The cruiser's headlights pierced through the pitch blackness of the rural highway, faintly illuminating the "Highway Patrol" badge gleaming on the driver's left breast. It was the perfect disguise, the stolen uniform, the stolen vehicle, even the stolen life of the man he'd replaced.

Remmick enjoyed the kill, the way the blood had pulsed, warm and thick, into his waiting mouth. Now, he was on the hunt again, the thrill of the chase, the promise of a fresh meal, coursing through him.

He'd chosen his next victim carefully. A lone car, a sleek black sedan, its taillights a distant glow. Remmick had been following it for miles; the human behind the wheel was completely oblivious of the predator stalking them. He flicked on the flashing red and blue lights, the siren a low, mournful wail that echoed through the silent night.

The vehicle slowed, then pulled over onto the shoulder of the road. He watched with amusement, a flicker of fear in their movements as they killed the engine. Remmick savored the moment, the anticipation building with each passing second.

He turned off the siren and lights, not wanting to draw any unwanted attention, then stepped out of the vehicle. The cool night air didn't affect him as he moved with a predatory grace. His heavy footsteps approached the car.

Remmick could smell you now. The faint, and sweet, floral scent of your perfume mingling with the underlying aroma of your fear was intoxicating.

~~~

The moon hung low in the night sky, casting its ethereal glow over the deserted Highway. You gripped the steering wheel of your compact vehicle, your knuckles were white as you focused on the empty road ahead. You'd been driving for hours, the silence broken only by the soft sounds of your radio, and the loneliness that was beginning to weigh on you.

Most nights, you were no stranger to solitude, but tonight, the quiet felt heavier than usual. The outfit you had chosen to wear was thankfully comfortable for this lengthy drive, a simple white blouse and a black mini tube skirt that reached mid-thigh. You had spent the majority of your evening at an after-dinner party for your job, and the dress code was surprisingly lax.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sudden blare of a siren coming from behind. You cursed, your heart leapt into your throat as you glanced at your speedometer—you hadn't even realized you were going over the speed limit.

"Fuck!" You cursed and sighed in frustration.

Panic flooded your system as you pulled over; your hands trembled as you turned off the engine. The vehicle's flashing red and blue lights were blinding, that is, until whoever was inside turned them off. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as you pushed the button that controlled the driver's side window.

You rolled down the window, stopping at the halfway point. The cool night air brushed against your skin as you waited for the officer to approach. A sudden, rapid knocking on the window startled you. Your eyes were wide with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity. He leaned down, his face close to the glass, a charming smile plastered on his face.

He was alarmingly attractive. His presence exuded an aura of power and danger, though his demeanor was deceptively calm. The uniform he wore fit his broad shoulders perfectly, the fabric rustling as he moved. He watched with a hidden predatory gaze, his fangs ached with anticipation. You were exactly what he needed—alone, vulnerable, and unaware of the true nature of your predicament.

"Good evenin', ma'am. Do you know why I pulled you over?" He asked. His voice was smooth and commanding, carrying a thick southern accent.

You shook your head in response to his question. Your heart raced as you met his gaze, your breath catching in your throat. Something was unsettling about him, something that made your skin prickle with unease.

"I-I'm sorry, officer," you stammered. Your voice was barely above a whisper.

He feigned a sigh, a practiced gesture. "You were speedin', ma'am. Sixty-five in a fifty-five zone." He paused, letting the information sink in. "License, registration, and proof of insurance, please."

You fumbled in your purse, your hands slightly shaking as you retrieved the requested items and held them up to the gap in the window. He took them, his fingers brushing against yours, a deliberate touch that sent a jolt of electricity through both of you. He savored the moment, the subtle shift in your expression, the way your breath caught in your throat.

He examined the documents, pretending to scrutinize them. He now knew your name and address, thanks to the stolen police database he had access to. Remmick knew you were alone, that you lived a quiet life, and you had no one waiting for your return. Perfect.

Remmick handed you back your belongings, watching as you put everything away. His eyes quickly scanned over your outfit, lingering on your exposed thighs and low-cut blouse.

"I'm really sorry, I didn't realize—"

"Step out of the car, please," he interrupted. His tone was firm, but laced with dark intent.

You hesitated, your fear warring with your instinct to comply. He noticed the flicker of confusion in your eyes, the hesitant and nervous smile that played on your lips as it slowly vanished. He knew he had you. He could taste your fear and the sweet, metallic tang of your blood that called to him.

Slowly, you opened the door and stepped out onto the dirt shoulder, your short frame slightly trembling under his intense scrutiny. Remmick slowly circled you, the fabric of his uniform rustling with every deliberate step.

"You're hidin' somethin', ain't you?" His accusatory tone was low and dangerous as he looked you up and down.

Your brows furrowed in confusion, "What? What do you mean?" You asked, your voice barely audible. You hadn't expected a traffic stop to go this far. You knew you had nothing illegal in your vehicle.

He watched you, the anticipation building, the hunger gnawing at him. Tonight, he was going to enforce the law, his own law, the law of the night. The hunt had begun.

Remmick explained that he'd need to cuff you while he conducted his search to make sure you weren't carrying anything dangerous. You didn't protest as you turned around, not that you really had a choice. He quickly retrieved his handcuffs and put them on at an unnatural speed that you assumed was due to his experience in the field.

Your arms were now behind your back as he then led you to the front of your car and placed his hand between your shoulder blades. With a gentle push, he bent you over the hood of your vehicle. Remmick could hear the frantic beating of your heart, he couldn't help but smirk at how easy you were making this for him.

His hands started at your ankles, slowly dragging his fingers up the outer part of your left leg, then he repeated the action as his hand drifted up your inner leg. Remmick took his time as he continued the search on the right leg. Making sure he stopped just below the hem of your skirt.

Then he roughly grabbed your forearm and instructed you to stand up straight. You complied and stood silently, waiting for him to finish. He turned you around to face him before he began again. This time, his hands started at your waist, patting your midsection down as his gaze stayed on your flushed expression.

His hand lightly brushed against your breast as he passed, his touch cold yet electric. You gasped softly, barely audible, your breath quickening as his fingers lingered. The contrast of his cool skin against the warmth of your own sent a shiver down your spine. Your fear mingled with a strange, unexpected arousal.

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips at your reaction. Then, without warning, he palmed your left breast through your blouse, his thumb lightly brushing over the nipple. He paused, his eyes taking in the sight of your nipple that immediately hardened.

The sensation went straight to your already aching pussy, your body betraying your fear with a surge of desire. Your eyes fluttered closed as he did the same to your other breast, but this time he pinched the nipple. A sharp gasp escaped you from the sudden jolt of pain that soon morphed into pleasure, then your eyes flew open. You could feel the wetness growing between your legs, and you involuntarily squeezed your thighs together.

The scent of your arousal filled his nose; he had to suppress a growl. You felt your panties become damp as he pinched the other nipple, making you yelp softly. Telling him to stop was completely pointless; you were at his mercy, and deep down, a part of you loved that. If you ran, he'd more than likely catch you. The cuffs made sure you couldn't fight back. Not to mention the other selection of weapons he had readily available.

Remmick noticed the subtle shift as you squeezed your thighs together. "You like that?" He whispered huskily, laughing when you turned your head as you felt your face grow warmer.

Suddenly, you felt something cold and hard against your calf; you quickly glanced down to see him holding a Baton. Your heart raced as you watched him slowly drag the end of it up your leg, over your knee and up your inner thigh. He stopped just below the hem of your skirt.

Then he continued trailing the Baton up your thigh, causing your skirt to lift and expose more of your skin to his hungry gaze and the night air. He didn't stop until the skirt was bunched up around your waist, leaving you fully exposed. Your black lace panties are now on display. You jumped when he tapped your thigh.

"Spread 'em." He ordered as he hooked a finger into your panties, pulling them away from your soaked cunt. You could feel how wet you were as the cold air hit your slick folds.

Your mind was lost in the haze of pleasure and confusion that you almost didn't hear him. You slowly spread your feet, giving him better access to you.

"Fuck, drippin' already? Someone's excited." He purred.

Before you could answer, he spun you around, bending you over the hood of your car. The cold metal bit into your exposed skin. He used the tip of his Baton to trace the outline of your pussy through your panties. You gasped when you felt it push against your entrance through the thin fabric of your underwear.

Remmick chuckled, his eyes glowing a deep crimson that you couldn't see as he pushed the Baton so it was barely inside you, eliciting another sharp gasp.

Then, not caring if your panties were in the way, he roughly thrust it inside. A soft moan escaped you, the sensation of the hard object forcing its way in made your body tremble.

He slowly pulled it out before shoving it back in hard. Then again, and again. You squirmed against the hood, groaning and panting heavily. The long and hard Baton roughly knocked against your cervix every time he thrusted it inside, fucking it into you as deep as possible. The force was enough to cause your thong to tear. You could feel the fabric being pushed deeper into your cunt.

You whimpered in sync with every deep push, your legs trembled from the overwhelming sensations. He suddenly changed the angle, making sure to target your G-spot. You felt so exposed in this position, and you knew he was watching, so he could see everything.

Without warning, he pistoned the Baton into you, your back arching as the ridged length hit every sensitive spot. A broken cry left your parted lips, and you could feel a familiar deep pressure rapidly building with every push inside. Your entire body shuddered, eyes rolling back, as he watched you squirt on the hood of the car.

"Look at you," he snarled, watching you writhe as the wetness coated your inner thighs.

Remmick quickly withdrew the Baton, admiring the mess he had caused you to create. Then he yanked your panties from your depths and discarded them. You felt his fingers weave through your hair at the nape of your neck before yanking your head back as he leaned over you. His erection pressed against your exposed ass.

He shoved the Baton in your face, you could see your arousal that coated the object as it glistened when the moonlight hit it.

"Clean it," He ordered. His voice was firm. "Do a good job, and I'll reward you." Now he pressed it against your lips.

You didn't hesitate and immediately obeyed. Your tongue glided up and down the Baton that smelled of you, moaning softly as you tasted yourself.

Remmick's eyes gleamed with approval. "Good girl."

Once you were finished, he tossed it aside and firmly grabbed your waist before effortlessly lifting you. Which was something you weren't used to experiencing. Despite your short stature you weren't light, weight-wise. Most would consider you plus-sized. At first, you struggled against the handcuffs, afraid of what he was attempting to do, but then his voice broke the silence.

"Shhh, darlin'." He whispered in your ear; his southern drawl sent a shiver down your spine. With one arm under your stomach, he held you up, while the other situated your legs so they were bent underneath you, and your ass was in the air.

You were now on the hood of your car, handcuffed with your back arched, and ass in the air as your head rested on the cold metal.

His hands firmly gripped and spread your ass as you felt the warmth of his tongue lash against your swollen clit without warning. You cried out, your back arching as he devoured you; his mouth was relentless. He slipped his middle finger inside, moaning against your clit when he felt you squeeze the digit. The vibrations made you breathless.

"Greedy little thing," he muttered with a throaty chuckle against you.

Then he added a second finger, curling them just right as he sucked on your clit hard. You trembled uncontrollably, your scream echoing into the night.

Your scream dissolved into ragged gasps as his tongue worked your sensitive clit in slow, deliberate circles. The wet heat of his mouth was relentless—every flick sent shocks of pleasure throughout your body.

"Fuck, you taste incredible." He growled against you.

His breath fanned your slick folds as his fingers went knuckle-deep, twisting and stretching you. You suddenly felt his thumb press hard against your asshole, and you let out a sharp gasp from the unexpected sensation.

"You like that? Feelin' me everywhere?"

You couldn't answer; your only response was moans as your hips bucked against his face.

He chuckled darkly, dragging his teeth over clit just to hear you whimper. "Thought so..." His free hand smacked your ass, the sharp sting making you clench around his fingers as you yelped.

"Beg."

"P-please..." You stammered as your voice broke; his tongue plunged inside your cunt, lapping up your arousal. Your eyes rolled back, and you groaned; the feeling was unlike anything you had ever experienced. "God, please don't st—"

"Louder." He demanded in a low growl that didn't sound human, but you were too lost in the pleasure to notice. You suddenly felt him bite your inner thigh, just shy of cruel.

You sobbed as your body jerked and struggled, thighs shaking. Incoherent pleas of desperation escaped you.

"So demandin'." He withdrew his fingers, dragging them through your slick mess before shoving three inside at once. Your body arched violently as your cunt pulsed around his digits. "But I decide when you get my cock."

"Mmm," he moaned from between your legs. His thumb pressed into your ass again, slow and unrelenting, while his fingers pistoned deep inside you.

"Cum for me. Now." Remmick commanded, and your body obeyed instantly as an intense orgasm ripped through you. You came screaming, your vision going white as he fucked you through it.

"Good girl." He purred.

Remmick slowly withdrew his fingers, dragging them through your overstimulated cunt, smirking as he watched you tremble. He brought his three fingers to your lips, smearing your own mess across them.

"Clean it up."

Your tongue flicked out obediently, curling around his fingers, tasting yourself while he watched. His eyes glowed with satisfaction.

Before your brain could register the movement, you found yourself on your back, the metal cuffs digging into your lower back. That is, until he roughly gripped your waist and lifted your lower half so it was slightly elevated.

The sound of a zipper being undone broke the silence; your eyes immediately looked to where his hand was. He quickly freed his thick, veiny cock. The flushed tip glistened with precum as you watched while stroked himself. Your tongue darted out to lick your lips as he firmly gripped the base before stepping closer.

His gaze met yours, and for a split second, you saw red. You blinked, unsure if what you just saw was real or a figment of your imagination. Your heart beat frantically in your chest, and before you could process anything, you felt his rock-hard length make contact with your cunt. A loud wet smack echoed around you both as you simultaneously felt the intense sensation of his heavy cock slapping your slick folds.

A breathy moan left you when he repeated the action, but with more force this time. Your hips bucked involuntarily as he continued teasing you, chuckling darkly every time your body reacted. He stopped to align the head of his cock with your entrance.

"Shit," he groaned as he felt the heat of your pussy against him. "You want more, don't you?"

You nodded frantically, resisting the urge to move your hips, partially embarrassed by your eagerness. Feeling his cock right there was torture and almost unbearable.

Remmick wasn't satisfied with your non-verbal response. "I can't fuckin' hear you." Then, to prove his frustration, he used his cock to spank your cunt again, harder this time.

You whimpered and arched, "Please! Fuck me..."

His hand returned to your hip, keeping your lower half elevated. The fat head of his dick forced your lips to spread, squeezing past your opening as he slowly sank inside. Then he thrusted forward, burying himself inside you, balls deep. You both moaned in unison. The feeling of him stretching and filling you was overwhelming as your body tried adjusting to his girth.

"That's it, darlin'. Just let yourself relax around me." He whispered lustfully as he held your hips flush against him, keeping himself buried to the hilt. Your body had a mind of its own as your walls fluttered around him uncontrollably.

"Fuck, so damn tight." He groans, his voice thick with desire. Remmick had only been buried in you for a minute, and he already knew he wasn't going to last long. Especially with the way your pussy kept quivering around him.

Slowly, he withdrew until only the tip was inside before he thrusted forward. You both moaned in unison as the head of his cock slam against your cervix, the sensation caused your body to shake and arch. He slams deep, the tip of his dick battering your womb, balls flush against your ass as a guttural groan left him.

Eventually, he found a rhythm, making sure to target your deepest part with each thrust. You couldn't help the sounds that escaped you, just like you couldn't control the obscene noises that filled the night every time your bodies collided. You could hear how wet you were as he fucked you roughly.

He let out a growl that sent a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. Your walls continuously gripped him, causing his pace to falter, and you knew in that moment that he was close. You shook your head frantically, your body writhing in desperation, but it was futile.

Remmick didn't care.

"If you keep...squeezin' me like that...fuuuuuck..."

But you weren't squeezing him intentionally, your desperate efforts caused involuntary clenching that only spurred him on.

"You really want me to stop? But your body keeps beggin' for it." He chuckled, watching you struggle.

You whimpered pathetically, trying anything to stop what was inevitably about to happen. Your cunt kept gripping him nonstop, and with a few more rough and deep thrusts, he climaxed. You felt his balls tense against your ass as he grunted, his body shuddering.

Your thighs trembled as his cock pulsed inside you, thick ropes of cum flooded your walls. You gasped, your pussy still fluttering around him, milking every last drop as he groaned low in his throat.

"Shit," he growled, his Irish brogue rough with satisfaction. "Didn't even give me a choice, did ya?"

You whimpered as your eyes unfocused, your thoughts were scattered, and then they fluttered closed. His fingers dug into your hips, keeping you pinned beneath him as he slowly pulled out, watching his cock as it glistened with your slick and his own release.

You moaned softly and forced your eyes open again. Then you felt his cum slowly trickle down your ass. He slid his thumb up your velvety folds, starting from your asshole and stopping once he reached your clit. Despite the unnatural lack of visibility of his facial features, you could feel his eyes were on you as he brought his thumb to your lips.

This time, you didn't need to be told; your lips parted eagerly, wrapping around his thumb as you sucked his finger clean. Tasting yourself mixed with him, salty, musky and undeniable.

He watched before gripping your chin, "Good fuckin' girl."

Then he dragged the head of his cock up and down your slick folds, slow and unhurried. Your arousal clung to him instantly, stringing between you both each time he pulled away.

"You're achin' for it."

He pressed his cock against your cunt, just enough for you to feel the weight, the heat, and the slow pulse of it right against your clit. Your entire body jolted from the sensation.

Smack.

You cried out.

"Sensitive, are we?" He murmured, his voice dripping with amusement. Remmick brought his cock down again against your folds, wet sounds echoing, obscene and perfect.

Smack.

You trembled. Your thighs tried to close involuntarily, he growled low in warning. A sound that didn't sound human, but sent a pleasurable chill through you.

"Keep them open."

You moan as he slides back inside, groaning as he bottomed out. It seemed like you could feel every millimeter of his cock, every ridge and every vein. You could feel the heavy, rock-hard presence pushing against you from the inside. Filling you until there was no space left untouched.

In the back of your mind, you knew you shouldn't be enjoying this, but all you could think about was the sensation of his cock stretching you open as you squeezed him hard with each thrust.

"Fuck, just like that. Look how well you take me." He teased, voice thick with desire as he praised you.

Your moans grew louder, more desperate.

"You like that? Moan for me..." He ordered, gripping your hips so tight it was sure to leave bruises as he pounded into you with a punishing, relentless force.

You whimpered, half-broken and completely his.

Suddenly, his lips were on yours. He inhaled your moans with a deep kiss, sucked down your whimpers, and swallowed your yelps. He didn't stop, his thrusts forcing you to feel his cock, his cum and a lingering, terrible pleasure. Your cunt was practically melting around the thickness of him.

You cried out, your nails digging into the palms of your hands as he pounded into you relentlessly, his hands gripping your hips with bruising strength. You were completely silenced by his rough kiss, his tongue dominating yours as he devoured you with a hunger that went beyond mere lust.

You felt his thumb return to your overstimulated clit. Your body arching into him as he deepened the kiss, sucking on your tongue before pulling away. Leaving you breathless while you panted heavily. He moaned as you fluttered around him uncontrollably. Your breath came in shuddering gasps.

"Mhm, that's it," Remmick whispered encouragingly.

He found the perfect pace and angle, his cock brushing against that sensitive spot inside you in sync with the motions of his thumb on your clit. It wasn't long before you felt the heat and tension building inside, growing rapidly with each thrust and stroke across your swollen clitoris.

"Be a good girl and cum for me." He said as he grinded deep inside, the head of his cock was so deliciously deep. Your body trembled from the overwhelming pleasure every time it kissed your cervix.

Then a blazing heat ripped through you, shooting up your spine and coursing through every nerve as your body locked in place from the intensity of your orgasm. You moaned and whimpered as he fucked you through it, his thumb continued its assault on your sensitive clit. Your pussy quivered and gripped him nonstop, triggering his own climax.

Your pliant body slumped against the hood of your car, and you shut your eyes as they rolled back from the overstimulation. He tensed and groaned, a guttural sound that vibrated through you both as he leaned over you.

His hips bucked once, twice, and then you felt his cock swell and twitch just before the familiar warmth of his release flooded your eager cunt. Remmick's body shuddered against yours from the aftershocks of his climax, his hips still pumping into you at a slower pace.

Remmick could smell your blood as it coursed through your veins. With one hand, he weaved his fingers through your hair and tilted your head to the side. He leaned closer to your exposed neck and pressed his lips against your hammering pulse. A low growl erupted from him as he gently traced his lips on your throat. He closed his eyes and honed in on the muffled sound of your rapidly thrumming heart.

You felt the sharp pain as his fangs sank into your neck with ease, agony mixed with pleasure, while your body shook beneath him. He pulled away with a ragged gasp; his eyes were now visible in the low light, glowing a deep red. His lips curled into a ravenous grin. Something warm and sticky poured from your neck and trickled down between your breasts.

The unmistakable smell of copper and iron made your stomach twist. His mouth was covered in blood; your blood. You tried to scream, but there was no sound. A soft panicked gasp left you as the sight, your body jerked, and the flight response kicked in, but the weight of his body made any movement impossible. You watched in horror as his grin widened, revealing his full set of fangs.

He shushed you as the blood dripped down from his chin. His grip in your hair tightened before he leaned down again, nuzzling against your neck. The sudden feeling of his tongue dragging up from between your breasts and along your throat made you shiver, resulting in your walls squeezing him involuntarily.

"Fuck darlin'..." He groaned against your skin. You felt his flaccid cock twitch, still buried deep inside.

Remmick hums against you, then he drags his fangs along the delicate flesh of your neck. His hum morphs into a deep growl as he starts to drink from you again. Adrenaline flooded your system as the shock of what was currently taking place settled in your mind.

A haze overcame you while he drank, a sleepy and unsettling but oddly peaceful haze. Your eyelids grew heavy. It was immediately followed by the sensation of all the warmth in your body rapidly fading and being replaced by an inexplicable coldness spreading throughout.

Your eyes tried to focus on his blood-stained face when he finally pulled away. You could barely move; you've never felt so tired. As your eyes occasionally fluttered closed, you caught glimpses of him reaching for something from the belt on his waist. Eventually, your eyes focused long enough to register that he was holding a gun.

Before you could react, you saw him raise his hand before he quickly brought the butt of the gun down onto the top of your head. There was an intense, sharp pain radiating from the afflicted area, and you felt yourself beginning to lose consciousness.

You couldn't fight back as he slung you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing. He carried you towards the cruiser's trunk and tossed you inside. His ominous eyes watched you in amusement as you struggled to stay awake, like he was admiring your vulnerability. You couldn't help but cry as he tried to reassure you.

"Shhh... I'm not gon' kill you, darlin'. I think I'll keep you instead." Remmick smiled, his fangs still covered in your blood as you finally lost consciousness, then he closed the trunk and climbed into the Driver's seat. He used the sleeve of the stolen uniform to wipe the blood from his face. The police radio hummed with different voices as he turned on the car. The engine roared to life before he shifted into drive and sped off.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous."

Duff’s words came out in a muffled shudder. His body already twitching from the pleasure that washed over him.

You trace the length of his cock with your tongue. You did it slow at first, going from the bottom all the way to his tip which leaked just a bit of his arousal.

It’s warm on the tongue and leaves a salty metallic taste in your mouth.

This had became a usual routine for you two. You would come over to hang out with your long time friend and somehow always ended up naked. You weren’t sure when things changed but you weren’t complaining.

You moaned around his length. His cock slipped past your lips at the same steady pace you moved, his length dragging against the flat of your tongue inch by inch.

You breathe through your nose and hollow your cheeks out to get the best suction possible. Your tongue still circled and traced against him, your eyes watery from the sensation and cheeks burning.

He hits the back of your throat without meaning to and before long you’re a mess, makeup smearing down your cheeks, lips swollen and red with drool on your chin.

He never intentionally meant to have you gagging and choking so quickly. He’s just so thick and long it happens without him even trying.

Duff thought it was the most gorgeous sight in the world to see you with your lips wrapped around him like they were now, even with the pool of spit dripping down and your face a mess.

He keeps a tight fistful of hair between his hands, tugging on it once he feels himself twitch in your month.

“I’m so close.” He grunts throwing his head back against the wall.

His hips lift off the couch and grind against your mouth. Pathetic whimpers leave his lips as a coil begins to tighten in his lower stomach.

You pick up your pace and take him as deep as you possibly could, gagging slightly.

His grip on your hair is even tighter and he starts to thrust his hips forward. His hips roll lazily against you before he completely pushes you down.

Your mouth is all the way at the base of his cock. Spit drips around your mouth and his skin in thick wads. You can feel how he pulses against your tongue when he shoots hot thick strings of cum down your throat.

Out of habit you swallow every last drop.

Duff doesn’t pull out of your mouth right away. He looks down at you with half lidded eyes, his chest heaving as he tries his best to catch his breath.

For a second as he comes down from his high and he’s staring at you with your lips still wrapped around him, he could swear he’s in love.

He gives you a small smile. The softest of smiles you’ve never seen him give anyone, before the reality sinks deep within his chest.

Love

You watch his face shift as he pushes himself up from the back of the couch with his elbows and moves, your mouth comes off his dick with a loud pop.

You sat there for a second trying to process how quick he had moved but shook it off as it being nothing. You wipe the mess from your face with the back of your hand and give him a smile.

“That was amazing,” You pant “probably my best work yet.” You tried your best to laugh and make a light hearted joke. Duff doesn’t say anything, he just reaches over to the table and grabs his cigarette pack.

You’re still on your knees in front of him trying to catch your breath.

You watch as his hands shook as he lit his cigarette, noticing more how he barely could look down at you like he usually did.

“You good?” You ask with a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

He takes a drag of his cigarette and acts as though he didn’t hear you. Like the cigarette was more enjoyable than any question coming from you.

“Hello,” you say waving a hand in his face and sitting up so now you’re on the couch next to him “Earth to Duff anyone in there.”

You give him another smile when he looks at you. That same ache in his chest from earlier hits and he takes another long hit

“I’m good, yeah, good.” He says it like he has to make sure himself.

His eyes move away from you again, locking onto the tv that played some old show in black and white. One you knew he didn’t care nothing about.

You look at him a little longer. You watch as his knee began to bounce and how his jaw was stiff.

“I don’t think you always get like this after. Or am I just special right now?”

You meant for it to be a joke. You were trying your hardest to shift the mood to how it was when you first got to his place.

Just a second ago his whole cock was shoved in your mouth and now he’s quiet and broody.

The joke got a small huff out of him. It was on the verge of a laugh but not quite there “Don’t start.”

“Start what?”

Your eyebrows furrowed together from confusion. You genuinely couldn’t figure out where all this was coming from

He leaned back against the couch, head against the wall and his cock barely put up.

“Nothin’ alright. It’s not a thing”

You reached for your shirt and finally began to get dressed. A small sigh leaving your lips followed by your own huff

“I don’t think I said it was a thing.”

“Yeah, but you’re gonna make it one.” He muttered, eyes still on the tv.

You placed a hand against his thigh trying to give him comfort

“Duff I just care is all-“

His leg quickly moved until you almost go staggering forward from the jolt, cutting you off before you could get any further with a shake of his head

“It’s just-“ he stopped and exhaled sharply through his nose “it’s just late. I’ve drank too much and that’s all.”

It was a weak excuse and by the way you looked at him and then over at the bottle of vodka that hadn’t even been open—he knew it too.

“You’re not my girlfriend anyways,” he finally said “you shouldn’t be so worried or clingy like this.”

The words stung. You weren’t clingy and yeah you weren’t his girlfriend as much as you wanted to be. You were just the same girl who came over all the time to fuck for the last god knows how long.

You pressed your lips into a thin line and shook your head

“Yeah you’re right.”

Whatever he wasn’t saying lingered in the air thick and heavy. The tension enough to make someone choke but you weren’t about to stick around.

So you got off the couch,slipped on your shoes and went out the door. Not saying another word.

It had been a couple days since you’d last seen Duff.

He called, a lot, but you kept your distance. Even if it killed you a little more each time your phone rang.

You answered once at the start of it.

You told him to drop the broody rock star act and call you back when he came to his senses, then you hung up before he could say a word.

At the time with the anger of him calling you “clingy” and making it clear you weren’t his girlfriend still boiling in your veins, it made you feel proud to stand on your ground.

Now you came back to earth and your senses-feeling more lonely than anything else.

-

You were painting your toe nails and flipping through a page of circus magazine when a knock on your front door nearly made you jump.

It wasn’t a polite knock that you were use to from others in your apartment building. It was hard and impatient, the knock that only meant one person.

You had expected Duff to show up eventually. Did you think it would take this long? Absolutely not but you would be lying if you said you didn’t almost jump up in excitement.

You moved over to the door but stopped mid step. This is exactly what he wanted and all of a sudden that pettiness coursed through your veins like a drug.

“C’mon, I know you’re in there.”

Your hand grabbed the doorknob and you held it there for a minute longer than you meant to. You listened to how desperate his voice was and how he banged on the door some more before you could hear your neighbor screaming down the hall

“What the hell is going on out there?!”

You bit back the laugh and eventually opened the door before your neighbor could chew Duff up.

He stood there leaned slightly to one side like he had been pacing. His leather jacket hung down on one shoulder and his blonde hair more of a mess than usual.

“You look like shit.” You muttered. Duff just blinked at you before scuffing “Nice to see you too. Can I please come in?”

You shrugged “Depends. Are you going to say please?”

Duff let out a breath, dragging his hand across his face like a sign of defeat before a “please” left his lips in a short breath it was almost hard to hear at first.

You open your mouth to shoot him another witty comment—when your neighbor cuts you off

“If he’s not dead in the next five minutes, I’m calling someone.”

You can hear as she goes on about the banging and you snorted despite yourself, pressing your lips together as Duff shots her an annoyed look

You step back giving him room to come in “you’ve got five minutes before she might actually do it herself.”

He didn’t waste a second. He quickly stepped in, having to duck from the doorway being too small for his large frame to fit into like normal.

You shut the door behind him and leaned against it. Your hand rested against your hip and you had a brow raised, waiting on him to break the silence that stretched across you two.

If he wanted to be here so bad that he banged on the door like a mad man, he could be the one to say something first.

Duff exhaled sharply, it was loud and had frustration written all over it.

“I’m sorry.”

You couldn’t help but smirk and moved off the door. You walked towards your room and you could hear his heavy foot steps right behind you.

“Sorry for what?” You flatly asked and got on your bed. You looked up at him, eyes filled with amusement that had Duff’s face turn red.

“For…acting weird and um,”he cut himself off and rubbed the back of his neck as he tried to figure what else to say “For how I acted that night. For everything honestly.”

“That’s not really a full answer.”

You tilt your head to the side and wait. You were going to do everything possible to break him down until he was truthful.

It would be too easy.

He took a step closer until he stood in front of you. It almost took you by surprise when you couldn’t smell alcohol lingering on him. Like he wanted to do this sober and real. It almost made you want to forgive him right then and there

“It all just hit me at one time. I guess the high of it all,” he explained with a soft laugh “the way you looked up at me, the way you look at me in general, I didn’t know what the hell to do with it.”

“With what,Duff?” You pushed more

He stilled for a second. The look on his face almost seemed like he might shut down again. Like he’d swallow it back down and laugh it off.

The easy way out he was use to taking. But he sat down next to you instead. Your bed shifted from the weight and he grabbed onto your hand

“You.” He explained “I’m in love with you.”

He squeezed your hand,calloused thumb rubbing along your tender flesh and he kept going with his words

“I thought if I just… ignored it, or acted like nothing changed, it’d go away,” he admitted “But it didn’t. It just-“ he swallowed, his jaw tightening. “It got worse.”

“And then there’s you,” he added,quieter. “You’re..” he scoffed lightly, like he didn’t even have the right words. “You’ve got your shit together. You’re good. Too good.”

Your brows knit as you finally open your mouth to say something

“Duff-”

“No, listen,” he cut in. It wasn’t harsh, just desperate to get it out now that he’d started. “You are. And I’m not. I’m this” he gave a short, humorless laugh, gesturing to himself

“Thought you deserved better than some screwed up guy who doesn’t even know how to handle being in love with someone without messing it up.”

You didn’t say a word after. You watched as his hand still held onto yours and then you let you out a small laugh.

All the sharp replies and cold shoulder you had planned, making him work for it more and not to give in easy—it all disappeared.

“I had this whole plan in my head,” you squeezed his hand “Cold shoulder, attitude… maybe slam the door in your face again for dramatic effect.”

That got him to laugh

“But it’s hard to stick to a plan when you actually are being so vulnerable.”

You brush a strand of his blonde hair out of his face to make eye contact. His eyes are soft maybe a little sad and it tugs at your heat

“You really think I’m too good for you?” You ask quietly.

He doesn’t answer and just looks down. You place two fingers under his chin to make him look back at you

“Idiot.” You murmured “you don’t get to decide that for me.”

You leaned forward until your lips were on his. You almost forgot how soft his lips were in the little time you were apart.

You moaned against them and wrapped your fingers into the ends of his hair as you deepened the kiss.

His hands immediately found your waist, pulling you forward until you were straddling his lap.

You pull back for a slight second to catch your breath before your lips find his again. His fingers trail up your back and you rock your hips, grinding against him through his leather pants.

You never could control yourself when it came to Duff and you doubt you ever would be able to. Because the way his fingers run along the small of your back and up your spine it’s more addicting than anything you’ve felt before.

You reach between your body’s to undo the button and zipper on your shorts ,one hand still gripping on him as you did so.

You pull back from the kiss

“I fucking love you, Duff.” You pant it out and he grins. It’s the first flicker of happiness that you’ve seen in a while.

And he says it back. It’s natural—not a forced “I love you” or the fake ones guy say to get in your pants.

It’s genuine love.

You keep a steady pace grinding against him and you can feel him harden from your movements. But within a quick second after, he has you off his lap and pinned against the bed.

His long legs dangle off your small bad and you couldn’t help but giggle as you wrapped your legs around his waist.

Duff uses one free hand to reach down and release himself from his pants. His cock immediately sprung free, slapping against his stomach.

He aligns himself up with your slick entrance, rubbing his tip against your slick folds before sinking in.

You let out a breathy moan as he goes deeper, burying himself in until you’re filled to the brim.

“Fuck.” Duff rasps out. He grabs ahold of your headboard with one hand as he begins to slide in and then out.

He knows all too well now what gets you moaning out his name and withering under his touch. His thrust go at a slow speed, going all the way in before pulling until he’s damn near out. He repeats this and each time his pace picks up, his thickness rubbing against your tight walls stretching you out in the most perfect manners

You’re a whining mess below him. Your nails dig at his back and his name spills out your parted lips that just won’t shut.

The noises in your bedroom grow louder. Headboard banging against the wall, skin on skin, breathy little moans, and the most unholy wetness.

Your body grows hot, sweat beads at your forehead and everything is so sensitive it has your head spinning in the most delicious way.

You can feel that familiar tightening in your lower abdomen as you reach closer to your high, pleasure builds insanely in your core that has your thighs shaking.

You grab onto him tightly, his name leaving your mouth in a mixture of a gasp and a cry.

Duff felt the way your walls fluttered and how you soaked his cock with your release.

His pace faltered at that moment. His own legs growing shaky as his own release hit him. He grunted as he gave you one last deep thrust before shooting his warm and thick seed inside of you. He filled you up so much that you could feel pressure as it dripped out mixed with your own cum.

His arms nearly gave out on him and his chest quickly pressed against yours as he rested his forehead against you.

It was quiet for a moment. The only thing that could be heard was the sound of you both breathing heavy as each others high began to simmer down.

When he finally moved his forehead off of you and looked down from beneath his sweat slicked hair, he’s smiling goofy and big.

“Now that’s what I wanted to see the other night.” You teased

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips and he leaned down to steal a quick kiss.

“Remember how I said you weren’t my girlfriend?” He asked with that smirk still on his face

“I do.”

“Well I think that needs to change.”

It was your turn to smile goofy and you leaned up to give him another kiss

“I think I’d like that a lot,” you hum “but you owe me a date after this.”

𝑩𝒓𝒆𝒅 & 𝑩𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒌𝒇𝒂𝒔𝒕

The fire crackled in the fireplace, passing shadows across your face as you hastily jammed the paperback book between your thighs just as the front door opened.

Remmick had returned sooner than you anticipated.

Did he already drink his fill? Usually, when he hunts, he's away for an hour or two at most.

You sat cross-legged on the couch, the book hidden as you pulled the hem of your silk nightgown over your legs to conceal it. Luckily, you were able to cover it before he saw, but you were positive he'd notice your rapid pulse and flushed face.

He entered the living room, his boots heavy on the hardwood floors. "Now, what's got your heart racin', darlin'?" He asked, already circling the couch. His blue eyes locked onto the suspicious book poorly concealed by the fabric of your pajamas. "Somethin' interestin' under there, or you just happy to see me?"

"Wasn't expecting you to return so soon," you murmured, intentionally ignoring his question. "How was your hunt?"

Remmick chuckles as he leans over the back of the couch, his breath fans over your shoulder. "Avoidin' the question only makes me more curious. Now, let's see what's got you blushin'..."

"A book," you reply vaguely, making no move to hand it over.

His hand slides over your thigh slowly, fingertips tracing the hem of your nightgown before slipping beneath to grab the book and quickly snag it.

You watch as his eyes quickly roam over the front cover, then he flips it over to read the back in a matter of seconds.

"Werewolves, darlin'?" He asks in surprise, flipping through pages with amused disdain. "You want somethin' with teeth and claws? Should I be offended?"

"Offended?" You repeat in confusion. "It's a book I forgot I had, figured I'd read it to pass the time by while you were away."

He walked around from the back of the couch until he sat down beside you. Remmick stretched his legs out with a sigh, tossing the book onto the coffee table with a dismissive flick of his wrist. "Passin' time with knottin' werewolf smut? Fascinatin' taste ya got," he muses, tilting his head to study your flushed face. "Though I recon your pulse ain't racin' from embarrassment alone."

"How do you know about...knotting?" You were surprised that he even knew what it was.

Remmick lets out a dark laugh, stretching his arms along the back of the couch. "Darlin', I've walked this earth for a very long time. Do you really think I ain't encountered every flavor of monster under the moon?" His gaze drops pointedly to the book again. "I do wonder why you're readin' 'bout 'em instead of askin' me for a demonstration..."

Demonstration? You blinked before your eyes widened in surprise. A part of you was curious, but you weren't exactly sure if you were ready for the answer. "B-but you're a vampire..." You stammer. How is that even possible?

His fingers trail up your thigh, tracing idle circles through the silk as his smirk deepens. "Oh, darlin'," he croons, leaning in until his lips brush your ear. "Vampires adapt...Evolve." His free hand taps the book cover meaningfully. "Some of us learn tricks from other monsters over the centuries."

You look at him, still a bit skeptical, as he gives you a fanged smirk. "So...you can grow a..."

He catches your hesitation, leaning back against the cushions while his fingers continue their slow exploration beneath your nightgown. "A knot?" he finishes for you, voice dripping with amusement. "I can grow whatever I damn well please. The real question is whether you'd like to see it." His thumb brushes the inside of your thigh. "Or better yet...feel it."

You attempt to flee to the Kitchen, in desperate need of a drink, but you barely make it one step before he grabs your hips and pulls you onto his lap. Your back flush against his chest as his arms wrapped around your waist, ensuring you couldn't escape.

His fangs graze the shell of your ear as his hands slide up your thighs, pushing the silk nightgown higher. "Now where d'ye think you're goin', lil' rabbit?" he rumbles, the vibration against your back making you shiver. "We were just gettin' to the interestin' part."

"Was gonna get some wine," you murmur shyly, gasping softly as his lips brush against your pulse point.

His chuckle vibrates against your skin as his fingers dance along the hem of your panties. "Wine?" he purrs against your neck, fangs grazing lightly. "Darlin', if you wanted somethin' wet, all you had to do was ask." His other hand grabs the book from the table, flipping it open with one finger. "But first—let's hear how them werewolves do it."

The sudden thump of the book landing in your lap made you jump, his voice dripping with wicked amusement. "Page forty-two seems...educational." His fingers tighten on your hips as he noses along your collarbone. "Read it for me, sweet thing. Nice an' slow."

Your breath hitches as you feel the hard ridge of him pressed against your backside, fingers trembling as you flip to the indicated page. The scene describes a werewolf pinning a woman against a tree, and you swallow hard before whispering, "His...knot swelled as he—"

His low growl cuts you off as his hand slides up to cup your throat while his thumb strokes your frantic pulse. "Louder, darlin'," he murmurs, lips dragging along your jaw. "Unless you want me to show you exactly how accurate that description is." His hips roll lazily beneath you, the thick outline of his cock pressing insistently against your ass even through layers of fabric.

Your breath catches from the light pressure of his hand around your neck, and an involuntary shudder goes through your body as his hips roll. You focus on the book in your lap once more.

His chuckle vibrates against your spine, one hand sliding down to palm the plush curve of your thigh. "C'mon now, don't leave me hangin'," he drawls, the faintest edge of his fang catching your earlobe. "Or would you rather I turn you 'round an' show you?" The hand on your thigh drifts higher, fingers dipping beneath lace to tease at damp heat.

You whimper as his fingers graze your slick folds, the book trembling in your hands as you try to focus. "He—he dragged her closer," you breathe out shakily, "his knot already pressing against her—" Your words dissolve into a breathy inhale when Remmick's thumb circles your clit.

"Mm, just like that," he murmurs against your neck, his other hand splaying possessively across your stomach to pull you tighter against him. "Now tell me, darlin'—" His teeth scrape your pulse point. "D'ye think the werewolf made her beg first? Or did he just take what he wanted?"

Your hips jerk involuntarily against his teasing fingers, the book nearly slipping from your grasp as you whimper, "H-he—oh fuck—t-took—" The words come out strangled when his fangs pierce the skin just below your ear in a fleeting, intoxicating sting.

Remmick laps at the twin beads of blood welling up with a pleased hum as he slips two fingers inside, working you mercilessly slow as he turns a page with his free hand. "Don't stop now, sugar," he purrs, dragging his wet lips along your jaw. "Tell me how he fucked her against that tree. How big that knot got when it locked inside her?" His own hips rock up against you, the hard length beneath his trousers already straining.

You could feel how hard he was and it didn't make it easier to follow along with the book. Especially as his fingers continued moving inside you. He held the book up with his free hand and read from the page out loud.

His voice turned sensual, infinitely better than any audible you've listened to as he recited the passage, fingers never slowing their torment. "The beast snarled as he rutted into her, knot swellin' until she sobbed—" His lips curved against your neck, fingers crooking deeper just to feel you shudder. "Sound familiar yet, dove? Or do I need to flip to the page where he pounds her raw?"

He didn't give you the chance to reply, not that you could if you wanted to. The constant rubbing on your G-spot made it impossible as you leaned back against his chest.

His fingers suddenly stilled inside, pressing deep as his other hand tipped your chin up to meet his gaze. "Tell me what you want," he says. His hips rolled again, and you could feel the heat from his cock as it twitched against you while his fingers moved inside.

"You...p-please." You pleaded as he withdrew his fingers.

Remmick's grin turns downright feral as he flips you onto your back in one smooth motion, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand while the other rips away your panties. "So good for me," he praises, then drags his clothed erection against your dripping cunt. "Gonna show you exactly why vampires don't need fur to ruin you."

The firelight casts flickering shadows across his predatory smirk as he leans down to lick up your neck, fingers tightening around your wrists. "But first," he growls against your pulse, hips grinding slow and filthy, "say it proper. Beg me to fuck you with this knot you've been fantasizin' 'bout."

Your thighs tremble as you arch against him, the heat of his clothed cock rubbing just right against your soaked folds. "Please," you whimper, breath hitching when his free hand palms your breast roughly through silk. "Please—" A breathy moan escapes you. "—use it on me..."

His growl vibrates against your throat as he tears his own shirt open with one clawed hand, buttons and fabric scattering across the floor. "There's my good girl," he purrs, dragging his fangs down your collarbone while his hips roll in slow, deliberate circles. Letting you feel every inch. "Now watch."

The sound of his zipper was loud in the quiet room, followed by a choked gasp from you when he finally frees himself. His cock, already slightly swollen at the base, had the telltale bulge of his veiny knot forming beneath flushed skin. "See, darlin'?" He guides your trembling hand down to wrap around the thickening base, his smile widening at your shocked whimper. "Told ya I adapt."

The girth caught you off guard, you were partially worried it wouldn't fit. The heat emanating from it was intense as it pulsed in your hand that barely wrapped around its veiny girth.

His fingers tighten around yours, guiding your palm along the length with agonizing slowness until your fingertips brush the swollen ridge of his forming knot—already thicker than your wrist.

"Oh, it'll fit darlin'," he growls against your lips, the promise in his voice as sharp as his fangs. "Might take some persuadin', but I'll love watchin' you struggle takin' me." His hips jerk into your grip, a bead of precum leaking from the tip as his other hand rips your nightgown down the middle.

"Was that really necessary?" You ask, your gaze drops to the tattered remains of your nightgown.

His laughter sends a shudder through you as he drags the ruined silk off your shoulders, exposing every inch of your body.

"Necessary? No. Fun? Absolutely." His fingers trace the curve of your hip, claws leaving faint trails as his knot pulses against your thigh. "Now—" He presses the weeping head of his cock against your clit, watching you shiver. "Where were we?"

A breathy moan escapes your parted lips as he drags the head of his cock through your folds, smearing precum onto your clit. He grips your legs behind the knee and folds you in half, putting you in the mating press position as he aligns himself with your quivering entrance.

His crimson eyes flare with predatory hunger as he leans over you, dragging the swollen head of his cock through your folds again. This time, intentionally catching on your entrance to tease you. "Gonna make you scream loud enough the neighbors hear." His hips snap forward without warning, burying himself halfway in one thrust as his claws dig into your thighs.

You whimper from the sudden stretch, even though he was only halfway in; he felt thicker than usual, and his knot wasn't even in you yet. You tightly gripped the couch on either side of your hips as you gasped out his name.

His growl vibrates through your chest before he bottoms out with one final thrust, his thickening knot already stretching your entrance wide.

You cry out sharply, nails digging into the couch cushions as the overwhelming stretch burns through you.

"There we go," he breathes, pausing to let you adjust while his claws trace idle patterns on your thighs. "Just breathe, darlin'. Gotta make sure you can take all of me before I start ruinin' you proper." His lips graze your shoulder as his hips roll in slow, torturous circles, each movement pushing his cock deeper.

The pleasure and pain blurred together until your vision whites out for a second. "Fuck—no warning?" You gasp, thighs trembling as you try to arch away from the unbearable fullness, only to be pinned harder against the couch.

He chuckles darkly against your throat, his claws dig into your hips, holding you immobile while his knot pulses inside. "Where's the fun in warnin'?" His tongue drags along your jugular before biting down just shy of breaking skin. "Besides—" He adds, rolling his hips in a filthy, shallow grind that makes you whimper. "Ya took it so pretty."

"At least let me adjust first, I'm not used to—"

He thrusts shallowly, cutting you off mid-sentence. "Adjust?" he says against your pulse, fangs scraping sensitive skin. "Darlin', your cunt's already suckin' me in deeper—think your body knows what it wants better'n you do."

"Just d-don't make it b-bigger...please." You beg softly, walls fluttering uncontrollably around him.

He drags his lips up your throat, hips rutting in slow, random intervals. "Shhh," he murmurs, the thickening base of his cock stretching you wider with each pulse, "you're beggin' the wrong way. Should be askin' me to fill you up." His claws dig into your thighs as he pulls out halfway, only to slam back in with a wet snap that makes you cry out. "But since you asked so nicely..." His knot swells abruptly, locking inside your tight cunt.

"Remmick!" You cried out, arching beneath him. The head of his cock grinds against your womb, adding to the intense pressure and pleasure.

His groan rumbled through his chest as his knot slightly inflated, locking you together with a vulgar wet sound. "There we go, love," he purred in approval. "Nowhere to run, just gotta take every inch like a good lil' mate."

The firelight illuminated your trembling, sweat-slicked body as he leaned back just enough to admire the way you stretched around him, crimson eyes blazing with desire and something primal. "Christ, look at ya," he breathed huskily, thumb swiping through the mess of slick and precum where your bodies joined. "Already tryin' to milkin' me dry."

Your fingers gripped the couch cushions when he pulled out to the swollen ridge of his knot, only to slam back in with a brutal snap of his hips. The cry that tore from your throat was equal parts pleasure and protest as your vision blurred. "Oh, f-fuck—too much—"

He pinned your wrists above your head with one hand, the other gripping your thigh hard enough to bruise while his hips pistoned in short, punishing strokes that forced out medium-pitched moans. "Nah, just right," he growled against your pulse, tongue lapping at the sweat beading along your throat. "You're takin' it perfect." His knot pulsed violently, locking deeper with each thrust as the couch groaned.

Remmick dragged your leg over his shoulder, the new angle forcing his cock impossibly deeper until your breath came in ragged sobs. "That's it," he purred as he watched your stomach bulge obscenely with each thrust. "Gonna fuck ya full, make sure you feel me for days." His knot stretched you to the brink as precum leaked from where you were joined, the scent of sex thick in the air.

You couldn't form words anymore, only gasping and writhing as the pleasure coiled tight in your belly. Every drag of his cock against your oversensitive walls pushed you closer, the pressure of his knot stretching you just shy of pain, making your thighs tremble violently. The large knot rhythmically grinds against your G-spot while simultaneously rutting as deeply, the head of his cock repeatedly slamming into your cervix.

His growl vibrated through your chest as he felt your walls flutter around him, claws digging into your skin while his thrusts turned erratic. "There it is," his voice was thick with want against your sweat-slicked throat, fangs scraping where your pulse hammered. "Gonna cum so hard your pretty lil' cunt milks this knot dry." His hips snapped forward one last time, burying himself to the hilt as his knot swelled impossibly larger, locking you together.

You arched beneath him with a broken cry, your body tightening around his cock in rhythmic pulses that dragged a groan from his throat. He watched, mesmerized, as tears of overstimulation streaked your flushed cheeks, your pleasure so intense it bordered on pain while his knot stretched you beyond reason. "That's it, sweetheart," he murmured against your parted lips, hips grinding in slow circles to prolong your climax. "Take it all."

Your vision whited out as the overwhelming fullness tipped you over the edge, nails raking down his back as your thighs trembled violently. The stretch burned—god, it burned—but the relentless pressure against your deepest parts sent shockwaves of pleasure through you until you couldn't tell where the pain ended, and the ecstasy began.

"Remmick—" His name came out as a shattered sob when his knot pulsed inside you again.

His fangs sank into your shoulder as your cunt clamped down around him, drinking your moans like fine wine while his own release ripped through him—hot, thick spurts flooding your depths as his knot locked you together. "Fuck," he groaned against your skin, hips jerking erratically to press even deeper. "You're ruinin' me." His claws traced the curve of your waist possessively, savoring every twitch of your oversensitive body.

He finally stilled, panting against your throat while your walls continued to flutter weakly around him. "Christ," he murmured, tongue swiping lazily over the bite marks on your shoulder. "Think I might keep ya like this—all split open on my cock, takin' every drop." His knot pulsed lazily inside, still too swollen to pull out.

His arms slid beneath your trembling form, dragging you flush against his chest as he rolled his hips in slow circles. Just enough to make you whimper against his shoulder. "Still sensitive, love?" he asked, fangs grazing your earlobe while his knot ground against your oversensitive walls. "Good. Wanna feel you tremble 'round me a while longer."

You closed your eyes as the friction sent sparks dancing behind your eyelids, and you clutched at his shoulders, your breath hitching with each deliberate movement. "T-too much," you panted out, nails digging into his back when his knot pulsed inside you again, the swollen ridge stretching your tender flesh.

He dragged your body tighter against his chest, one hand splaying possessively across your lower back while the other tangled in your hair. "Fuckin' perfect," his breath fanned against your pulse, hips grinding deep enough to make you mewl and pant. "You're takin' me so sweet—gonna keep ya stuffed full like this all night."

"A-All night?!" You stammer, whimpering every time he moved.

"Mmm, all night," one hand slides down to palm the slight swell of your belly where his cock stretches you. "Though I do wonder..." A sinful smirk appears as his hips grind deep. "Accordin' to legends, a Vampire's seed is potent."

Your breath hitches as his fingers press into the slight bulge where his knot pulsed inside you, thighs trembling at the implication. "Y-You—" You gasp, only to cry out when he rolls his hips in slow circles, his knot dragging against your G-spot. The thought alone sends an unexpected jolt of heat through your body.

"What's wrong, darlin'?" he taunts, hips grinding deeper just to feel you shudder. "Don't think your womb can take it?" His knot pulses again, thick and insistent.

Would it even take since it's not your fertile window?

"Oh, it'll take,'" he promises. "Gonna breed ya so full," he growls against your parted lips, hips grinding in slow circles that drag ragged sobs from your throat.

Your thighs tremble violently around his hips as another wave of pleasure-pain crashes through you, the stretch burning gloriously while his knot pulses in time with your fluttering walls. "Oh god—" you moan, vision blurring when his fangs scrape your collarbone possessively, "y-you're too deep—"

The growl that rips from his throat sounds more beast than man as he pins your hips flush against his, the swollen base of his cock visibly stretching your abdomen. "Shhh..." he whispers against your damp throat, tongue tracing your erratic pulse while his claws draw possessive circles around the bulge in your belly. "Just takin' what's mine—you're womb's beggin' for it, darlin'."

His next thrusts lose all semblance of control—short, brutal snaps of his hips that make the couch groan beneath you. "Fuck," he snarls into your throat, fangs sinking deeper into your skin without warning as his knot pulses.

Remmick's grip turns bruising while he fucks into you with animalistic desperation. The scent of blood mingles with sex as his fangs reopen old bite marks along your throat, his voice dropping to a guttural growl that vibrates through you. "Mine," he snarls between ragged breaths, hips pistoning erratically as his knot slides deeper with each thrust. "Mine to fuck, mine to breed, gonna pump ya full till it takes." His cock pulses violently, hotter than flesh should be.

Tears streak your flushed cheeks as you claw at his back, thighs quaking around his hips while his thrusts grow more erratic. "R-Remmick—" you gasp, voice breaking.

"That's it," he says, his claws digging crescent marks into your hips. "Take every fuckin' inch—gonna paint your womb white."

Remmick's crimson eyes reflect nothing but primal hunger now, pupils blown wide with rut-driven need as his knot throbs inside your trembling body. "Christ, you're perfect," he rasps against your throat, tongue laving over your frantic pulse. "You weren't made for mortal men. Gonna ruin you for anyone else." His hips roll in short, desperate circles, dragging ragged cries from your throat with each movement that drags his swollen knot against your deepest spots.

His growl reverberated through your chest as his hips snapped forward one last time, burying himself to the hilt, his cock twitches wildly, locking you together with a wet squelch. "Fuck," he gasps against your throat, claws sinking into the flesh of your hips while hot spurts flood you deep. "Take it all."

Remmick's knot refused to soften, still thick and throbbing inside your quivering body despite having just came. He chuckled against your throat when your walls fluttered weakly around him again. "Christ, still suckin' me dry," he groaned, rolling his hips in slow circles that made you whine.

He moans as your walls involuntarily squeeze him sporadically, hips thrusting forward even though the knot made it difficult for him to move, but it only added to your pleasure. His primal need to breed and claim you intensified.

"Still so fuckin' tight," he hissed against your collarbone, lips tracing possessively over old bite marks. His knot pulses violently inside, stretching you wide while cum leaks from where you're still locked together.

He intentionally grinds against your womb, making you cry out and convulse around him.

"There's my good girl," he praises, hips grinding slow and deep. "Takin' my knot like you were made for it." His claws trace idle patterns on your trembling belly where his cock stretches you.

"Christ, look at ya," he snarls. His knot pulses rhythmically inside you. "Already stretchin' so pretty 'round me, wonder how much deeper I can go." His hips roll in slow, deliberate circles that grind his cock against your cervix, drawing a shattered moan from your lips.

His claws dig into your thighs as he drags your body impossibly closer, the wet squelch of your joined flesh obscenely loud in the room. "Gonna fuck you so deep," he purrs against the damp skin of your throat, tongue lapping at your frantic pulse, "Your womb'll know my shape better'n yer own."

The swollen head of his cock rests right against the opening to your womb. The slit leaks precum inside your cervix. With every twitch or pulse, his cock pushes harder.

"Christ, your womb's suckin' me in," he snarls against your skin, hips rolling in deep to make you whimper.

Your cervix flutters weakly against the swollen head of his cock, drawing a guttural moan from his throat. His voice drops to a dark purr. "That's it—take every fuckin' drop like the greedy lil' thing you are."

His growl turns inhuman when the tip of his cock unexpectedly slips deeper, barely stretching your cervix as you cry out. "Fuck," he moans, hips jerking instinctively.

Remmick’s girth forces your womb wider until the swollen tip breaches completely. Your choked sob vibrates through his chest when the first ridges slip past the tight ring of muscle. "There we go, sweetheart—takin' me right where I belong."

The overwhelming pleasure makes you cum harder than before, your muscles quiver and suck him deeper.

"Look at you," he croons, completely infatuated. "All stuffed full'a me, your womb's suckin' me in like it knows what it's for."

His hips piston erratically, his sac draws up tight against you, heavy and aching as your inner muscles milk him relentlessly. Remmick’s breath hitches when your cervix flutters weakly around the head of his cock, dragging a ragged snarl from his throat as the first hot spurt floods your deepest part.

"Didn't know I'd breed you this deep—fuck, fuck—" The words dissolve into animalistic grunts as his hips jerk uncontrollably, pulses of thick seed flood your womb in relentless waves, far more than any human could produce.

He groaned. The sheer volume makes your abdomen bulge visibly, each hot spurt accompanied by his feral growls.

Remmick snarls between ragged breaths, hips jerking erratically as another thick spurt floods you deep. "Can't...stop." His voice breaks as your cervix milks him relentlessly, drawing out his release far beyond human limits.

The overwhelming stretch of his knot, the relentless pulse of his cum flooding you, was too much. Your vision tunneled as your thighs trembled violently. A strangled gasp escapes you before your entire body goes limp, consciousness slipping away beneath the tide of unbearable pleasure-pain.

He notices the moment your lashes flutter shut, your body going pliant as his claws dig possessively into your hips, his growl darkens when he feels your pulse stutter under his fangs. "Oh no ya don't," he rasps against your throat, grinding his knot deeper into your unconscious heat with a wet squelch. "You don't get to faint 'til I'm done with you."

Consciousness flickers back in waves, first the scent of iron and sex thick in the air, then the unbearable stretch of his knot still pulsing inside you. A weak whimper escapes your swollen lips before you can stop it, thighs trembling against his relentless grip.

"Shit, even out, yer cunt's beggin' for more," he snarls, hips rolling in slow circles that make your belly bounce with each movement. "Gods, you're greedy even in your sleep, ain't you? Takin' me so deep—" He punctuated the words with a sharp thrust that made you jerk, your inner walls fluttering violently around him.

"There's my good girl," he purrs. "Thought I'd have to fuck ya awake. Ready to make me a daddy, darlin'?"

Your breath comes in shallow gasps as consciousness fully returns, the overwhelming fullness making your thighs two where they're pinned beneath his hips. "C-can't—" you choke out, voice wrecked, only for another thick pulse of his release to flood you deep, the wet heat drawing a broken sob from your swollen lips. Your fingers rake weakly against the couch beneath you, nails catching in the fibers as your oversensitive walls flutter helplessly around his monstrous girth.

"Aw, darlin'," he purrs, rolling the sensitive clit between his fingers with deliberate slowness, "you say that like it matters." His hips grind with a wet squelch, the dual sensation wrenching a ragged scream from your throat.

Your vision whites out as another brutal orgasm tears through you, your womb clamping down violently around him while your thighs tremble uncontrollably. The sheer overload of sensation leaves you gasping like a landed fish, your swollen lips forming silent pleas as his seed floods deeper with each pulsing throb of his monstrous knot.

He crashes his mouth against yours in a sloppy, possessive kiss. His tongue invades with the same primal hunger as his cock. The taste of copper and sweat mingles as he swallows your moans, fangs nicking your lower lip when you whimper. "That's it," he rasps against your swollen lips, "take it all like the greedy lil' cum slut ya are."

Your vision tunnels again as white-hot pleasure lances through you, every nerve ending screaming beneath his relentless assault. The swollen head of his cock grinds impossibly deep with each shallow thrust, your abdomen visibly rounding further with every hot pulse of his release. Your thighs twitch weakly where they're pinned beneath his hips, your voice reduced to breathless whimpers as you flutter helplessly around him.

Consciousness slips away like water through your fingers. The last thing you register is the predatory gleam in his crimson eyes before darkness swallows you whole. The firelight flickers low by the time his rut finally subsides, his knot deflating just enough to slip free with an obscene wet sound as you lie limp and spent on the couch.

It's morning when you stir again, every muscle screaming in protest as you blink at the canopy above. Realizing you were in your bedroom. The scent of sex and iron still clings to your skin, your thighs sticky with dried fluids as you attempt to sit up, only to collapse back with a whimper. Your abdomen feels strangely heavy, fingertips brushing over skin still tender from use.

The door creaks open before you can attempt moving again. Remmick’s silhouette framed against the hallway light with a silver tray balanced effortlessly in one hand. The rich aroma of scrambled eggs, bacon and honeyed tea cuts through the musk of spent passion as he steps inside, his smirk visible even in the dimly lit room.

"Awake at last," he says, setting the tray beside you before perching on the bed’s edge. His knuckles brush your swollen lower belly with deliberate possessiveness. "Figured you'd need replenishin’ after takin’ me so deep."

Your breath hitches as his touch reignites phantom pulses of pleasure deep within your abused womb, the soreness between your thighs flaring hot when you shift slightly. "Y-you—" The words dissolve into a hoarse whisper, your throat raw from screaming. Your fingers clutch at the sheets as you gaze up at him, your legs tremble at the slightest movement.

He lifts a forkful of eggs toward your lips; his other hand splayed possessively over your lower belly where his cum still weighs heavily inside. "Open wide, darlin'," he says, crimson eyes glinting with dark amusement when you hesitate. "It's time for breakfast." His thumb brushes your sensitive and swollen clit, making you jolt. "Or shall I fill that pretty mouth another way?"

The rain fell slantwise, thin and relentless over the busy Mullingar train station. You stood beneath it with your small canvas suitcase clutched to your breast, the Aran shawl was drawn tight over your head and shoulders. The heavy cream coloured wool was knitted by your mother’s own hands in the long winter nights when you were a teenager, it was meant to keep the cold at bay, but instead the rain had found its way through the intricate cables and honeycomb patterns, each drop sending sudden chilly sparks against your scalp and red cheeks. You did not flinch. You had learnt through your entire life that some discomforts were the simple price to pay if you wanted to stay alive.

Your elderly father stood beside you. You now could only see what was merely the shadow of the same man who once carried you on his shoulders through green muddy barley fields. The hollows in his cheeks were deep enough to hold a shadow even at noon, the skin beneath his eyes was bruising purple. He had purposely starved himself so that you, your ill mother, and your baby sister might have something to eat.

The British had seized the land away years ago, you remember the day he travelled to Dublin Castle to sign the papers, you were old enough to remember the bailiffs with rifles. It was a spit to your face after the Great Famine had already taken so much. Your two older brothers had gone to America a while ago, you started to forget their faces. There were no letters after they were gone, only silence and the vast wild Atlantic Ocean in between.

You should have been a wife by now. A wife and mother, but instead you were a woman in your early 20s, still unwed and the only mercy left for you was a convent in Dublin. You were still pure, only God knows how. You remember how a couple weeks past your 17th birthday, a group of English soldiers tried to corner you into the back of the local postal office. They were not brave enough to rape you. You remember their faces, their hands groping and caressing without a single feeling of gentleness. You felt dirty and sorry for yourself for weeks on end after that incident.

The Loreto Sisters would feed you, clothe you, teach you, and in return you would devote your life to services forever. Your baby sister, just turned eight, was going to be sent to Wales. She was to live with your childless aunt who married an English lord and “she’ll only speak the Queen’s English, as God intended,” your mother whispered the night before. You heard her voice cracking. You had not cried then and you were not intending to cry now.

The third-class carriages waited by the platform, your mind wandered as you heard the iron and wood groaning under the rain. You saw men, starved, coughing, ill, they all looked like ghosts still wandering the earth. Your gaze was caught by one of them in particular. He even walked differently. He was not much taller than the rest, but his broad shoulders set him apart, he stumbled around as if the ground was moving on purpose under him. You noticed the sweat glistening over his brow bone despite it being a frozen afternoon. His skin was flushed, as if he had been working for days on end on the field, under a merciless irish sun– it had been cloudy and rainy for weeks now. The mud caked his boots and the hem of his trousers. He looked like he had been trapped in a bog before crawling into the train carriage. Something in you tightened.

“Do not stare, a stór*,” your father murmured, his voice was rough “It’s rude.” (*«My treasure» as gaeilge.)

You lowered your eyes at once and felt the shame of being scolded rushing to your already rosy cheeks. The shawl slipped a fraction and a fresh drip of rain slid down the back of your neck and down your spine. You shivered. Not only from the cold.

The hurried footsteps approached you, it was Father Ó Riordan, the priest of your local parrish, his coat was flapping around with the rainy wind and his face was red from running to get the train on time. He clapped father on the shoulder and spoke low and quick in Irish as he blessed him and gave him the mercy of God. Your father reached out to his pocket, reaching for a few silver shillings, pressing them into the priest’s palm. 

The train’s whistle shrieked and Father Ó Riordan took you by the elbow with surprising gentleness and guided you toward the same third-class carriage where you had previously seen the drunk, ill and starved men get in. The smell of peat smoke, turf, wet wool, unwashed bodies and illness drove you nauseous instantly. You hesitated at the narrow wooden bench.

“I thought we were sitting somewhere better,” you said, hoping you wouldn’t sound ungrateful to the man escorting you to a better future.

The priest gave a small and tired laugh. “Your father only gave me a couple of shillings, child. We are not a charity.” He settled himself across from you, fixing his soutane. “The Lord travels third when that is all that is offered.”

The train lurched forward then, you fell quiet. The wheels clacked over the rails in a relentless rhythm that made your bones and teeth rattle. You opened the little canvas case, it was already fraying at the seams. You took out the thin, yellowed pages of the Penny Dreadful your eldest brother had stolen from a sleeping British soldier the night before he sailed to the East Coast of America. It was all you had left of him. The text and images were printed in black ink. You bent your head and tried to lose yourself in the story. You noticed a shadow across the open page. 

“Varney the Vampire,” Father Ó Riordan read out loud with this thick West Cork lilt. “You might want to be rid of those pages that invite the enemy in, child. The devil has many names and many stories.”

Your fingers tightened on the cheap yellow paper. Shame again, the blood rushed maroon to your cheeks. How would it feel to defy someone like him?

“Má seadh*,” you breathed out. (*«So be it» as gaeilge.)

You slid the pages back into the torn lining of your bag, your fingers brushing the rough fabric of the canvas as though it was your mother’s hand. You were missing her already. The priest nodded once in satisfaction before turning his gaze to the rain-streaked window.

Outside, the midlands rolled past in wet green and brown patches, the hills were barely visible, blurred by the mist and fog. You were leaving this, you were going to forget your father’s hollow face and your mother’s quiet weeping, the barley fields and the boggy turf at your doorstep. That convent in Dublin awaited, ready for the slow erasure of your own name until being called “Sister” was all that remained of you.

Then, from the shadowed corner near the exit door, your attention was caught by a low broken moan, followed by the shiver of cloth against wood. Your gaze lifted before you could even stop yourself. And there he was- the same man from the platform. He was curled tight into himself like a wounded animal, his coat pulled over his knees, his back leaning against the splintered wall of the carriage. You noticed the grey ash stained his skin beneath his auburn stubble. The sweat on his skin was still beaded under his brown and sliding down his temples. His broad shoulder shook with every ragged breath he took. As you stared you suddenly felt like you could smell him all the way from your seat, the dried blood, old and coppery. The smell caught in your throat, clinging to all your senses. The stench was unimaginable and you could not look away. His eyes were half closed, every painful moan that escaped him carried the same helplessness you had heard in your father’s coughs during the worst of the winters.

Your chest ached. That man was dying on that train. You could only think of the days where your mother would split the last crust of bread three ways while your father turned his face to the wall. This man looked as though the hunger had never truly abandoned him. You reached into the small cloth bundle tucked inside your suitcase. It was one of your neighbour’s parting gifts- a fresh thick slice of brown soda bread wrapped in linen.

“Father?” you whispered, getting the priest’s attention “Is there anything we can do for that man?”

Father Ó Riordan’s gaze followed yours. His mouth became shut and thigh beneath the grey bristles of his whiskers. For a moment the only sound was the clack of the train’s wheels and that man’s fevered whimpers.

“Pray for his soul,” the priest spoke. “Pray so our good Lord takes him quickly, before his journey grows any longer and painful. His body is lost, let his soul fly home to God.”

“Kyrie Eleison.” You replied dumbfounded as his words struck you like a heavy slap across the face. You could not believe that the man who had taken your father’s last coins to save you, a man who spoke words of mercy and kindness, would condemn a sick living soul to die alone. You, who had taught obedience since the day you could speak. You, who were bound for a convent life and death itself. You stood.

You caught the overhead rail to steady yourself. Father Ó Riordan’s hand held your arm as if to pull you back, but you walked beyond his reach. Kneeling a careful man's length from this dying stranger, close enough to help him but far enough to keep the rules of modesty. You held the slice of bread out to him.

“Please,” you murmured. “ Take this.”

He stirred. His eyes were glassy. The smell of putrid blood and dirt were stronger than before. How could anyone stand being around him in this state? You did not flinch and instead slipped the Aran shawl off your own shoulders and placed it gently across his chest. The wool was still carrying the warmth of your own body. You were not bold enough to let your fingers touch his body. 

“An aingeal thú?*” he cracked his mouth open, whispering as his hands barely held the slice of soda bread. (*«Are you an angel?» as gaeilge.)

“Níl mé*,” A small smile curved your mouth. (*«I am not» as gaeilge.) No one had ever looked at you like that. Not like a burden, but like someone holy and tender enough to come and ease the pain of living. “Do you have a name?”

“Remmick.” He answered your question almost immediately.

“May I pray for your salvation, Remmick?” You stared at him, his face had seen many lives, you thought.

“I beg you not to.” He replied as you rose from his side quickly, your cheeks were burning and you rushed to return to your seat.

“You foolish child,” Father Ó Riordan’s face had gone stony as he began schooling you in a loud voice. “Foolish and dangerous that was. The Sisters will be hearing of this. The world is full of sin and sickness, you just can’t be saving every lost soul you meet on the way…”

You folded your hand over your shaky lap and lowered your ashamed gaze as the good woman you were meant to be. The scolding took over you for the set of your journey, through the long miles of boggy fields and stone walls, past the smaller train stations where more hollow eyed passengers climbed aboard. Yet beneath the constant yelling of the priest, your heart beat in a new found rhythm. Your shawl was gone and now you could feel the old seeping through your thin clothes and into your bones. Remmick had fallen quiet since, he clutched the now half eaten slice of bread against his chest. His breathing became steadier.

You pressed your forehead to the cold, rain streaked glass and closed your tired eyes. You finally cried.

The narrow damp bedchamber started to feel more like a vast tomb each day. Only one week. One week had passed since the train had carried you through the grey veil of rain in the midlands to an even greyer Dublin. The convent walls had already begun their quiet work of unmaking you. You knelt on the bare creaking wooden floors beside your iron bed, the thin mattress barely dented by the weight of your arms and your forehead laid pressed to the rough, cold and unwashed wool blanket. You eyed the wooden crucifix above the pillow, it was almost like the figure of Christ bleeding in the cross was staring through you with undead painted eyes that never warmed. Outside, the night pressed against the high barred window, the black rain sliding down the glass. Almost poetic how they resembled the tears you were no longer permitted to shed openly. You clutched the rosary in your hands.

Home. That word popped into your mind unbidden, it was heavy and painful. You could still taste the turfy smoke from the fireplace heating your mother’s pale face, you could almost still feel the rough warmth of your father’s hand on your head the morning that he woke you up to hand you to the priest in Mullingar. You could almost hear your younger sister’s laugh, high and bright like a wren lost in the barley. You missed the way the midland winds moved through the field at dusk, how you could hear the foxes’ crying at night. All gone and scattered now. It made you wonder if your older brothers lost to America ever felt the exact same way that you were feeling that moment. Your parents were soon left completely alone in a land they did not own anymore, working for some English Lord who thought they could own Fenian soil. And you were just another Sister, wearing the postulant’s plain grey dress. It hurt.

Loneliness was a living thing. A bacteria that sat in your breasts, freezing all over like winter water, heavy and slowly, sinking into every crevasse of your chest. Even amongst the other novices you felt completely alone, the rule of silence wrapped each soul and its story in that convent. No one ever dared to ask you why your eyes were red-rimmed during recreation time. You did not dare to bring it up either. To speak of homesickness was to confess your doubt in your vocation, and doubt, as Mother Superior once said, was “the crack through which the Devil entered”. You were terrified, may God save your soul, of telling this to any of them. Your worst fear being summoned before Mother Superior, and hearing her gentle words: “Perhaps this life is not for you” before sending you back… But wending you back to what and where? To the seized lands or to maybe kicking you into the rotten Dublin streets. Maybe a life of devotion would be just as tortuous as seeing your parents starved to death while becoming an extra mouth they could not feed. The thought broke your heart.

You clasped your hands tighter, your knuckles went white and you could feel each individual bead of your rosary leaving a mark on your enclosed palms. You just needed to pray harder, right?

“Hail Mary, full of grace…” the word tasted hollow on your lips. You were not even certain God was listening anymore, perhaps he was never listening. Or maybe there was not even a God as far as you were concerned and if there was, how was he so far from Ireland? Perhaps Saints, Virgins and Jesus were nothing but painted plaster and the Host was nothing but just bread. The fear of your doubt was worse than any unearthly hunger.

The small bell outside your bedroom rang sharp, stopping your racing thoughts. A young woman’s voice spoke, her noise being muffled by the heavy oak door. “Sister! Time for supper.”

You swallowed the sob that was rising from your throat only to answer in a lowered tone, that was the only way to keep your voice steady and further from breaking into whimpers. “I am doing some prayers, Sister. I shall join directly.”

Your shaky hands flew to your puffed up face. You wiped at the tears with the heel of your palm, smearing the salty drops across your cheeks. You rubbed them so hard until your skin felt raw. At least that had returned some colour to your pale face. You smoothed some damp stray strands of hair that had escaped your cap. You needed no questions and most certainly no pity. The convent tolerated no weakness that could not be offered up as a sacrifice.

You resume your prayers, louder now, at least loud enough to drown the sound of your own dragged unstable breathing. “Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners…”

Then- soft as breath against your ears, you swore you could have heard another voice joining yours in prayer. It was a low male voice. Whispering the exact same prayer back at you in your old tongue, the Irish you had spoken at your mother’s knee. “Anois agus ar uair ár mbáis*.” (*«Now and to the hour of our death» as gaeilge.)

Your heart raced against your ribs. Not pronouncing the “Amen”, not blessing yourself. You just stopped cold mid-sentence. Your room fell silent save for the distant muffled drip of the rain and the occasional faint echo of footsteps far down the corridors. Nothing in your room. No one. No one but the crucifix still staring down with its unchanging expression of sorrow.

Trembling, you forced yourself to clunch your beads once again. Your prayer then became a plea instead. “Dear Mother of God, speak to me. Comfort me.” 

Tears ran down your face once again when you heard the same male whisper repeat after you. “Comfort me.”

The words sank into your blood. You knelt petrified. The voice was gone as suddenly as it had come. You pressed your hands, one holding your rosary, over your ears, but the silence felt even louder than before.

The bell outside your room rang a second time. An elderly nun’s voice called through this time: “Sister, this is your second calling. You had best present yourself in the kitchen directly or Mother Superior will be told.”

The sound of these threats snapped you back into your own body. You rose from your knees with unsteady shaky legs, the rough wooden planks under your feet supporting you. Your face felt hot and tight, you smoothed out your dress and drew a long breath. You opened the door and stepped into the empty echoing corridor. The convent's larger bell rang to call for supper. Your stomach ached, and that voice still trembled somewhere behind your ribs. “Comfort me.”

The refectory was a silent cavern, occasionally broken by the sound of wooden spoons scraping against tin bowls and the soft rustle of grey wool habits. Two long wooden tables spread across the room, novices sitting on one side and professed Sisters on the other, heads bowed so low that their veils nearly touched the coddle. No one spoke. You sat at the far end of the novice’s bench, the coddle broth was steaming freely in front of you, yet you could now bring yourself to lift the spoon. 

Comfort me.

The whisper curled inside your ear again, warm as the summer sun. You knew that voice was the answer to your prayers. It was most definitely not a memory. It was there. You could almost still hear it threading across the table, between the clinks of the crockery and the distant rain outside. Comfort me. Your knuckles whitened while holding the silver spoon. Had the devil truly found the crack Mother Superior warned you of? Or was it only grief making you imagine ghosts with every sound?

Outside the high mullioned windows of the Abbey, a howl tore through the thin rain.

It was no wind, no fox, but a man’s raw and desperate pleas for help, rising and cracking.

Every single head lifted at once. Some empty bowls clattered. The wooden benches scraped back against the floors. Half a dozen Sisters were already on their feet, veils flying as they hurried towards the heavy oak door at the far entry door of the corridor. You stood up as well, your heart was hammering against your frail ribs, the voice still echoing. “Comfort me.”

By the time you ran to the entrance hall you were hemmed by a wall of elderly professed nuns, their black scapulars forming an impenetrable screen. You could see through the gaps of their shoulders. It was a devastating image, a muddy man collapsed against the threshold.

“Please… let me in… Holy Sisters, for the love of God… I’m dying…” His voice was hoarse, but you recognised it instantly. The same cracked whisper that had called you an angel on the train from Mullingar on the rocky road to Dublin. Remmick.

Blood ran in dark rivulets down the side of his shoulder. The rain had washed him over with blood, nearly his entire upper body was bloody. His coat hung in tatters, fresh crimson soaking up his broad shoulders and collar. He clutched the wooden doorframe with shaking hands, the same callous hands that once held a slice of soda break like it was the last mercy on God’s earth.

Sister Brígid, the convent’s infirmarian, pushed through and forward, her lantern swinging from her shaky hands. “Mother of God, the man’s half dead! You have a bite, you poor soul, was it a fox? Quick, help me get him to the sanatorium before he bleeds out on our doorstep!”

A ripple of scandalised gasps rose from the now-not-so-silent older nuns.

“A man? Inside these walls? At night and after Compline?” A nun spoke out.

“We are brides of Christ, not a public hospice!” A second voice supported the first claim.

“He will die if we leave him,” Sister Brígid snapped back, already kneeling and pressing her hand-embroidered handkerchief to the gash on his shoulder. “Charity, Sisters! Even the last of these-”

But Remmick’s silent glossy eyes found you through the forest of black veils. You could’ve sworn they glistened in an animalistic red as he set his eyes on you. For one heartbeat, the rain outside quieted. His gaze locked on yours. Comfort me. It was all him.

Your hand knitted Aran shawl was still wrapped around his back and under his jacket, the once cream wool was now dark with rain, mud and blood… The cables pattern your poor mother had knitted. The sight stole the air from your lungs.

“Angel…” He smiled through the pain. There was blood gushing out of his mouth.

Mother Superior turned, spotting yourself and other fellow novices amongst the scandaliced crowd. “Back to the refectory! This is no sight for innocent eyes!”

You still stood there, observing how Remmick was being taken in by elderly nuns towards the infirmary. You could not move.

By bedtime the convent had folded itself into a nightly shroud of silence. The last bell had tolled the day, the corridors now were filled with candle smoke. You had been sent to your narrow mouldy cell alongside with the other novices, each of you seemed like a grey ghost slipping behind your own bolted doors. Sleep was a stranger that was not planning on visiting you that night. The thin mattress beneath you felt more like a stone slab ready to bury your frail living corpse. You could not lie beneath the covers, the very touch of the cotton against your skin after the evening horrors felt like another binding. So you shed your novice habit entirely, letting the grey dress pool on the floorboards next to the bed frame. You were fully naked now, your body laid fully straight on the small bed. Your head hit the iron headboard. You felt the mouldy air in the room inflating your lungs and kissing every inch of your exposed body. The single candle next to your bed guttered low on the washstand, throwing long, trembling shadows that made the wooden crucifix above your pillow seem to be alive.

The wooden Jesus Christ’s flat, bloodless, painted eyes stared down at your bare breasts and the rosary you were clutching so tightly that the beads started to leave crescent moons into your palms. Tears slid hot and silent down your cheeks and you did not wipe them away. They fell onto your neck and down your shoulders, some managed to trace the valley between your breasts. Every thought was a spiral, a whirlpool that caught you under water and was not sinking and drowning you.

You couldn’t stop thinking about Remmick’s bloodied smile and the way that he still called you angel again, as though the mere word itself could damn you for eternity. Comfort me? Comfort him? Have the nuns invited in the devil himself after all? Was it really all because your faith crisis had opened a crack where he could slip through or was this something older, hungrier that followed you from that rain soaked train ride like a curse? Well the curse was now wearing your mother’s knitted shawl. You wanted it back.

You could not look away from the crucifix on the wall. Your gaze was locked there, terrified that if you so much as blinked the wooden Jesus Christ would move. The room was suddenly freezing cold, then a sudden weight settled over your naked body, hovering over your legs and torso. It was heavy, warm, and damp. It pressed you down deeper into the mattress with a slow bulk. It was something that was alive. A low, animal-like heath cloomed across your thigh, hips and stomach. It felt exactly like a great wet blood hound had climbed onto the bed and laid its full length upon you. There was no coarse fur that was matted by the rain, or paws… No paws but a pair of calloused hands and claws that hovered yet did not dare to touch. Your hands began to shake so violently the rosary beads rattled against your bony ribs. You could not dare to lower your eyes. Tears poured faster now, streaming into your mouth, salty and warm, while you broke into a frantic prayer.

“Hail Mary, full of grace…” you sobbed “The Lord is with thee…” your voice cracked a whisper. Each word shook, you forced them out of your chest, in your imagination you were clenching the crucifix in the wall as a shield. The weight shifted, you felt it breathing lower, damp and warm breathing against your stomach. It moved slowly with deliberate puffs. Your thighs clenches, a helpless sob broke out of your throat and your head remained tilted upwards. The image of a suffering Christ was getting burnt into your eyes. “Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb…”

The breath grew deeper and hotter, the condensation almost pressed kisses into your flesh. Your prayers broke into soft whimpers “Holy Mary, Mother of God… pray for us sinners…” while fresh tears blinded you and blurred your nightly visions.

The unknown weight was now crushing you, pinning you, and still you stared at the crucifix. Because looking down would mean that you’ll have to see what had crawled out of the darkness and followed the scent of your mercy all the way to this sacred holy land.

The bell outside your bedroom rang once.

In the same instant the weight vanished. The warmth dispersed. The sinking mattress beneath you sprang back and whatever had lain there had simply dissolved into the shadows. You sat up, gasping for air, your chest heaved while trying to drown the silent cries. The sheets beneath your thighs were soaked wet, not with sweat nor your sweet juices. You had wet the bed like a frightened child. Your cheeks coloured maroon with shame, you felt foolish and humiliated. All you could do was press your shaky hands to your face, the rosary still tangled around your fingers.

A nightmare. This could’ve only been a nightmare brought to you by exhaustion, starvation and the idea of sinning. You were not just some hysterical woman. You had to fix this before anyone knew.

Shaking, you stood up from the bed. The shivers took over your unsteady naked body. You stopped the soiled bedsheets with clumsy fingers, bundling it beneath your bed. From the small chest across the room, you pulled out a cotton bedtime camisole and a spare set of the best linen sheets. You remade the cot, smoothing out every wrinkle in the fabric, as if the neatness could erase the vivid memory of that weight and breath.

Your cheeks burned as you eyed the dirty sheets under the bed. How could you ever confess this to anyone? How could you kneel before Mother Superior and ask for forgiveness while explaining crazy tales of the devil and your own body betraying you?

You had just tucked the final corner of the bedsheet before dressing yourself in the night dress. The bell outside your door rang once again. No footsteps accompanied the ring. No slaps of slippers on wooden floors. No “Sister?” Nothing but emptiness behind the oak door.

Your heart lurched as you stood frozen in the centre of the cell, thinking about how the silence could eat you alive. You braved up and approached the heavy door. The copper latch felt cold against your sweaty palms. Fear took over your nervous system, fear, curiosity and dearness really. The same type of feeling that has driven you to show reckless mercy towards Remmick when you knelt next to him in the train a week ago. The door flung open in one swift motion.

The corridor's emptiness stretched away in perfectly still darkness. You could only see the long row of identical doors, all shut tightly. The moonlight glistening in the row of perfectly still bells hanging from each door. No one else was on sight. Not one single shadow was moving around. You stood there, half stepped out of the room, eyeing the darkness left and right.

Then how in heavens did that bell ring?

A window, surely, you told yourself. It definitely must’ve been a window. You pressed your hand against your hammering chest. Only a gush of wind could’ve made the bell rattle at that time, right? Nothing more. The convent was old, yes. Possibly over 200 years old. Drafts do play tricks on exhausted scaredy novices that skip bed time. But nothing else. You had imagined the rest- no ghosts, no demons, nothing. You closed the door again, careful enough to not make any noise. You leaned your forehead against the wooden door and said one last prayer.

You walked up and stood infront of the freshly made bed. Tears kept sliding silently down your cheeks, re tracing the path from previously. Your fingers were still trembling. The room started to grow smaller, the walls were caving in, your ribs closed around your lungs. Your heart was hammering so violently inside your chest.

Then you felt the hand pose over your shoulder.

The touch burned through your cotton camisole.

Your gaze darted to your bedside table where your rosary should’ve been laying. It was not there. The beads were gone.

“Were you looking for this?” He spoke right behind you. His hand reached around and dangled the rosary infront your face. It swayed tainting you. “I’m afraid praying won’t do me much, a stór.*” (*«my treasure» as gealige)

You turned.

And so he stood there, Remmick it was. He was whole, the blood was long gone and the wounds that covered his shoulder when he arrived at the convent’s doorstep had now vanished, as if they had never existed. His deep red eyes glowed unnaturally in the shadows. When his lips parted in a smile you saw the sharp pointy canines that no man should ever possess, those only belonged in the mouth of a predator.

You stumbled as you took a step back. The back of your knees hit the edge of your bed. “You… you know you can’t be here…” your voice cracked as you had figured him out “This is consecrated ground. The devil is not allowed-”

“That’s because I am not the devil, mó aingeal*” his voice dropped. “But oh, have I met him along the way… The devil himself built this abbey, stone by stone. The devil himself seized your father’s land and chased your brothers through the wild Atlantic. He himself cornered and molested you behind a postal office when you were only a kid and tried to take what was never for him to touch. That same devil taught you and our ancestors this foreign language you speak so prettily and forced this faith down your throat. The devil is out there, marching the Dublin streets with riffles. And all I could ever want is to free you from all the pain the devil is causing you… if you’ll let me.”

How could he even know? Every wound, every shame, every half-forgotten terror. Your knees buckled. You nodded at him, your legs shook in an attempt to keep you standing up.

His hand travelled to your face with impossible gentleness. His thumb rubbed away a tear tenderly. His hand travelled to the back of your neck, guiding you lower. Your legs and knees gave in, following his lead. Slowly you let your knees touch the wooden planks and you stared at the rosary still dangling from his free hand.

You just knelt there in front of that man, if he was a man at all. Your eyes were wide and glossy with tears that wouldn’t dare to fall anymore.

His hands then reached down to his trousers. He finally freed himself, his cock sprang thick and heavy. You gasped for air before the view. He wrapped the same hand that he was using to hold the rosary, around his base. The holy wooden beads were pressed against the flushed skin of his dick and the tiny gold crucifix at the end of it was dangling just under his head.

“Do you still want to pray for my soul, Sister?” He asked with a low sweet tone.

Your lips parted, your brain couldn’t catch up with your mouth. You couldn’t look away from him, from this… The sight of him. You should have started screaming for Mother Superior, for any sort of help, for God himself. But instead you let the sight of him burn itself into your brain and down your stomach and your cunt.

You felt the sudden and shameful urge to worship the man standing in front of you, performing such blasphemous acts only to your eyes. You needed to open your mouth just for him and take his sin inside you the exact same way you had already taken the Host.

He stepped closer to you. The head of his cock brushed your lower lip. It was warm and velvety soft. He pushed back again, keeping himself on the line with a groan. Instead he began to stroke his cock again, slowly and with a painful pressure. The beads on the rosary clinked against one another along his shaft with every upward drag. His breath began unsteady and ragged. A thick thread of drool slipped on the corner of his mouth. He looked like a raw, rabid animal. His preying red eyes never left your sight.

“Open,” he commanded.

And so you did. You opened your mouth, sticking out your tongue.

He leaned just enough to spit into your waiting mouth, anticipating to taste a bit of him. You could taste the copper bloody taste in it. His saliva slid over your tongue and you swallowed it without thinking. A helpless moan escaped your lips.

He let out a small laugh at the sight, his fist tightening around his cock and the rosary both. The beads dragged faster now and the friction looked painful around the head of his dick. The crucifix was now sacrilegiously hitting against his swollen balls. It was obscene.

The drool kept on dripping from his growling mouth and onto his whitened knuckles. You just observed it all on your knees, trembling and watching him perform profanities.

“On the bed now,” he murmured, recovering his breath and caressing your hair. “I want to see the same way I saw you earlier, all defenceless and open.”

You let your trembling legs guide your actions as you obeyed him, climbing onto the narrow cot. The line felt freezing against your anxious skin. He followed kneeling between your legs.

One of his arms traced the hem of your camisole before riding up over your thighs. “I’m sorry I scared you earlier. I am sorry I met you wet the bed like a frightened little girl.” His thumb brushed your legs, and the shame flooded your cheeks again.

And so you cried once again… this time out of shame. You were drunk with a mixture of fear and arousal you could barely think. You tried pressing your legs closed together but Remmick held your thighs open around his body.

“Shhh, shhh… oh, no, no, do not cry,” he cooed, soothing you as he crawled over you. The now familiar weight of him settling down and pinning you against the bed. “Do not cry, my pretty cailín. That just makes me want you even more.” (*«girl» as gaeilge.)

His chapped drooly lips found your ear and pressed kisses over the trail of tears running down your cheeks and towards your neck. He sniffed you deeply, allowing the kisses to get sloppier. His open mouth left a path of warm moistness on your skin. You felt the sharp points of his teeth grazing gracefully over your pulse. You shivered.

Your gaze flew to the crucifix over your head, hanging from the wall. Jesus Christ’s eyes looked at you with sorrow. Will he forgive you now?

Remmick’s calloused fingers caught your chin, gently turning down your face back at his. “It is me who you’ll pray to now,” he whispered against your collarbones. “No more plaster saints. You’ll devote yourself to me as I’ll be devoted to you. Let me in.”

Your voice would not come out.

He licked the corner of your eye, tasting the saltiness of your tears.

“Let me in. I need to hear those words from that sweet mouth of yours.”

“Please Remmick, will you comfort me from within?”

Close enough, right?

He shifted lower, holding your waist down with his hands. He slides his thick warm cock along your slick folds. He rubbed his head against your wet slit. Teasing your clitoris as he coated himself with your juices. He let the rosary fall over your barely covered abdomen.

You whimpered as your hips lifted involuntarily chasing the release. The emptiness inside you was becoming unbearable and matching the hunger you could see in Remmick’s eyes. “I have let you in… please… Why aren’t you in me?”

He smiled against your skin once again, his sharp teeth now rasping dangerously, leaving faint red lines across.

The stretch came unannounced. It was overwhelmingly painful how he sank all at once, inch by inch. You could’ve sworn you could feel each vein and ridge on his length. You memorised the heath of his cock forcing your tight wet walls apart. A half choked cry died in your throat as you experienced something you never had before- you laughed in half pain and half relief.

You were sinning. And in the worst possible way. Hell was awaiting. Yet somehow the guilt made the desire even more pleasurable, the thought of sinning for Remmick made your cunt clench tighter around his dick as he started to thrust, pulling him closer and deeper until his hips met yours.

His forehead was pressed against yours. The stench of dry blood flooded your senses. He kept on drooling on your face as he moaned in the low. “You’re taking me so well," he rolled his hips deeper and that dragged a louder moan from you. You wanted to think that you were maybe created for this- for him.

The narrow mattress beneath your bodies creaked in the same relentless way that the wheels of the train did, a week ago when you first met Remmick. You forced your eyes closed with every hit he did against your cunt. You could feel the liquid pleasure pooling in your lower belly.

It was the guilt that just couldn’t exit your body. He might need to exorcise it out of you. “I was promised to God— this is wrong…”

“God ain’t here.” He cooed. “Only me.” He angles his hips, allowing the friction to grind your clitoris with each deep push.

You have never heard of someone fucking in the way Remmick fucked you hungrily that night. It was almost as if he had waited a lifetime to find a pussy like yours. He groped your bouncing breasts over the camisole.

Your walls fluttered around him. “Merciful Lord… Am I dying?” You cracked and he just buried his face in the small of your neck.

“Let go. Let me comfort you.” He spoke.

As your first orgasm ever hit, you cried out. Loud. Your body kept seizing around him still inside of you. Is this how death was meant to feel like? If this was so wrong why were you still rubbing yourself around him, chasing to replicate that same feeling once more?

What had he done to you?

Your cunt clenched hard. For a second the only sound was your distant ragged pleas for more. He stayed still, buried deep inside of you.

He eased out of you with a wet sound that made your entire body ache at the loss and emptiness. He slid further down your body, kissing your clothes breasts until your nipples perked up against the fabric. He then sucked lightly at your belly, you could still feel the grasp of his sharp canines tempting the thin cotton shielding your skin and blood. He finally settled between your spread legs, his broad shoulder held you open for him as his face approached your aching cunt.

The fist lick was long and dragged, from the bottom of your flooded entrance to your swollen clit. He lapped up the mess of your sweet releases. You arched your back off the bed. You were not even aware this was a possibility. He groaned against you, allowing the vibration to travel through your centre.

He was a starved man. You had known that since the first moment you met him. You were unaware of what he was desiring to feast on. You have now found out. His tongue circled around your clitoris, the he sunk it inside of you, fucking you with shallow thrusts while his nose stimulated your sensitive bundle of nerves.

He reached up to grab the rosary still resting over your abdomen, clutching it with a free hand. Remmick then decided to press it against your cunt. He rolled the wooden beads slowly against your clitoris and around your folds. The obscene friction was exquisite. You sobbed out his name, you allowed your fingers to tangle and pull at the bedsheets. Your hips grinded against his mouth.

Just as the edge rushes towards you once again, he turned his head and sunk his teeth deep into your inner thigh. The bite pierced deep. The painful hot sting flashed from your leg all through your entire body.

Your body started to convulse as a new orgasm hit you. Your thighs clamped around his head as he drank you full from the punctures. Blood flowed warm and steady, he lapped it greedily, moaning in synch to you.

The dawn was bleeding pale across the horizon behind the high barred windows of your convent room. Your skin had now gone deathly pale and all the colour from your trembling lips had been drowned. This didn’t stop him. Remmick kept on drinking and indulging himself in your body.

Then the room door swung open. One swift motion.

A middle aged nun stood frozen in the doorway, holding a candle that went dead when the gush of wind hit her as she opened the door. Her eyes widened in horror and her jaw fell, but no sound left her mouth.

She had found your semi naked body, still convulsing from the orgasm. Your thighs laid perfectly wide open and still glistening. She noticed the perfect bite mark blooming red near your crotch. And there was a puddle of scarlet blood pooling under your body, staining the bed.

Remmick was gone.

“Help us, Holy Mother!” She finally let out in a screeching scream “Mother Superior- Anyone!”

A number of footsteps pounded down the corridor. An older nun, the convent’s infirmarian, pushed past her. She stared at the scene closely, studying your pale sweat-slicked face, the bite in your thigh, all that blood, the soaked rosary between your silly folds, your dying pulse and the way that your body was still twitching post-orgasm. But there was no culprit or witness around.

Her expression hardened as she blessed herself. “Take her body outside.” She reached out grabbing your limp arm. You wanted to scream and beg them to stop.

“But she’s still breathing. Can’t you just help…” a younger novice spoke before getting interrupted.

“We have lost a Sister today. The devil has had his way with her.” Her voice was flat. She stared at your body, you had slowly begun to stop shaking and your pulse ran slower each passing second. Tears pricked from the corner of your eyes. You had a name before all of this.

You still needed him. He said he was going to devote himself to you. Why was he gone?

Remmick.

“Mother forgive me,” you whispered in a dying breath. “Kyrie Eleison.”