When I work my dick ever so slowly into her, my eyes fall shut on their own.

Fuck. She's as tight and hot and wet and everything as I remember from our one epic night together. That night I had her pinned down under me, only partly undressed, ass pressed hard against me while I restricted her wiggling or else I would have lost it way too fast. It took us three rounds to get completely naked, and by the time we made it to her sorry excuse of a bed, her voice was raw and husky from egging me on. Each time we fucked, another layer of that Barbie persona was peeled back, and what I discovered underneath made me stay much longer than originally planned. Underneath that prim and proper facade prowled an animal. Stripped off all conventions, she allowed herself to take out her grief and anger on my body, allowed herself to gloriously rage and get lost in a good hard fuck. In the end, I let her on top. She earned it.

I shove that memory form my mind, focusing on the the present. She's wimpering softly, keen on getting as much of me inside her as quickly as possible, even though she's clearly on the edge between pain and lust. I barely fit. She sweats.

The beast responds to her sounds, her scent, the way her tits rise and fall with her quick breaths. She is baiting me, to just pound into her, to narrow the world on precisely this moment and loose myself in her.

Fuck. I'm so fucked.

I owed it to her to search for other options. Anything other than this. She won't cooperate otherwise, if I can get her back to her senses. Although I doubt that she'll cooperate at all after this. My dear Ms. Lane... How did all the fluff and pink and rightous indignation prepare her for torn pride and cutting pain?

Damned if I do. Damned if I don't. A bitter laugh escapes my chest and the tiny movement makes Mac shudder around me.

Daku searched our extensive archives for any trace in history that we might have overlooked, any hint that women can come back from this. Fucking nothing. I'm on my bloody fucking own in this.

Nothing works. She is pain. She is need. She is hunger. She doesn't sleep, she doesn't eat. She's wasting away, purple blothes underneath her eyes, collarbones jutting out. Voice has been wearing off too quickly now, and inks start to lose their impact, too. And fuck chanting. I could chain her up, but what would be the point? This is the last resort. She's so eager for my dick, not for me, and isn't that the irony? For months, she tried to make sense about me, snooping around, an endless deluge of useless questions with an ever rising level of frustration about my lack of answers. But did she fuck me? No. Instead she pranced around with that fairy fuck, rubbing it in my face, treating me like as if I'm not even registering male to her. But now, underneath me, she is lasersharp focused on my dick, and what it does to her and fuck anything else and fuck the man attached.

There is nothing in her eyes when I fuck her. Nothing when she comes. I know what gets her off, I know what she likes. Liked.

Now the barest touch of my skin against hers makes her shiver. A brush against her nipples makes her howl and come violently. Her unnatural need makes ever cell of her body hyperaware, hyperhungry for always more.

This is not her.

It's nearly no fun to fuck like this. Nearly... but I don't delude myself.

Her inhuman hunger rubs off onto me. We fuck and fuck and fuck till the room smells of her and me and sweat and sex.

She is wild, I am feral... possessive.

She demands and I mark, erasing the stench, replacing the marks on her skin with my own.

After some time she opens her vacant eyes to look at me, but I turn her around and fuck her from behind. A slight tremor in her muscles indicates that she tires at last, all the while still unnaturally demanding, always more, more, more, exhausted past her limits.

So I come deep within her, hard, finally, after months of waiting on this, yet when I pull out, all I feel is empty. She lays shuddering next to me, her flesh tender from hours of rough fucking, but in a moment, she is on me again, licking, sucking, biting, clawing. I grab her wrists and force her to look at me.

„Mac."

She turns away, only focused on my body and what it can do to her, but I grab her more tightly and make her meet my eyes.

„Mac." I repeat, and hold her still while the word sinks in. She grows frantic and starts to trash against my hold, not a trace of recognition on her face. I roll over and trap her body beneath mine. I am hard, and ready at her entrance. She opens her legs wide, relief and need on her beautiful face, her mouth open, silently begging, but I refuse to move an inch.

„Mac..."

My voice softens in an involuntary plea, and I nearly choke on her name. I don't do choking. Bloody fucking hell.

She looks at me then, her gaze searching my eyes, empty, but at least searching.

„...M..Mac...?"

She repeats after me, those lush pink lips testing the sound, her brows wrinkling as if to decypher what that means, why I am waiting, torturing her.

Hope sparks white hot within me, and with that, I plunge into her again.

The woman beneath me trashes wildly and howls, an inhuman sound. Primal. Animal.

The beast answers her call.

The man is patient. For now.