Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except Irbis and several innocent short-lived bystanders; everything else is Marvel's only.

Warning: This chapter is M-rated.

10. Unexpected Pay Back

Creed was intoxicated. He couldn't think, but he didn't want to either: all that mattered was that pulsating body under his. The woman's unexperienced mouth striving to follow his lead, teasing him with its unintentionally teasing movements; her roving hands, searching for something they didn't know how or where to find; her legs slithering against him. And her scent – arousal and adrenaline and virgin apprehension – her scent was enough to drive a man crazy as he parted her thighs, a hand already cupping her lower back, and thrusted himself into her in a swift, hungry movement.

The entire body fastened around him in a vice of heated wetness, and he slid harder into its centre. Harder, past that virgin resistance. The scent of blood mingled with the arousal and the yelp, with the body's tantalising spasm and her fingernails, short and neat, ripping through his skin like claws of fire. He pulled back, and the scent enveloped them. He could nearly taste the blood in his mouth – swearing to do so in a moment – and thrusted back in with all the momento of the fire raging inside him.

He was burning, engorged to the limits of painful excitement, which made his skin so tender and sensitive that the constriction of the woman's body was torturing. But it was not enough! He searched for her gasping mouth, gasping and moaning, and tasted it again, ferociously, as he pulled fully back. The air hit his skin like a gust of ice, refreshing and tormenting, and he broke the kiss to breathe in and get a better hold of that squirmishing body, before forcing himself back into the woman in a single stroke. She cried out while her body stiffened harder, almost desperately, and he joined her cry with a liberating roar.

But it was still not enough! The fire still raged inside him, and tight as she was, as fully in as he was, he wanted more. To swallow her whole wouldn't have been enough.

He pulled back, only partially this time, savouring the strength of those clenched walls, and thrusted hard. Her body convulsed under his and nearly slid away under the power of the impact, so he embraced her harder: a hand securely around her body, another grasping her hair blindly. Her fingers had dug burning tracks into his back, and now she added the heat of her mouth, biting hard and deeply, a frantic moan choking itself. His vision blurred. She was so much more than what he had expected!

He pinned her down to the bed for extra leverage and gained speed; the fire growing impossibly stronger, his nose drowning blissfully amidst the scents of arousal and their spilling blood, his back and shoulder adding flames where her nails and teeth had been fastened and which the thrusting helped deepen, the sense of engorgement nearing its limit, his hearing listening only to the moaning and whimpering that spurred him on and harder and faster. His every muscle tensed up when he finally reached the edge, his whole body on the verge of exploding, and he stopped, relishing the feeling, making it last... a bit longer... a bit... And then the final thrust, almost gently despite the might of the roar that shook him.

Creed pulled out, panting, and searched for her mouth with less violence. The coldness of the room, comparing to the smelting heat of the woman, was a gust of sweet torture that started revitalising him almost immediately. He took his time kissing her hungrily, savouring his own blood on her unresisting tongue. It was still not enough! He had waited so long to taste that enticing body, he couldn't possibly be satisfied. Fortunately, his tireless stamina meant he didn't have to wait for a later meal. Instead, he nibbled her earlobe and whispered "ya're mine, woman". Then he stood up, kneeling between her thighs, and looked at her sprawling body. His body, now. To enjoy and dispose of as it gave him the most pleasure.

She didn't move. Legs wide open, one hand abandoned over her smooth stomach, another hand resting on the silken sheets, eyes closed, a few tears having left salty lines down her cheeks. The intense movement of the chest contrasted with her curiously silent panting, and he grinned. He'd soon have her screaming his name.

He didn't need to feel himself to know he was more than ready to start anew, but he rubbed himself nonetheless, getting their mixed scents in his hands. Then he pulled her knees up, sending a spasm of life through her body which made her teeth clench with a sharp intake of breath and her eyes flutter open. Gently, he worked his hands down her thighs; kneading her tense muscles lightly. When he reached her hips, her muscles relaxed faintly, and she had once more closed her eyes, her breathing calmer. He kissed her belly-button and she drew a sharp breath, contracting every muscle in her. The memory of her tightness, reinforced by this same clenching, made his mouth water and he tried to bite the skin of her underbelly. She once more breathed in and his target escaped him. But since there was a richer target to go after, he moved on. He kissed the mound of her sex and relished on the scent emanating from her tousled, though trimmed, hair. He licked it, reaching for what lay waiting underneath, and was rewarded with the steaming heat he'd felt before, except that now he could taste it. Salty, intense, musky; and the tang of blood that had become unseparable from his own scent. He used his eager tongue to recognise the terrain he had assaulted so abruptly a mere moment before, savouring every flavour that had slipped into hidden nooks and folds, feeling her narrowness, urged on by the contractions inside her, teasingly responding to his every movement, until he couldn't bear it any longer.

He reached for her mouth, so she could also savour the powerful taste of their mixed essences, and kissed her forcefully. Her tongue didn't respond to him, but when he lowered himself and thrusted into her with as much strength as the first, though with less impatience, her tongue came suddenly to life and fought his. Her sex felt as hungry as he was, clasping him relentlessly, and her nails clawed onto his chest vengefully. He let her tongue take the upperhand, while he plunged into her, again and again, in a new crescendo of blazing blood, rushing madly against his skin and, through that thin frontier, against her own inner skin.

Unfortunately, kissing the woman didn't mix well with the more powerful thrusts he was aiming for, so he broke the kiss and put more energy into his movements. He lowered himself over her, allowing her to once more bite into him, and she did so with all her might. He nearly purred as he felt the skin break and her wet mouth slurping and moaning over his blood. He shoved into her harder, making her whimper a stifled cry. And again. And again. And yet again. Then he stopped fully inside her, once more at the edge. The woman stood perfectly still, shuddering under him, her breathing fast and shallow, the saltiness of her tears joining the exciting saltiness of her sex, whose muscles took the pause to unwind slightly. He wouldn't be the one crossing the edge, though. The woman would push him over herself this time.

He let a hand slid down her back until it reached her bottom; then slowly, purposefully, he slid the middle finger through her crack, causing the woman to let an apprehensive whimper as her muscles contracted again, but this time in degrees, as his finger inched onward. Panting with the effort to hold back a while yet, he paused the advance, only to make one final sudden movement that got the tip of his finger nearly inside her. The woman practically lept away from his hand, opening her legs even wider in a vain attempt to escape his finger and pushing herself onto him with such constricting strength he came immediately.

He pulled out of her, panting, and was careful to roll onto his back instead of letting the woman handle his weight. He felt better than he had in months. His lust was now calm enough for him to think again.

He glanced at the woman. Her hands had fallen into abandonment again, her bloodied fingernails getting a mischievous grin to his face, remembering the scratches that had already healed all over his back. Her legs were still open wide, awaiting his return and he almost accepted their invitation. He made himself comfortable, resting on his side, a hand propping up his head. Her eyes were closed, a thin stream of blood – his blood – having left a still wet trail from the corner of her mouth to her jaw line. It tickled his nose and he licked his lips. Not many women bit, at least not hard enough to actually break the skin. Letting his tongue play on his fangs, he got a sudden urge to bite her too. Once more, he stood quiet enough, waiting for her to open her eyes and look at him. He studied every muscle in her face, waiting for the shuddering that would foreshadow an action from her part. Any action.

Creed sighed as he had time to think. He wasn't particularly happy when he had to admit she wasn't good enough for him to be ready for a third round in a single hour. I mean, one thing was to fuck through a bunch in a row; another was getting hung up on a single woman… who didn't even do anything besides opening her legs, let's face it. And scratch and bite, although that didn't really count. And as he tried to wait patiently, something that usually thrilled him, since it was basically waiting for his prey to make a movement that would get him back inside her narrow... He groaned. There was the proof. He couldn't make a simple hunt comparison without getting his dick in the way! In the very least his name. After all, that was what had led to this whole thing, wasn't it? The stupid fantasy of having her call his name, begging for more, only she hadn't once said his name since he'd got her in the house. She hadn't said anything, really, and right about now, he'd even take a simple 'hey, why did ya stop' or something. So why the hell didn't the woman just say something? Or just open her eyes and look at him? Or whatever! She wasn't sleeping; her breathing told him as much.

Refusing to let her stupid motionlessness ruin his good mood, he approached her and kissed the corner of her mouth, where his blood, mixed with her saliva, was drying. It was the slightest of touches – he barely got a proper taste of anything – and the woman held her breath with a quiet gasp, her eyes shutting down fiercely. He pulled back and waited. Surely she would open her eyes next. Why wouldn't she?

"Hey." His voice was harsh with annoyed impatience. "Ya gonna say somethin' already?"

She held her breath again. Well, why wouldn't she! Why didn't she just hold her breath to death while she was at it? Then her eyes fluttered open and she stared at the ceiling for a moment before sliding her head to the side, slowly (why wouldn't it be slowly?), until their gaze met. She seemed peaceful, though slightly apprehensive, and Creed gave her a few more moments so she could take some initiative and say anything.

He should have guessed it was a waste of his time and patience, though. She just sighed, then slowly closed her legs, clenching her teeth with a light grimace that she held while she too rolled to her side, facing him – things would have taken a certain turn to the worse had she rolled to the other side – and putting both her hands under her face. She didn't face him immediately, and it suddenly hit him that perhaps she was just tired, not to mention sore. The fact he hadn't thought of it earlier proved his head wasn't quite right, but the idea was troublesome. After all, if he had claimed her as his woman, he expected her to at least have normal human resistance. Of course she was a virgin – well, had been – and his body twitched back to life. That could explain why she had got tired in an hour... he glanced at the watch on the bedside table. Wait, half an hour? Hopefully, she wouldn't tire as fast next time. And if the worse came to be, maybe he could just coach her into improving her resistance until she could keep up with him, at least for a couple of hours.

"I..." Creed halted every thought at the low voice of the woman, but she seemed to regret it and bit her lip, as if thinking something over. "I don't know what you want dat I say."

That was not what he had expected hearing. To make it worse, his head seemed sluggish and an answer didn't offer himself to him.

"You want dat I say I liked?" That would be a good starting point, yes, but it struck him out of nowhere that she didn't look or sound as thrilled about the beginning of the night as she should. "Pois bem, it was violent and I..."

"I wasn't violent!" Creed sat up on the bed, shocked at the senseless accusation. "When the hell was I violent?!"

Maybe he hadn't been gentle – well, he wasn't particular gentle at anything, was he? – but to accuse him of violence!? The woman hissed slightly as she also got up and gazed straight into his eyes, decidedly, almost sternly.

"OK, is like dis: I know I ruined everything when I went away from Wausau and involved me wid de X-Men. So I know dat what you said uh… you know, dat you give me de best night of my life, dat I'm hurt but happy… what you said in Wausau. I know dat I can forget dat because I ruined everything. Fine. Great. So, I'm hurt and I'm not happy. What more you want dat I say?"

He didn't quite know what to say to that himself. He hadn't been thinking about any of what she'd just babbled about. In fact, it was just dawning on him she hadn't enjoyed it. And that she blamed it on him. Because he'd been violent as some sort of vengeance about...

"Ya ain't got no idea what violent is."

Irbis breathed in and covered her face for a moment. Was she going to turn on the water works? But then she took her hands away, looking at the ceiling as she exhaled. Oh, yeah. There were tears making her eyes shiny all right.

"Look, you got what you wanted, right?" When she glanced at him, there was indeed a tear trying to trickle down her face, and she shook her head. "I'm not crying. I just have something in my eye, ok? What is important is dat you happy, ok? OK."

Fine, so he should have realised that normal action might go a bit overhead with a virgin. It wasn't like he was an expert on that field anyway, since he preferred them savvy. It still gave her no reason to accuse him of violence. In front of him, eyes closed, the woman was trying very hard to hold back the rest of the tears.

"It ain't my problem ya didn't like it. T'was great fer me, an'that's all I cares about."

His own voice riled him up. It sounded sulky and when the woman said "yes, I know" with the dismissiveness of a 'duh!' he blurted with a snarl: "Then why the hell are ya buggin' me with it?"

The woman glared enticingly at him. "Den why you ask me? You want me to say what? Dat I'm pain so you can be happy dat you got back at me and I paid de price for going to de X-Men? Fine! It hurt, I hated and I'm still in pain now. Happy?"

Creed's good mood was officially ruined. It didn't matter that the woman had made sense; if anything, it only made it worse. She was looking down at her fingers, teeth clenched, fighting against the need to cry with every ounce of her strength. It was obvious she was going to fail spectacularly though, and that was something he was not going to put up with no matter what.

With an impatient grunt, he got off the bed and left the room.

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