"I will be here
When you think you're all alone,
Seeping through the cracks
I'm the poison in your bones,
My love is your disease
I won't let it set you free,
Til I break you."

—The Devil Within
Digital Daggers

True to his word for once, Betelgeuse was still there when Lydia awoke the following morning. This was a rare occurrence. Even when he was home reliably, he was usually up and about long before her, leaving her to redress the bed and prepare for the day by herself, usually only coming to greet her in the kitchen once breakfast was cooking.

That routine was shattered in his extended absence. Lydia didn't know what to do with this; Betelgeuse present, readily available, not making a mess of the kitchen, expecting anything from her, or simply gone. She didn't have any responsibilities. None. Nada. All that was expected of her was to tell him when to let go, and she didn't see that happening any time soon.

Instead, she reached carefully over his snoring form to pull on the tassel that controlled the canopy until they were shielded from outside light. Properly shaded, she was quick to return to snuggling, settling her head atop his bicep and molding her nude form back against his the way it was before she roused. Only now there was an erection pressing against her lower back that hadn't been there before.

A deep, throaty grunt crawled up his throat, as though he were waking, and one of those meaty hooks went pawing blindly toward her chest.

"Beej," she giggled with tired, early morning energy, cautious of rousing him further in case he wasn't already there. "Go back to sleep. It's too early."

He slept, which he didn't often do, but he knew if he left his mind active it would drive him to do something he'd regret. Like breaking his promise and leaving the bed too soon. Instead, he willed himself to sleep, holding his precious wife against him through the night.

It was warm as he started to stir, her soft, warm flesh pressed against his in a comforting way. Only half-awake as she closed the curtain, he groped at her, grunting and seeking out her soft breast. His hand found its mark and he squeezed gently, sighing.

Go back to sleep. It's too early.

"M'not sleepin'…. jus' closin' my eyes." He let out a deep, guttural snore. He dozed a while, in and out of consciousness. Each time he stirred, Lydia was still there, tucked back against him lovingly. Finally, he started to stir for good, his hips rocking against her smooth backside and a low, gruff muttering of her name left his lips.

Lydia dozed off just as easily as he did, staying there more solidly than her deceased bedmate. When he came humping against her, though, with deliberate, heated strokes that took their time running his length along her silken flesh, her name tumbling from his lips with guttural intonation… well. There was no staying asleep then.

"Beej," she hummed back, stretching into his locked arms in a way that encouraged his thrusting, neck arched to the side to give him access to the sensitive skin there without him even having to give an indication that she should do so.

"G'morning," she muttered with a dark shade of lust coloring her drowsy tone. "You're insatiable."

It wasn't as though she wasn't dripping and ready to go for him always, but she wasn't about to make such bold moves on him while he was sleeping. Not that he would ever complain if she were to pull something like that.

"This is all I want to do all day," she declared with a light heart, melting back into her interested husband's gyrating hips, sliding and writhing with him easily. Like there was nothing to it. "Just lay in bed with you… and kiss… and fuck."

Done daydreaming aloud, she tilted her neck at the end of a particularly enthusiastic swing of his hips, landing a sweet peck on his jawline.

"I simply can't think of anything else I would rather do. Can you?"

He drifted drearily back to consciousness as his wife shifted and arched against him. Jade eyes flew open as she proposed the agenda for the day and he grinned. He knew he'd be forgiven.

He rocked his hips more firmly against her, groaning softly as he brought his lips to the offered column of her neck. "Can't think of a single damn thing… God, ya feel good."

She always felt good, but there was something about her when she first awoke that made her pliant and soft in a way she wasn't when she was awake enough to think. He sucked at her skin, his clawed hands tightening where they sat, one on her wais and the other at her shoulder where his arm wrapped across her chest.

"If ya really wanna get fucked, yer gonna need to help me out here."

He nuzzled playfully behind her ear, nipping gently. "My mistress hasn't told me I can let her go yet…" His voice was dark with arousal. He could let her think she was in control for a while.

Of course he would be forgiven. It wasn't even a question. Lydia didn't have it in her to hold grudges. He already had her forgiveness long before he was ready to ask for it, before he even knew he should. In truth, Lydia didn't even recognize there was anything to forgive. She was just happy to be with him.

"Mmmm…" she hummed long and slow, jaw slacking as he introduced his teeth to the eager, open-mouthed kisses trailing the length of her neck. "Nope."

She was much too happy wrapped up in his arms the way she was, much too comfortable and secure to give the word now. He was everywhere; behind her, around her, growling in her ear, calling her silly things like "mistress." It made her feel safe and protected, well within her rights to indulge a playful side that had been buried under stress, grief, and other such unpleasantries.

"I think you can fuck me just fine like this."

A strategic twist of her hips had her swollen, still-dripping netherlips sliding along his morning wood teasingly, proving her point with definitive sass.

"If you can't…" she turned her cheek against his bicep, trailing little baby kisses and tracing the bulging muscle there. "Well. Sounds like a lack of determination on your part."

Little brat.

He growled, rocking and shifting against her, chasing the warm, wet heat that she'd teased across his straining erection. He tightened his hold on her, lifting slightly and shoving a knee between her legs to spread her open. Finally, he seemed to get the angle right and sank into her in one slow push. She was probably sore from their galavanting the night before. He could be gentle.

He sighed contentedly as his hips met her plush ass, his teeth sinking into her neck slightly. "How's that for determination, baby? God, ya feel so fucking good…"

With her head pillowed on his arm, it was easy to press his lips to hers, reveling in the softness of her as he slowly started to thrust into her.

She groaned as he impaled her to the root, a luxurious throaty sound, pulling her slowly and meticulously onto him until there was nothing left to give her. The stretch was just as sweet as always, made even better by the perfect cage of his arms. Illusions of dominance aside, she was his and he would take care of her. When he came for her lips she sacrificed them easily, opening her mouth to exploration and playing lazily with his snake-like tongue when it came to wrestle.

Her movements were restrained in this position, but this wasn't much different from any of their other trysts, so Lydia didn't mind. She would do what she could to be an active participant.

While they kissed, he used his hips to withdraw, then tightened his arms and pulled down at the same time he thrust back, resulting in a hard, deep lunge that had her gasping into his mouth. She was small and easy to manipulate even without his substantial strength, so fucking her like this was easy— like making love to a tiny, convenient interactive sex doll that returned kisses and made delightful sounds.

That the doll thought she was in charge only made it that much cuter.

She was lax, pliable in his arms. He couldn't remember the last time they'd taken lovemaking at such a slow pace, or if they had ever done so. His tongue lazily tangled with hers, his hips steady in their pressing and pulling into her. She seemed convinced that she was still in charge of their romp.

Adorable.

One hand risked releasing her shoulder in favor of finding her breast, squeezing and pressing into her flesh hungrily. He pulled away to let her breathe, pressing his forehead to hers. Twisted around as she was probably wasn't good for her neck, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

Still partly asleep, his voice was gruff and low as he muttered praises to her, murmuring words of love and adoration. She was the most fragile thing he'd ever owned, and he was loathe to risk breaking her again so soon after the night before.

He sighed happily against her, rocking his hips into her impossibly deeper, soft grunts leaving him on each press into her tight channel, her internal muscles clenching and pulling at him. "God, baby I ain't gonna last… you're too good to me…"

Lydia wasn't anywhere near orgasm, but it didn't matter. She didn't have to come every time, and she certainly got more than enough last night. The flesh between her legs was raw and tender, clinging hotly to his girth as it worked relatively gently at opening her back up for him.

Flexible, she was able to stay twisted for him with little effort, just as eager for the closeness as he was. Going as far as to encourage the awkward position, she cupped each of his stubbly, chubby cheeks in her soft palms and pulled him closer, rubbing her petite nose in a loving, intimate gesture along the wide, crooked thing taking up the center of his face.

"S'okay," she hushed, brushing a soft, tongueless kiss across his slack lower lip. "You can come."

His masculine pride was tangible to a point of toxicity, but maybe this permission would set him at ease to abandon such a venture.

"Come for me, baby," she crooned, taken by the intensity of the moment, copying almost verbatim demands he had growled at her before but in a much sweeter light. More of a helpful suggestion than an order. "Come."

He leaned happily into the gentle rubbing of her nose on his, a grin splitting his lax mouth. Her little assurances were cute. He liked that she thought he needed permission.

He bore down on her, rolling her onto her front without freeing her from his arms. After all, he hadn't been told yet. This little game was too much fun to give up. His hips bucked into her roughly, giving up on his illusion of gentility in favor of working himself into an orgasm.

He grunted as he came, rucking her up the bed with force of his questing hips. "Fuck, Lyds… that's so fuckin' sexy… God damn." Emptying himself into her, a dark thought crossed his mind. Had he still been living, she would surely be pregnant by now. He groaned at the thought.

He had no real desire for children, but seeing his little wife swollen with a child of his own making would no doubt be a spiritual experience. He shook himself, shoving the thought aside as he peppered kisses over her shoulders and the back of her neck. "Ya need some help, babes?"

She was much more vocal in the last portion of their rutting than she was at the beginning, surprised, shrill cries forced from her throat with each animalistic thrust. The brutality aggravated her soreness, but not enough to take away from pleasure. If anything, the resounding pangs built on the snowballing pit of sensation in her gut, pushing her toward a precipice.

Then, he came, bathing her womb with a fresh flow of cool seed that balmed some of her residual ache.

Ya need some help, babes?

As interesting of a proposal as that was, Lydia was fresh out of orgasms. Nope, he had used them all up the previous night and there were no more to be found, thank you very much. She kept this thought to herself, not wishing to rile him into accepting a challenge she had no desire stake.

"No thank you," she trilled in a humdrum, breezy way, ever polite. With closed eyes and a serene smile, she basked in his affection, well aware that she had yet to release him from his obligation of holding her. Rarely did she have any power in their relationship and she had every intention of milking this for all it was worth.

"Maybe later… mm… this is nice."

He was still hard inside her, pushing her into the mattress with his weight, but not enough to hinder her breathing to a point of discomfort. Just enough remind her how big he was… how strong… how easily he could crush her if he wanted to…

"Beej," she questioned with short breath, her lungs beginning to protest the extra pressure, "if ask you to rub my back will you keep holding me when you're done? It hurts."

"Of course. Today's anything ya want, babes." He sat up, carefully adjusting as to not pull free of her body just yet. Rubbing his hands, a sweet, floral scent emanated from them.

Smoothing his hands down her back, a warm oil was left behind, easing the way for him to press his thumbs into her sore muscle. He sighed softly and worked his way along her spine to begin with, then out over her hips.

He was fully prepared to give her a day of pampering. She'd earned it, after all. He leaned down to kiss the back of her neck sweetly. "How's that, kitten? Feel good?"

Shameless, raptured moans spilled unbidden from her lips as he kneaded all along the tensed expanse of muscle on her back, all the way from the nape of her neck leading into her hairline down to the curve of the ass he was mounting. Those big hands she loved so much were perfect for this. They covered large areas effortlessly, drawing pleasurable mewls as they pressed and pulled and squeezed her into a pile of mush.

"Oh, Beej," she gasped as if they were already fucking. They were, but really that was only an incidental. "So… good… Oh, God…"

When he leaned over her, using his weight to force those oil-slicked hands up the line of muscle on either side of her spine, it pushed his cock back in until the meaty based gave her a nice stretch, making her arch and release a chest-deep cry, huskier than her usual high-pitched moans.

The sounds she made were truly sinful. He could feel his cock twitch inside of her as she moaned and arched against him, a new sound pulled from her lips. He so loved finding new things to make her tick. He continued his massage, working over her back once more before sliding up to hire shoulders, his thumbs pressing firmly onto the back of her neck. He kept his weight there a moment, relishing in how small she was.

He sighed as he released her, moving down, and down until he was working his fingers into her hips, his thumbs just brushing the top of her velvety ass.

He couldn't help but rock slowly. Today was hers, so she'd say if she wanted him to stop fucking her. Right? Right.

He discovered a euphoric medium ground between trying to sate his unquenchable lust with careful rocking motions and keeping up his obligation to treat her abused muscles with a strong, expert touch.

He had done this before.

This was no novice massage. Nevertheless, Lydia was beyond petty things like jealousy when he was rooted deep, fucking her slow and good like a proper groveling husband.

"Oh, fuck…" Familiar heat was pooling in her belly and Lydia didn't necessarily mind. He was very convincing when he wanted to be. Maybe she had room for another orgasm.

She was clenching and unclenching around him, her tight heat fighting between exhaustion and the stimulation his gently rocking hips provided.

He pressed harder into the flesh of her ass, pulling the round globes apart a moment to admire the view before moving to her thighs. He always enjoyed a massage— giving and receiving— but he couldn't remember ever having someone melt under his touch the way Lydia did.

He worked back up her spine, pausing to work out any residual knots he could find, his cock twitching eagerly inside of her. "Mm… god, you feel so nice. Your skin is so soft, baby… Anywhere else hurtin' ya? Daddy'll fix it…"

"Beej," she gasped, twitching, repeating his name like a prayer as he kept on with his delicious torture. Hadn't she asked him to do this? "Oh, Beej… Beej…"

Anywhere else hurtin' ya? Daddy'll fix it…

Lydia was a hodgepodge of physical maladies, beaten and bruised, chewed up and spit out by her ravenous husband and his particular appetites. But, any complaints she might have had blanked upon him asking, every part of his being already well invested in delivering a deluge of pleasure.

"Harder," she demanded, bashful and purposefully vague to allow him to interpret the demand any way he wished. "God— fuck— baby… ugh!" His hips were slinging against hers in a solid tempo now, no longer hiding his thinly veiled intent. Again, she couldn't really blame him.

"Please!"

Harder.

There she was. She'd been getting wetter and wetter as their little game went on, and she seemed to finally be fed up with pretending that she wasn't going to orgasm that morning.

He was a gentleman after all. You always had to take care of your lady. And she wanted to be taken care of.

His hands found her hips, steadily rocking into her at an angle he knew she liked. With her hips pulled up off the bed just far enough for him to thrust smoothly.

"God, there we go… come on baby…" His full body massage was lacking, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He reached around her to caress her tired mound, his thumb sliding firmly over her clit. "Cum for daddy…"

When he started up in earnest, abandoning the massage in favor of keeping a firm hold of her hips for leverage, she whimpered beneath him, liquefied muscles trying and failing to tense and arch properly into the position he wanted her in. The impulse was visceral, an instinctual animal response, but his powerful massage had left her momentarily incapacitated beyond making a limp reach for pillows and fisting them feebly. Now, she much more closely embodied one of those convenient little sex dolls, sans some of the interactivity.

The touch to her clit pushed her over the edge. She didn't want it, but she did. But she didn't. It wasn't entirely clear. The race for carnal pleasure was irresistible. However, she was incredibly hypersensitive down there, to the point that when his rough, calloused thumb came petting, it sent borderline painful electric shocks pulsating out through the rest of her boneless body, helpless to do anything but lay there and take it.

"Can't," she gasped near the end of her needles-n-pins orgasm, her husband was still keeping up tempo straddled and thrusting into the choking, wet crevice between her thighs, chasing his second peak of the morning. Sluggish and weak, she batted at the hand still fiddling with her worn-out core.

"No more," she begged in between hard thrusts, stuck to the broken way of speaking she was reduced to when he took her like this. "Too much. Please!"

His poor girl. He really had been rough on her the last few days. When she swiped at him, he obediently pulled away from her, satisfied that he'd managed to bring her over the edge despite her objections.

She was a mess. Oiled and limp beneath him, she was like a rag doll, her arms and legs splayed weakly on the soft sheets. "Aww, baby. Ya done for now? Still want me to hold ya?" He snickered, knowing that she likely wanted his hands nowhere near her.

He waved a hand and the large bath in their connected bathroom started to fill with heady, rosemary-scented water. "Alright, alright. Up ya get. I'm done messin' with ya… for now."

With great effort, she managed to flip onto her back after he separated from her, heaving breaths elevating her chest.

Still want me to hold ya?

"Yes," she pouted with a bit of a whine, lifting shaking arms up to him in an indication that she expected to be carried. Bitterly, she remembered the way he refused to last night, how deeply it had stung. She didn't say he could let go of her. He was cheating.

He chuckled and pulled her into his arms, pressing a kiss to the pouting lips firmly. "Anything you want, kitten." He lifted her easily, keeping her pressed against his chest like a tired child being carried to bed.

In the bathroom, he considered his options. He didn't like baths. Water as a whole was on his blacklist, but she hadn't exactly told him he was allowed to let her go.

Cruel vixen.

He took a deep breath and climbed into the bathtub, grumbling unhappily as he settled in with her on his lap. The tub was large enough to be considered a small swimming pool, but he dutifully held her to him, his hands roaming her back. "There. Holdin' ya. In the bath of all places. Ya happy yet?"

"Yes," she repeated with a tiny smile as they settled in, snuggled up to his chest, perfectly content. He hated it in here. She knew. Still, she indulged the selfish desire to stay close to him for several long, perfect minutes before even thinking of freeing him of his obligation, content to remain curled against him and submerged in the steaming, fragrant water forever…

Or, until guilt kicked in. When she glanced up, blinking herself awake from where she was in danger of dozing off, she saw a deep scowl twisting up his face. It effectively killed her smile.

"Okay," she sighed with audible disappointment, gently extricating herself from the prolonged embrace. "You can stop."

Immediately, she set to work dragging a wide-toothed comb through the ends of her tangled locks to help disguise how very badly she wanted him to stay. Mussed as it was, it would take some work to get the wildly disarrayed mane back in order for washing. If she tried to shampoo now, it would only make it worse.

He all but bolted out of the water, dry and clothed in a matter of moments. He didn't go far though, simply hovering over her as she started to comb out her hair. He would never understand women. He leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead.

"Don't look so sad, babes… when yer all cleaned up you can settle back into bed and I'll go get yer pup for ya."

A friend of a friend had sent him a message that the baby hellhounds were ready to go, docked and trimmed and big enough to leave mom. Maybe a new baby would cheer her the fuck up.

"Whatcha think yer gonna name 'em? Ya want a boy or a girl?"

"Puppy!?"

That did the trick. Like flipping a switch, she perked right up, having completely forgotten the late-night promise he made to her when she was emotionally ravaged and half-conscious.

"What kind of puppy? A dead puppy?" Stars lit up her eyes, the girl veritably charmed by the prospect of a permanently small, cold ball of fluff and love.

"Oh, I don't know about a name… I'd have to meet him first." Him. She didn't know she wanted a boy until the pronoun formed so easily on her tongue. "A boy, I guess. So Percy can have a brother."

Said cat, sensing a disturbance in the atmosphere, was lurking on the outskirts of the room, ears pinned flat to his skull while he wore a singularly dour expression.

"Then I'll have three boys," she grinned up at him as she slipped down to wet her detangled mane, thinking herself very cute for making this connection. "Third time's the charm, right?"

As she lathered shampoo, something he said earlier finally sunk in, dragging her heart down into her stomach.

"Wait… I don't want to stay here," she argued hesitantly, wary of upsetting him, but still terrified at the prospect of waiting alone. Again. "I want to go with you. You promised."

Right. She wouldn't remember that, would she?

He smiled and nodded as though his mind were made up. "Little brother it is. Comin right up."

His heart sank at her pleading request to come with him. "Oh.. babes. This is a rough part of town… we could say I'm actually rescuin' this pup, so… I don't want you gettin' hurt."

An idea came to him and he quickly whipped one of his watches off his wrist. "Here." He reached for her hand, securing the much-too-big band around her delicate wrist.

"This will move in time with me. I won't be gone longer than an hour on this clock so you'll know when I'm comin' home. How's that? Huh? You can time me and everything."

Her breath quickened, eyes growing larger to signal the potential for another panic attack. He was leaving. Heartbeat thundering, she trembled as he offered up his own watch and strung the cracked leather band around her wrist, speaking with a gentle, low tone meant to placate her.

"I'll be good," she pled again, voice cracking with hopelessness, the girl already aware that his mind was made up on the matter. "I'll s-stay out of the way…"

The watch-bearing wrist was curled up close to her collarbone like a precious treasure as Lydia shrunk, vision blurring. Her splintered mind flashed back to the days spent here alone, wandering the halls like a lost spirit, waiting and waiting and waiting with no end in sight. Nausea swelled in her gut and quite suddenly she felt that she might get sick all over his suit if he didn't move.

"You said 'never'…"

Never again. No matter how dangerous. Was this another punishment?

"Shh… shh, kitten it's okay…"

He ran his hands through her smoothed hair, leaning in until he could put his forehead to hers. "Breathe for me. That's it… " He ran his hands over her arms gently, willing her to calmness.

"This is the last time. I swear. I need ya to do somethin' for me while you're here, okay? I need ya to watch the clock, and if I'm not back in the hour I quoted ya, you can look into your ring and call me three times. Just like the good ol' days. Got it?"

He didn't want her to break down again, but be also didn't want to take her to the litter. He'd end up with all of them for sure, and he wasn't really sure he wanted the one he'd promised her. "And think of names! Hey… how am I gonna bring you a baby if ya ain't got a name for him, huh?"

Before, Lydia hadn't felt entitled to call for him, fearful of disrupting the imperative mission he was on. It had been so long since she tried summoning or banishing him that way that the fact that she even could had slipped her mind, this momentary lapse going unhelped by how thoroughly the message was hammered in that his name was off-limits.

"O-okay," she stuttered at the end of his list of easy to follow requests, forcing herself to calm for his sake. Just one hour. That wasn't so bad. She was being silly. While waiting for the minutes to tick by, she could exfoliate and lotion herself, make the bed, maybe do her makeup if she had time to spare once all that was done. He would like it if he came back and she was wearing one of those pretty, colorful dresses.

If he came back.

She blinked then shook her head, trying ineffectively to rid of the insidious thought.

"I like Baphomet," she offered after doing her best to swallow down the anxiety, forcing a smile as if to say see? I'm okay. I'm not crazy. "Or Dagon… maybe Ifrit…"

"Those all sound real pretty, babes. One hour." He pressed a kiss to her lips and was gone.

He appeared outside a building that may have been a warehouse. Maybe still was on the other side. He hardened his expression and shoved his hands deep in the pockets of his trench coat, wandering in as though he owned it was just checking things out.

Inside was a barrage of activity, men screaming and shouting, the scent of booze and smoke thick in the air. In the center of the makeshift arena, a pen had been constructed of corrugated metal, two giant, snarling beasts dialing it out in the middle.

He winced. As cruel and unusual as he was, he'd never held well with the torture of animals. And at the core of them, that's all Hell Hounds were. He'd been here before. The last time Theodosia had whelped. The entirety of her last litter had been sold off to sanctuaries and people legitimately looking for pets, though as far as their first master was concerned, Betel had killed every last pup in a fight overseas.

The man in question, Hugo, was a hulking figure in the corner. Theodosia was his prize bitch, and she sat in a kennel to his right, panting and whimpering. When she saw Betel she stood, howling in greeting. She knew he meant her puppies no real harm.

Hugo grinned, holding out his arms. "There he is… good ol' Betelgeist, back for another litter!"

He grimaced. "Can't afford the whole lot this time, Hugo… I'll just take three." He dug in his pockets for the cash he'd saved up, handing it over in exchange for access to the whelping room. "Gimme a bitch and two studs. Whichever three ya think are gonna be best."

Hugo reached into what appeared to be a fireplace, pulling out four squirming bundles of black and orange fur. "Here ya go, Betel. Throw in an extra… I know you'll go through 'em."

Betel let out an inaudible sigh. One more pup out of the ring. He took them and tucked three into his pockets, which sent them straight to a farm that he was in contact with, where an elderly old woman was delighted to have them fall into her lap.

The largest of the boys was tucked into his lapel, whimpering and whining, his tiny ears still healing from being docked. Lydia wasn't gonna like that, but too bad.

"Thanks, Hue. I'll send ya the results when I get 'em back."