He left smears of red on her shoulders and the crimson handprints on her hips and her breasts weren't the after print of blows. They were blood.
She couldn't scream his name when he pushed into her, or whisper it or moan it out in long drawn out declarations of love and lust and most of all obedience. Because she gave up her voice to somebody else's secrets, to her Father's secrets which she has sworn to protect. He had promised to protect them too. And he does, when they make love in the blood of somebody who tried to attack her.
But he protects her most of all.
Her beloved Claire.