bruise him up

The city of Los Angeles bustles outside the many windows of the Hotel Cortez. Even as the hours drag into the evening, the world out there thrums with life. The room you're in is mostly quiet and dim, lit only by the yellowish glow of the wall sconces. The shadows outline everything, submerging half of you in darkness. Miss Evers is nowhere to be seen; James shooed her out hours ago. The rest of the hotel and what the occupants are doing are of no concern to you, not with where your attention has been for the past few hours. 

James is on top of you, the coolness of his body permeating through the white dress shirt he wears. You've been kissing and grinding your hips against him for the better part of an hour, and despite the chill he always brings, the fire between your legs grows hotter and hotter with each passing second. He's intoxicating, in every way you can think of. His smell alone is enough to send you to the heavens, but the way he moves his body against yours, the way his hands grip and knead at your flesh, the way he kisses… 

His tongue dances in your mouth, claiming every inch of it with an almost-unsettling dominance. He kisses like he's trying to consume, and nothing short of that. A moan is carried on a breath into his mouth, and he swallows it happily, delighted by the audible pleasure that his mere kisses bring. 

It's not enough, however, and he craves more. His long, lithe fingers ghost over your stomach and press down into the flesh just above your pubic bone, allowing him access to her. You're soaked. Really soaked. James hums in approval at the discovery and delves his middle finger into her. The intrusion brings a filthy moan from your mouth, and James flattens his palm against her, almost gripping the rest of her as he curls his finger inside you. 

"Fuck," you breathe.

To him, still. Not enough. Never enough. 

The barrage of sensations disappears as James sinks between your legs wordlessly; his hands trail along the length of your torso reverently, and your silken nightgown ends just past the hips, providing no resistance for his hands as they caress your sides. His large, pale hands sweep along the outsides of your thighs before his fingers slither to the crease of them as they press together. He carefully, but firmly, separates them, exposing the delicate pattern of your lace underwear. He slots himself between your legs, his shoulders forcing them apart. 

His tongue traces the seam of your panties, a tantalizing stripe along the damp fabric. You feel the strength of the muscle, pushing against your already aching center and keen, arching your hips up into his mouth. He leans into it, presses himself against you, and inhales deeply, savoring the sweet, heady scent of your arousal. He looks up at you with those two obsidian black eyes of his as he hooks his finger around the side of your panties and tugs them gently over the swell of your hips, tossing them carelessly behind him for Miss Evers to pick up later. 

You're leaking. Unsurprisingly. James unleashes a series of kisses over your sensitive folds, paying attention to every inch. He does this with an almost religious reverence—despite his hatred for all things religion. When it came to your body, however, he was an undeniably devout man. 

With his thumb and pointer finger, he spreads you open like the petals of a delicate flower, revealing the glistening, warm flesh to his hungry mouth. He leans in, flattening his tongue broadly against your clit. It takes him all of a few seconds to find an Earth-shattering rhythm with his flicks, torturing you in a way that immediately makes your leg muscles shake deeply. He alternates between pointed, firm attention to your clit, and lapping at you in wet, filthy circles, which has you panting and choking out pathetic whimpers with every pass. He presses his chin into you, forcing more pressure against your cunt. 

The combination of fluids continues to leak from your cunt onto the silk sheets below you; you can feel the growing wet spot beneath your ass as he doubles down on his efforts, suctioning his lips around your swollen clit. 

"James… fuck, 'm gonna'…" You hoist your leg over his shoulder and press into his back, bringing him closer to you, as if any space is offensive to you. His hand clamps onto your thigh, denting the soft flesh there. He pulls away from your cunt and breathes in as he trails a line of kisses along your inner thigh before he returns to your center again. 

"J-James! FUCK!" 

A few seconds pass before he answers, almost laboriously. He pulls free just before the wave washes over you. He enjoys the torturous aspect of edging and does it whenever he can.  "So soon? My, my." His voice is molasses, coming out in a sultry growl—almost lost against her, his words mere vibrations against the most sensitive nerves you have. He knows why you're teetering on the edge after minutes, but you don't. Not yet. 

He pushes himself up and away from her, just enough for you to catch a glimpse of the mess you've made. Mortification glazes your features. Instead of a slick, clear coating on his chin, there's something else. Shimmering against the pale skin of his face, red streaks the clear. "…oh my god…" 

You clamp your hand over your mouth and hurriedly scoot away from his hungry tasting. In response, he straightens up, looking down at you with a deep expression, one that very nearly conveys disappointment. He expectantly quirks one of his dark brows, like he's offended you interrupted his dinner. 

Your head was spinning. While you hadn't experienced the dreaded cramps yet, you had been unusually moody today, which is why James had showered you in affection to silence your incessant complaints. But… you weren't expecting this. 

"James, I—wait. We can't do this right now. You should—" 

"Nonsense. We can, and we will!" He reaches up to wipe the pink-streaked slick from his chin as casually as if it were only saliva, not a hesitation in sight. Your mind was racing. He must've tasted that heady, iron taste of your blood, felt the viscous thickness of it. He, however, seems unaffected. He continues to speak as he undoes the buttons of his shirt, one by one. "Despite the untapped pleasure of it all, fornication during menstruation is… indeed taboo to the common man. Be that as it may, I am not the common man. Nor do I shy from the taboo. You know this, don't you, my dear?" 

As true as it was, you say nothing, still too horrified to speak a single word. 

He pauses, looking at you pointedly. "Ah. Your apprehension moves me, but not enough to stop. Fret not, my little pet." He tugs the dress shirt off his shoulders, revealing pale skin beneath. "I think you'll find the sensations... divine." 

Breaking eye contact only to pull the undershirt up over his head, he makes quick work of his dress slacks and undergarments, letting them fall to his ankles before he gracefully steps out of them. Seeing him naked always ignites little embers of arousal in your lower stomach; the way he stands so proudly, cock out, not an ounce of shame, ready to fuck you until you see stars. Still, your insecurity roils in your stomach like rotten food, souring your lustful euphoria with its sickly, sludgy fingers. 

"I know you like blood… But James," you protest. "It's different. It's… got tissue and stuff in it." 

"Indeed," he says, matter-of-factly. "And, I've been elbow deep in a man's intestines on more than one occasion! I can assure you… Your menstruation does not scare me."

You couldn't argue with that. He had. He'd probably seen every kind of tissue and fluid that the human body produced, and yet, here you were, shying away from sex because of your own humiliation. 

"My god," you groan, covering your face with your hands for a moment before slapping them back down on the silk sheets. "Can you stop calling it menstruation? You're so clinical." 

James mm-hm's as he climbs over you, slotting his hands on either side of your head. His cockhead nudges your entrance, hot and leaking, begging for relief. He bucks his hips forward once, forcing the head in between your folds. You gasp, clenching tightly around the ridge of his head, pulling him in further.

"Mm, yes." The tone of his voice is euphoric, and he lowers himself to his forearms, bringing his mouth a hair's breadth away from yours. A single kiss is pressed against your lips, before you catch his bottom lip between your teeth, biting hard enough to draw blood. "Sublime," he says. You let his lip snap back against his teeth. 

He tests your willingness briefly, pressing himself deeper inside of you. You respond by lifting your hips up and giving him a devious look that feels like a lightning stike to his chest. His urges become too much, nearly strangling him, and he bottoms out, slamming his cock deep inside your cunt with a slop sound. And you… Any thought of shame? Embarrassment? Gone with the feeling he provides. Perverse, wet sounds fill the room as he slams his pelvis against yours in a determined pace, drawing his veiny cock in and out in deliberate strokes, making sure you feel everything intensely. 

He hadn't been wrong. The sensations were divine—in fact, they were mind-blowing. There was a new level of slickness that made his thrusts even more effortless, and the gentle pressure against your insides was particularly tantalizing. He stays like that for a minute or so, pressed tightly atop of you, reveling in the closeness.

"Deeper," you whimper. "Deeper. Please. Fuck me deeper…!" 

He snarls, nips at the air in front of your face, and hurriedly obeys; he was nothing if not obedient when it came to your lustful demands. As a man who prided himself on control—devastating perfection, and control—your volatile, needy nature during sex always aroused him. Quickly, he straightens up and scoops underneath the curve of your rear, hoisting it up enough to plunge himself deeper into you. His cock hits your cervix, and your eyes roll back in your head, losing all sense of your surroundings as his thrusts bully your cunt. Eventually, everyone loses their footing, no matter how strong. And yours, he watches as it disappears, as your expression goes lazy, fucked out. Your jaw hangs slack, and your lids are heavy, and James revels in it. 

White, hot pleasure tightens in your core, like a coil being tightened around itself over and over again. James feels the tension and picks up his pace, knowing that the tidal wave nears. His does, too, undeniably. The tightness thrums in his cock, and with a few more devastatingly heavy pumps, he seizes up and crushes his hips against yours, letting the orgasm wash over him. 

The pressure sends you over the edge, too. Everything goes fuzzy as your orgasm claims your senses. You hear James growl, pleased above you as you quiver and tremble beneath him, panting as if you've just run a mile. He loves to see you this way; unmade and fucked beyond your wildest dreams. 

After he's fully spent, he withdraws his cock from you and falls heavily onto the mattress next to you, chest heaving with exertion. You hurry to scoot closer and snuggle up next to him, tucking yourself underneath his arm. You fit so perfectly there. One arm splays over his torso, drawing circles on the cool, taut flesh.

"My darling, you are exquisite. Every time." 

You nuzzle into his shoulder. "Mm. Thank you... but I'm going to get blood on your sheets if I don't move soon…"