often more quickly than he would have preferred.

But Sonya – Sonya had proven herself the exception to the rule.

He had first taken her to bed almost twenty years ago – the price for a seat on his council. But unlike most women who tended to resent his manipulations, the female had proved far more mercenary than he had initially given her credit. She had a ruthlessness he admired, and a penchant for pain that matched his own. Every time he marred her pristine flesh with a cut or slice of claw or blade, she returned it in equal measure. Her favorite place to mark was his back, long, razor-sharp talons slicing his flesh to ribbons, even as his hips pounded – back and forth like a swinging pendulum.

The sheets were already sticky with blood – his black and hers red – an abstract expressionist painting of anger and lust and a vying for power. She never shrank in the face of his brutality. If anything, she welcomed it, encouraged it, baiting him as he drove mindlessly into her welcoming body. She dug her nails into his backside as if the force he was using wasn't nearly enough.

Marcus' eyes were nearly black, pupils large like pits – vast and devouring.

With his fangs out and her blood smeared on his face from when he had ravaged her still healing throat, he looked monstrous. Yet still, she held his gaze. If she was intimidated or afraid, she never showed it. She was brazen in her wanton litanies, wordless cries occasionally punctuated by a yes that was as shameless as her nudity had been when he had entered her private chambers earlier that evening. She had been donning only a robe of silk organza, the material sheer and leaving nothing to the imagination – as if she had been anticipating this interlude.

Normally, he would have made her work for the honor, but he had been in such a good mood...

The orgasm now roaring through him only made it better.

He emptied into her with near-violent spurts, body trembling as he ignored the disapproving look on Sonya's face. She had been so close to coming, only to be denied with him finishing before she could reach the crest. She tried to hold him inside of her a little longer, but his expression was smug and self-satisfied as he rolled off of her, much to her chagrin. When she tried to reach down between her thighs to ease the ache he had created, he slapped her hand away.

"Don't even think it," he commanded, no humor in his face. She hissed, but relented, albeit begrudgingly, watching as he slid off the bed in search of his pants. When he turned around again to look at her, she was propped up on a couple of pillows, her long, dark hair draped over one shoulder as she laid herself out on display for him, a clear ploy to inspire him to not let her lingering appetite go to waste.

"Why don't you like it when I touch myself?" she asked, her fingers grazing idly over an erect nipple, the red marks of his earlier bites on her flesh still healing.

"Because your pleasure is mine and mine alone," he stated possessively.

She rolled over onto her back, knees spreading. Her hand trailed lower, a wicked gleam in her eyes.

"Then why don't you come over here and finish what you started?" she purred, fingers hovering, but never touching.

He growled in warning, snapping his teeth and she moved her hand away. She laughed, but it was hollow – just as empty as he was.

"You're despicable," she said.

"I'm your king," he corrected arrogantly.

"I thought Dracula was king."