He knew she got off of work at ten o'clock. A few minutes after the bell tolled, she came out of the hotel.
He hadn't been able to get her out of his head. He was desperate to see her, hold her, feel her, touch her. He'd paced his flat for hours, waiting. Around eight, he'd gone to a whorehouse and asked the madam for either a woman named Elizabeth or a petite, pale woman with dark hair.
He'd gotten the later. She wasn't anywhere as lovely as his Elizabeth…she was pox-marked, with limp, straggly hair and teeth like a horse. She was taller and built like a ten-year-old boy. But he'd made do. He'd fucked her from behind against the wall, bent over the washstand, on the bed. He'd sunk his teeth into her neck, shoulders and back until he'd tasted her blood. He'd fastened her hands around her neck and wrists until they'd bruised.
But it was Elizabeth's name he'd cried out at the end.
Afterwards, he'd tossed the money on the table and walked out the door without a word. But his need for her hadn't been extinguished. He needed her. She was like a drug and he was happily addicted.
When she left the hotel, he immediately crossed the street towards her. She smiled when she saw him and started to go to him.
The moment she was within his reach, he'd grabbed her by the arm and dragged her down the street. She asked a question, most likely "What's the matter?" or "Where are we going?" but he didn't answer. He wanted her. He wanted her now and he wasn't about to wait.
He pulled her into an alley, which was thankfully deserted. Without civilized preamble, he pushed her against the wall and kissed her fiercely. Her arms wrapped his beck and tangled one arm in his hair.
"Miss me?" she whispered once she had pulled away.
His only response was a growl against her skin as his hand started to gather her skirts.
"I need you," he rasped against her skin, pressing his hips against hers in case there was any doubt. She moaned and her hands went to his pants, her little hands touching him through the fabric. He gasped and shuddered. She knew exactly how to touch him, alternating between light and firm caresses.
He pulled himself away from her and pulled her skirts up. "Hold these," he said, thrusting them into her hands. She did and he sank to his knees.
She gasped when she felt one of his hands run up her stocking-clad leg. He unsheathed the blade from his walking stick and cut her undergarments from her body. He rose and reached between them. He groaned when he felt how hot and wet she was. For him.
"I want you know," he rasped.
"Yes," she breathed, dropping her skirts and reaching for the waistband of his pants. Her little fingers quickly unfastened the buttons and he gasped when he felt her touch his sex.
As she freed him from the confines of his trousers, he hoisted her skirts up. He lifted one of her legs, so that it was wrapped around his waist. God, he could feel her, the heat radiating from her…
"Please," she whimpered.
God, she was gorgeous. Her dark hair lose and wild about her shoulders, her pale skin flushed, her lips slightly swollen from their kisses, her cheeks flushed pink…
He slammed into her and they both cried out. Though they had done this many times, each time he was left breathless by how tight she was…he saw that her eyes were closed and she was biting her lip, her breathing short and shallow.
He realized that he shouldn't have taken her so roughly, so unexpectedly. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. She opened her eyes, those beautiful dark brown eyes, and smiled at him. She took his face in her hands and kissed him fiercely.
Once he felt the flesh around him slacken slightly, he lifted her so both her legs were wrapped around him, pressing her against the wall and holding her tightly. She clung to him, her nails digging into his back. His hand reached up to fist in her hair, pulling it back.
"Look at me," he panted. "Look at me,"
In response, she cupped his cheek in one of her hands, her granite eyes locked with his.
He loved watching her face, her eyes. He loved to see the way he made her feel, it aroused him even more, if such a thing were possible.
He breathe began to quicken and her eyelids fluttered. She was closed…
"Edward…" she sighed.
She was his.
He doubled his efforts, determined to bring them both to completion. Elizabeth, never one to be outdone, moved as well, matching thrust for thrust.
They came blindingly and violently hard. She buried her face in his neck, clinging to him, muffling her cries into his shoulder. He gasped her name before sinking his teeth into the soft skin between her neck and shoulder.
For a moment, they simply stayed like that, waiting to return to reality, for their breathing and the rapid beating of their hearts to slow.
Finally, she lifted her head, smiled and kissed him. He cupped the back of her head, deepening the kiss as he lowered her to the ground, hissing as he slipped out of her.
They broke the kiss and set about straightening their appearances. As she bent down to retrieve her ruined undergarments, he noticed a mark on her shoulder.
From here he had bitten her.
She stood and he brushed her hair aside to examine it.
He'd broken the skin, but only slightly. He'd done far worse to the whore. Part of him felt remorseful that he'd hurt her, that he'd marred her lovely skin. But a larger part of him felt smug, almost proud. He'd marked her. She was his. Any man that looked at her would see that and know that she was his. She belonged to him.
"Does it hurt?" he asked, running his fingers lightly over the wound.
She laughed and kissed him. "Of course not,"
With that, he took up his walking stick and wrapped an arm around her waist. They made their way back out onto the street, heading in the direction of his flat.
Men looked at her, some with desire; others obviously wondering what a woman like her was doing with a man like him. Normally, he'd fly into a blind rage, but instead, he simply held her more tightly.