There was something in his crimson eyes that called out to her, called across the years of immortality and vengeance, the hue of not only anger, death and blood, but the crimson of desire also that made her want him all the more.
Curiosity sparked in his otherwise icy expression, the living embodiment of winter. All was quiet in these halls now, for all others had gone, left to do that pitiful thing called sleep, leaving them, alone, together. She had stayed awake, watching him, at a distance, respectful, until such a time as his back at been turned. Then she had struck, fast and snapping like the serpent he was so obessessed with, answering her own desire to be on him, with him, all for him.
He slammed her, hard, against the stone of the marble fireplace, sending a direct agonising thumping upher spine. She winced, slightly as his pale face zoomed to focus in line with hers, and his hand – snap – fastened around her neck, holding her there with the power of anger as well as his unnerving strength.
“What the fuck are you doing, Bellatrix?!” he roared, the thin flaps of skin that were the remainder of his nose flaring with dangerous ire.
She refused to lower her eyes. All she could see was their proximity to one another, that was all that was resounding around her mind, that was all which mattered right now. Her hands, lowered as they were by her side only hand to move an inch to find the between of his legs, slip upwards and push.
He growled, pulled her forwards by her neck and then slammed her back into the wall again. As the pain lanced around her body her lower lips opened and a cascade of wet dribbled into her deliberately worn thong.
“I said, what the fuck are you doing?!”
“My – my lord,” she whispered, staring into those deep, so experienced and yet so young, red red eyes. “My lord, please I only-”
A harsh slap around her face. It only made her cum more.
“What are you doing?”
“Have you never been with a woman?” she gasped, desperately, clawing at his thigh, “Have you? Have you ever even considered it?”
The sound of grating teeth came to her ear. “I don’t – that is not even – How dare you even suggest I have – have not-”
His eyes were wide, confused even. For the Dark Lord, this was a new emotion, a strange emotion, an emotion he shouldn’t even be feeling. Been with a woman? What did she mean? What did it matter if he was a virgin, that was not part of this whole … thing. He was here to conquer, not to fuck, what on earth was she going on about? What the hell?
“My – my Lord …” she looked longingly, so painfully at him, straining against the vice like grip of his hand. Her own hand squeezed his thigh again, a little closer to his manhood. Jutting forwards her head she aimed her lips towards his ear. She whispered as her index finger stretched out and touched the tip of his penis beneath his thin robe.
“Is it as cold as your heart?” her quiet voice asked. “Is it as cold as you are?”
“Its fucking as cold as yours!” he spat, and he jerked her forwards to collapse onto him. Grabbing her finger touching his phallus he moved it higher, making it to grasp the thing instead, then move up and down as a forced masturbation as his cold finger, bone-like and thin, twitched aside her robe and grabbed her pussy without hesitancy.
Her eyes were wide open, he watched them as he pressed, harder, and then down past her trousers and in, watching with curiousity the way her mouth opened and a pathetic moan escaped from her lips.
Their bodies were pressed together. Finally, she thought, as her breathing accelerated, almost panting, Finally.
He let her continue his commands to his dick, then returned that hand to her throat. Squeezing so as go gain a hold once more he dragged her with him as he turned their bodies around in a circle, moving from fireplace to the long wooden dining table. He threw her onto it, ordered her to strip herself bare.
She did as she was told, equally without hesitancy, then lay there, bruised somewhat and shivering from the cold as he ascended her, mounted her, and fucked her brutally like an old man fucks a cheap whore.
by Ailsa C. Williamson