Cassian hurled Evie onto the chaise, her torn blouse a shredded rag beneath her, baring her pale flesh to his ravenous maw. The parlor was a slaughterhouse—chandeliers dripping wax like congealing gore, mirrors clouded with rot, reflecting their twisted forms in fractured shards. He was all she saw, a beast shedding his shirt, revealing a chest hewn from granite, a scar slashing across his ribs—a gash that wept pus and memory, crusted with old blood. She clawed at it, her fingers slick with his sweat and filth, and he shuddered, eyes blackening to pits of lust and decay, his cock straining against his pants, a weapon begging to be freed.
“You’re begging to be gutted,” he snarled, voice a gravelly butchery, but his hands were eager executioners. They ripped her jeans away, the denim tearing with a wet screech, exposing her trembling thighs, skin scraped raw and bleeding from his nails. Her lace clung to her, drenched with her sick want, the locket—her mother’s—glinting between her breasts like a mocking eye, its silver stained with her blood. He froze, fingers brushing it, a flicker of torment in his gaze—then it drowned in a flood of feral need, his growl a death knell.
He dropped between her legs, forcing them wide with hands like iron vices, her tendons screaming, his breath a scalding gust against her inner thigh, reeking of whiskey and rot. “Cassian,” she moaned, a plea laced with terror, her voice cracking like brittle bone. His smirk was a devil’s gash, and he tore the lace with his teeth, ripping it apart, spitting it into the shadows as her cunt bared itself—wet, pulsing, a wound begging to be split wider. His tongue plunged in, no mercy, a butcher’s knife slicing through her, lapping at her clit with a ferocity that ripped a scream from her throat, blood and spit mixing as he bit down, drawing crimson. She bucked, her hips slamming against his face, her hands fisting his hair, tearing strands free with clumps of scalp. He pinned her thigh with one hand, bruising bone, the other shoving four fingers into her, knuckles grinding, stretching her brutally, pumping fast as blood trickled from her torn flesh.
Fuck!” she sobbed, the edge a guillotine dropping, her climax a violent rupture, soaking his mouth with her juices and her shame as she thrashed, legs spasming like a dying thing.
He rose, shedding his pants, his cock a monstrous thing—thick, veined, dripping with precum and menace, the head purpled and swollen. She lunged, hands guiding him to her entrance, her nails rending his hips, blood welling in rivulets down his thighs. He thrust in, no warning, burying himself to the root, her walls splitting around him as she screamed, a sound of agony and ecstasy, her cunt bleeding from the force. “Evie,” he roared, voice shattering as he fucked her—hard, relentless, the chaise creaking like breaking bones under his assault. Her legs locked tighter, heels gouging his ass, urging him deeper, her nails raking his back, flaying skin, blood painting her hands red. He snarled, slamming into her with a force that bruised her womb, his balls slapping her raw flesh, wet and obscene. She came again, a guttural howl, her body seizing around him, milking him dry, and he erupted, hot and thick, flooding her with seed that burned like acid, collapsing against her, panting into her neck, their sweat and blood a stinking mire pooling beneath them.
They lay entwined, the air a cesspool of sex and rot, her chest heaving, blood crusting where he’d bitten her. “The scar?” she rasped, clawing at it, reopening the wound, pus oozing under her nails.
“A tithe to the sea,” he muttered, pulling away, his cock still leaking onto her thigh. She scowled, but he dragged her back, kissing her with a softness that mocked their carnage, his tongue licking her blood from her lips. “Stay.”
She did, waking to a dawn gray as corpse-flesh, alone, the chaise stained with their filth. In his study, she found her mother’s locket—Cassian’s photo inside, dated 1995, ageless, his smirk frozen in time. He loomed behind her, hands clamping her hips, digging into bone. “A curse,” he hissed, teeth sinking into her ear, drawing fresh blood. “The sea craves blood—mine or a lover’s. I’ve defied it, clawed my way back from its jaws.”
“And me?” Her voice trembled, a thread about to snap.
“You’re my meat,” he growled, hands sliding under her shirt, palming her breasts, pinching her nipples until they bled anew, her gasp a surrender. He bent her over the desk, maps crumpling under her bloodied chest, yanking her jeans down, and took her again—quick, savage, his cock splitting her open, her screams swallowed by the estate’s groans as blood dripped from her thighs onto the floor, pooling with the ink of her sketches.
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