The way he embraces her is nothing short of possessive. That brutal bite that tore at her neck caused such searing blinding sweet agony for a moment, before those endorphins secreting within her brain. How she relished in that rare bite, in the feel of those ruthless teeth within her neck. She presses into that wicked bite, giving into that brutal sharpness as he devours her whole. How she hardly needs breath, but she greedily consumes it while she writhes against him. His arms are nothing short of binding as though to keep her in place, that temporary dominance within him thriving in that very moment as though it craved for that opportunity to dominate her very body. How unusual it was to offer him such a chance, and how quickly she knows she can snatch it back. There was a sick part of her that that very sense of dominance whispers carnally to. How that part of her enjoys the thought of her blood entering him, dancing intoxicating within his veins as though she existed there within him, conquering him from the inside out.

The pain is throbbing, bringing her closer and closer to full satisfaction at the feel of his hungry jaw working to pull her into him, that ruby life blood that dwells within her labyrinth of dead veins. That wasted plasma sliding from that wound along her body only drives that very sensation, touching her where his hands do not. How easily he removes the clasps of her bra, his hand snaking between them, that falls from her so willingly from her form. That cool air assaults her chest and yet she relishes in that unhindered freedom. How he hardly fumbled, skilled in every way she needed him to be. How impatient she grew when those conditions were just nothing short of precise. He suddenly removes his fangs from her neck, the blood eagerly spilling from her then in a burst, that blood coating her back and front. His tongue toys along at those incisions he had made, like it was another mouth he could delve, and that very sensation in itself was erotic. That toying seemed to prompt a fervor within her, she wanted more. More of that sensation, more of her body abused, more of that intoxicating blend of his pleasure and pain. But most of all she wanted to witness his own merciless suffering.

Risque so suddenly pulls away from him then, feeling that very reluctance to even let her leave. Like she was some possession he could dare wield. Surely, he was not so naïve that he could truly contain her, be her keeper. She wonders if his adoration wants to be a cage to confine her, that deep need to control. How tonight she flirts with those very sensations, teasing him with control only to take it away, that deadly delicate dance. That razor wire line he trapezes, how one misstep could have this dance destroyed. However, Darcy did not survive this long to play the fool as he relinquishes his hold upon her, allows that grasp to simply melt away like her body slices through it. That sheer discontent ushered from her lover's bloodied lips.

How cruel it would have been to simply stop now, to leave him hanging making him even more explosive and virile until next time. How many times she had tortured him beyond repair? Driven him to the brink of that senseless madness simply because she could. He was hers alone to use and abuse, but tonight, she could hardly deny her own urges. She would not be able to simply let him walk out of here without sating every last desire he had so stoked tonight. It was almost surprising the very need that ravages her form.

Her movements are nothing short of practiced and torturously precise, allowing that dress to fall to the ground, walking out of that useless expensive fabric that pooled revering at her feet. That walk around him is sensuous and her eyes barely leave his bloodied physique and he was quite the appealing sight to behold. Too many clothes though. How he had gone this long with them she hardly knew. He was intelligent to stay put, waiting for her to execute her intentions as she looms behind him then, hooking her fingers skillfully to remove that shirt and jacket. All before letting it fall where it may unceremoniously upon that blood slick ground. That ravaged wound which so desperately attempts to heal glaring at her enticingly, it no longer brought her rage but contentment. Her brutal mark exposed in warning. She so draws to it like it called to her, tasting that blood without the use of teeth. Allowing her tongue to caress and examine that texture of ravaged flesh, that attempts to resiliently heal. That growling groan escapes him, oh how ready he was, he was basically at a point of rabid need. How she enjoyed bringing him to this very pinnacle, a vortex of wanton need. His voice vibrates through her, how thick those words were uttered, simply complying to her every whim.

That long blue-black so akin to that midnight sky which fountains in that silken cascading waterfall down her bone white back. She merely watches him strip those last remaining clothes from his body, she leans against the edge of that desk confidently and darkly enticing, the blood coating her body like a veil of lace, allowing that idle tantalizing finger toy upon her own flesh of her thigh. The very view of a hellish wet dream, like a goddess of carnage and despair dressed in nothing but those killer heels and painted in rich crimson gore and the last lacy remnants that clung scantily to her figure. Darcy's hand prints still smeared across her pale porcelain flesh, like a phantom trail of where he had been, where he could be again. Yet even despite her own want and readiness she remains almost perfectly composed as a statue. Those calculating pale multifaceted eyes shift to his belt as his own hands linger there, considering what she could do with that very leather. That craving for sweet dominance roiled within her fiercely, wanting to take his body while she pushed it to its very limits. But tonight, was seemingly different, after all, it was not common to offer him anything he so desired.

There was something rare in the air tonight, might it have been that gift he offered her or the sheer pent up craving of her body that rolled off him in resounding waves, or the way he ripped that warlock piece by piece like he were plucking wings off butterflies or perhaps it was a culmination of all these obscure things and more wrapped up in a neat little package. How appealing he seemed to her now, how wildly vengeful and brutal he was as he was conspicuous. She could hardly help those thoughts on how he would use those violent hands on her while she felt the war of his body against her own. So perhaps she would afford him that rare opportunity to use of all of him tonight after winding him up so taut. The thought was almost casual as if she should wear red or black.

Watching him dominate that warlock seemed to ignite a fire so atypical to the usual oppressive soul crushing mistress, ever the sadistic voyeur tonight and how he did not disappoint. How shameless she is as she watches him remove the remainder of his clothing, that subtle hint of a smirk still lingering upon her blood soaked lips. How demanding his body seemed, naked before her in that very moment and how it seems to tug that coveted need within her. How blatantly she soaks all of him in, wondering for the faintest of moments if he were planning on using his belt upon her, it was the last to fall onto the floor with an apparent reluctance. She does not utter a word when he tosses it idly upon the heap of clothing. All whilst her fingers still dance that tantalizing caresses along her own flesh, idly trailing to smear that thick line of blood that lingers by her hip. That invitation clear.

Darcy does not waste any time, his own eagerness so evident as he all but bumps into her. She places one hand firmly behind her to brace for that impact, but he is so very astute to those movements. His demanding hands reach for her own hips then, sliding her further onto that desk so her feet lift from the floor like she is his to direct. How easily he presses into her, sliding her legs apart if only to close the distance between them entirely. Those hungry lips find her own like two storms colliding with one another. Two equally swirling forces craving for dominance and yet yielding into their own sadistic desires as she feels his hardness brush against her inner thigh while one hand tormenting those sensitive exposed peaks of her breast. It draws forth a sharp inhale of expectation. How she almost hisses at him for tormenting her so.. For making her wait. She could feel her own beast start to grow impatient, the sheer need to simply take what she wanted from him became almost too blinding. Who was leading this strange new dance? But his plan is revealed when he abruptly grabs that obsidian gossamer fabric of her panties, ripping them from her in one clean jerk of his hand, that fabric giving into those imposing whims it would see. His hands find her hips to slide her forward now, sheathing himself inside of her before she could growl her next command.

That very order had become neglected with the fullness of him flooding her so suddenly, it caused that vicious growl to tear from that domineering mistress then, that sudden assault upon her body nearly makes her roar. His moan escapes him then, it flooded the office, no feline would dare to make a sound then. That leopard so hiding beneath that desk, so terribly still as if not daring to even take another bite from that severed arm. Those kittens even cowered within the gore, their play fighting pausing as they near froze, feeling that insurmountable tension in the room. There was not a creature that would be safe should they get in the way of this moment.

The coaxing of his hands was hardly needed, that siren temptress needing no prompting as she instinctually wraps her legs around him, the brush of that silver singing his flesh for the briefest of moments. As if that very action seemed to force him closer into her. For a moment she is unsure of his next move but she doesn't stop her assault upon his body, pressing hungry salacious kisses into the crook his neck, her hand entwining with the locks of his hair, so it entangled within a death lock hold. All while the other simply feels the coiled muscles of his back while she is suddenly lifted upon that perch upon that desk. Their connection weakening for only put a flash of a few seconds before she is thrust relentlessly against that wall and he is buried fully again. That loud cracking sound of that wall, near made the wooden framing behind it groan, splintering against that sheer force of their colliding bodies in an instant. It loosens her hold on his hair as she snarls near violently, and yet she is no less ravenous.

That shattered wooden surface against her back groans with each merciless thrust of his hips, it was exactly what she had asked for, rough and yet with each ardent stroke it feels like her body cannot have more of it as she wanted it harder. His grip holds her in place as he pins her against that wall, her own back arching each time to grind herself into him as he continues this relentless pace. A surprising moan escapes her into his neck as he hit that sweet spot.

What madness assaults her all at once, viciously tugging and ripping its way through her swirling in an unrelenting assault upon her body. How it whips aggressively within her, giving into that sensation that threatens to devour her whole, but she is the perfect picture of control, ever so close to the brink. They feed upon each others mouths in some intoxicating battle. When he suddenly pulls away he is full of intent. Those press of fangs press greedily at her unmarred neck, surely he was not so bold to steal another ravaging bite from her. Yet that wicked temptress so very near craves it, even with every pounding roll of his hips pinning her to that wall. That craving so very strong then, like she needed that pain to breath, needed that pain to feel alive. Those surging moving of his hips are unrelenting and yet she can hardly help that way her back arches to meet him, so that they could further that cruel assault of their bloodied bodies mingling as one. She moved to meet him, wanting to feel all of him as much as her body would allow, using those legs to squeeze and move with her provoked vampire.

How in this very moment she craves for that abuse, wants more of it and he only so much as pauses for a moment as if hearing that silent cry before those fangs are plunging into her in time with his hips. A passion filled cry escapes her as that bite ravages her once pristine blood painted skin. How it tears like her skin is nothing but a nuisance, that vicious bite so capable of so much damage and she could hardly help intoxicating confrontation against her body.

However, that very action made his neck vulnerable to her, she is like a poised viper striking into his own uncaring how her next movement only ravages the neck he so embedded his teeth within. Her very body clenches around him so tightly, her wanting teeth ravaged wherever her mouth could sink into him. Her fingers raking into his back as a sick hum of satisfaction tears through her. How that she-devil wants to play with that monster inside of him, drawing him to a brink of their own all-consuming suffering. They are sheathed inside of each other in all ways possible now, like they could devour each other whole. How they threaten to rip each other apart, their vampire bodies so capable of handling that abuse, but even then there was a limit. No human could survive this vicious constant onslaught. But Risque wants it, all of it, that perverse side of her wanting to consume that pain and inflict it all at once. But there is a rolling pleasure she gets from it, its near overpowering as she hums a moan into his neck unrelenting, the nails of her finger digging sharp red lines, that silver clad talon slicing into his velvet skin just to feel the thrumming note of his own pain. His driving pace of his hips hardly slow while he roughly takes her, that wall crumbling, raining sweet destruction around them. "I want to consume you until there is nothing left" She nearly growls so possessively, unsheathing his fangs so she could utter that passionate yearning into his wound.

She suddenly ensnares his chain roughly like a violent tug on that leash, that only made his fangs rip deeper into her neck. The damage of his bite and his body was remarkable and it just hits just about every want. "Faster.." She demands barely, a hoarse sound that almost sounds like an ardent whine. But her voice was the weakest she had ever uttered a command in her life, that desire and his fangs near choking her. That pain and pleasure mingling in impossible and confusing ways. That added blood near making them slide against each other. He would need to be careful not to lose his grip of her. All that blood that leaks from them, all that damage they have done made her feel near weightless. Even his griping fingers grasp at her wickedly, bruising her very flesh.

They were like two hungry animals clawing at each other fighting for control, how eagerly she meets his demanding pace, wondering who was going to give out first. Her lips probe those four new puncture marks she made before she bites down again, this time clamping down roughly as his blood eagerly fills her waiting jowls.

Risque

just face the moon and put your death mask on