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I despised that her blood made me throb.
I would never forgive myself for committing violence toward the one person I loved, even as it drove me into such delicious, despicable darkness.
But in that darkness, as her whimpers became pleas, and her legs gave out—as I impaled myself deeper and deeper—we somehow became one.
Just one.
No longer my body and her body but ours.
Us.
All the good, the bad, the sick, the twisted, and the wrong.
I took her and fucked her and with no space between us, no secrets to hide, no curses to utter, light cracked in the blackness.
A transcendental light. Luminous and iridescent, soaking into my very essence, knotting me to her for eternity.
I felt her as she reached her pinnacle.
I was her as she stopped breathing and gave everything she was to that final crest of pleasure.
A gush of wetness around me. A rush of searing heat. Her body didn’t just come, it erupted, coating my pounding cock in her orgasm and shoving me face first into mine.
My climax started in my toes and shot all the way up my spine and into my heart.
We rode each other as the waves of her release consumed me. We became the same ocean where those waves crashed. The same tragic sea where sex somehow shifted from physical into profound.
I felt her in my soul.
I had no idea what was happening.
No idea how to stop it.
Stop the pull of her. The call of her.
I gasped as the first pulse of my orgasm spilled.
Blinding, blistering.
I couldn’t breathe as every synapse arrowed between my legs and exploded.
I came.
Goddammit, I came.
I filled her up.
I coated every inch.
Our shared releases oozed down her legs, making our connection sinfully slippery.
I roared as pleasure became pain, and pain became pleasure, and I couldn’t survive the intensity anymore.
It kept going.
Kept pulsing.
And when I reached the end, I collapsed against her, panting, sweating, fucking changed and completely broken.
