He came to her in the dead of night, the moonlight playing tricks on her heavy eyes. Lips brushed the cartilage of her ear, whispering sweet nothings. Tom was always good at pretending.
A light caress here, a possessive touch there. It was a never ending game they played and she was just his pawn. Never in control. The sickest part was she grew to enjoy their battles. The way they toyed with each other until she gave up but they kept on fighting.
Crimson blood stained the floor as he roughly took her once more, his nails digging deeply into the flesh of her hips. A shriek escaped her ruby lips as he bit her neck, marking her as his own for the hundredth time but Ginevra couldn't bring herself to pull away.
She loved him in some way but she was never satisfied. He never hit her hard enough, never hissed cruel enough words into her head or fucked her as violently as she wished.
It was a sick, unbreakable cycle she caught herself in and she was never getting out.