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In winter, Michael gets restless. With all the snow and ice, it isn’t easy to go out on hunts without leaving tracks in his wake and alerting the community of a prowler on the loose. Getting caught and returned to Smith’s Grove isn’t on his list of things to do, so he’s essentially trapped in the house and boiling hot with unsatiated bloodlust, and because he can’t kill, he seeks release through your body – the only way to keep him calm enough to tide him over until the winter thaws and gives way to spring. Needless to say, it’s a long couple of months, and by the end, you’re exhausted, emotionally and physically.
But you’ll do anything for him, even to the point of pain.
It’s been a particularly rough week. You’re sore everywhere, and your body has been pushed almost beyond your absolute limit and you’re exhausted. You were forced to take a leave of absence from work, unable to perform your duties due to how raw and broken you felt. Bruises are scattered over your body in various stages of healing – a macabre rainbow dancing over your skin. Bite marks litter your body as well, purpling over and bleeding. Your cunt is raw, throbbing with pain alongside the aftershocks of your last, painful orgasm.
Michael lays asleep beside you, napping after taking you for the third or fourth time today – you’ve lost track. You struggle to sit up silently, your teeth grit so hard so as not to make a sound and wake him. You need a break, just a little bit of time alone to relax and recuperate, and a bath sounds like the most amazing thing in the world right now. You manage to sit up, and swing your legs over the side of the bed.
You rise on shaking legs, and shuffle your way to the bathroom, shivering at the feeling of Michael’s spend smearing between your mangled thighs with every step. After what feels like an eternity, you finally reach the bathroom, slowly closing the door behind you with a quiet click. You let out an exhausted sigh, and sit down on the toilet to relieve yourself with a small, pained whimper, and clean yourself gingerly after, so as not to further harm the tender flesh of your most vulnerable areas.
Once you’re cleaned up, you stand up and flush the toilet, placing the lid back down before washing your hands and shaking them off as you shuffle over to the bath. You twist the faucets and let the water heat up to your liking, plugging the tub and waiting for it to fill up. You go back over to the sink, and get your lavender scented Epsom salts, and dump a generous amount into the rapidly filling tub.
When the tub is full, you turn off the water and sink slowly into the hot water with a relieved groan. The hot water is heaven on your battered flesh, the heat sinking under your skin and easing your muscles. You ease back, stretching your legs out and leaning against the slant of the tub. Your eyelids grow heavy, and you slip into a quick and easy slumber, cocooned in comforting warmth.
You are startled awake by the sound of the door slamming against the wall with so much force that the entire room shakes. You scream, instinctually covering your nakedness with your hands and cowering as you look towards the door with wide eyes. Your gut fills with a combination of dread and overwhelming desire when you notice that he’s hard and wanting, his cock an angry shade of red bobbing with every beat of his heart. His gaze is heavy, and he’s looking at you like he’d very much like to eat you alive. He ducks down to pass through the doorway, and beckons you to him with a come-hither motion. You know exactly what he’s saying.
Come here.
You wordlessly respond, helpless but to obey his every whim. It comes second nature to you – obeying him is as easy and as necessary as breathing. You stand up on shaking legs, and carefully step over the edge of the tub, careful not to slip on the slick tile floor. You shiver, both from the cold air on your wet skin and from being in his presence. He hums approvingly, a low sound from the back of his throat, his good eye scanning over your body as you approach him.
When you’re close enough, you expect him to reach out and grab you roughly by the hips, but instead, he rests his hands on your hips in his version of ‘gentle’, and drops to his knees onto the hard tile without a single flinch. He presses his face against your abdomen, brushing his full lips over his initials carved into your skin. He inhales deeply as he pulls you closer, humming low in his throat again.
Michael’s hands ease up on your hips, sliding down your thighs and back up again as he looks up at you from under his heavy eyelashes. His good eye has a flicker of affection in it as he gazes up at you, only to be gone as quickly as it came, and replaced with a look so predatorial that you freeze, genuine fear filling your chest.
Before you could even make a sound, he has your hips in a vice grip, and he's pulling you down to the ground. The collision of your body on the tile is painful, but Michael catches your head before it could smash onto the floor as he shoves his way between your thighs. He’s hard and heavy against your thigh, and your abused cunt clenches around nothing, eager to be one with him again.
He uses his hold on your head to pull you up, your body as limp as a rag doll, and attacks your mouth with his. It’s too feral to be called a kiss. It’s hot, wet, and demanding – all teeth and tongue as he bites down on your swollen lips and laps up the blood that beads up from inside your mouth, his body shivering when the taste of your blood floods over his tongue.
He lets your lip go, and brushes his lips from the corner of your mouth, down over your jaw, down the column of your neck as you gasp for breath. When he reaches your throbbing pulse point, he bites, sinking his teeth into the delicate skin until you’re screaming. Even with the intense, sharp pain, you are absolutely desperate for him, your body longing for his, the intrinsic link between the two of you so strong that you’re always ready for him.
Michael’s teeth sink further into your sensitive flesh, and he growls, unhinging his jaw and drinking down the blood that trickles from the wound as he ruts his cock against your thigh – hot and hard and demanding. By the time he’s done consuming you, you’re a writhing, soaked mess, your body begging for the relief that only he can provide. He gives one last lick to the wound, and pulls away, his eyes following the trickle of blood from where he bit you, and onto the floor, his pupil dilated wide enough that it eclipses the blue of his iris.
He puts your limp form back down onto the tile, and his attention shifts to your breasts, swollen and bruised and heaving under the force of your desire for him. He greedily grips at them with his giant hands, rolling the soft mounds under his calloused and scarred palms, squeezing down on your bruised flesh as you cry out in both pain and need. He leans down, and sucks a dusky nipple into his mouth, sucking and gnawing at it until you’re actually crying, tears rolling down your cheeks at the pain with an edge of pleasure.
Michael mercifully releases your nipple with a pop, and hikes your legs up over his thighs, to where you’re completely exposed to him. A pleased rumble leaves his throat as he examines his handiwork on your thighs and your raw cunt, still wet and dripping for him. He reaches down and grips himself by the base of his heavy cock, lining it up with your slick entrance. You whine in pain as he pushes into you again, but the pain is quickly replaced with the sheer relief of your body being reunited with his. He rumbles, deep and pleased, in his chest as your walls flutter around him in welcome.
He doesn’t give you any more time to adjust, he immediately sets a rough pace, chasing the relief that he craves. His cock is rock-hard, his crown slamming into your cervix with every thrust of his hips. It hurts in the most glorious way, and you cry out, reaching your hands up to grip at his skin, your nails digging in around your initials over his heart, and he shudders, gripping your hips roughly with one hand, and using the other to toy with your swollen, abused clit, making you sob – you don’t think that it’s possible for you to orgasm again, even though what he’s doing to you feels amazing. You’re overstimulated, too raw, it’s nearly too much.
“Michael, I can’t, ‘s too much,” you plead, your voice thick and slurred as you half-heartedly try to push him away. He grips you harder, pulling you down into each thrust so that he’s so deep, you can nearly feel him in your throat.
“You will,” he commands, his voice raspy and deep, so full of authority, and so beautiful that it has you shaking. His fingers move over your clit faster, and you can feel your orgasm building. His touch, his cock jackhammering into all of your sweet spots at once, your inability to say no to him, and his rare voice seal your fate – you fall over the edge, and into white-hot oblivion.
Your legs raise up, and your spine arches, and your inner walls spasm, your liquid release splashing out around his cock. The orgasm is so painfully good that you couldn’t make a sound if you tried. Your whole body shakes as a delayed scream is ripped from your throat. Michael snarls, grabbing your hips savagely and fucking you through your orgasm, his teeth clenching together in exertion as he chases his own end. His hips still, and he comes with a low groan, his release blooming warmth within your core.
He rides it out, giving one last thrust to shove his spend as deep inside of you as he can get before pulling out, making you whine and shiver – you hate it when he pulls out. His chest swells with pride as he looks you over – under him, covered in his markings, and his come trickling from your poor, raw opening. He scoops it from your flesh and presses it back inside of you, making you flinch and whine. You’re simply too far gone to go any further, and Michael takes notice, removing his fingers and stroking them across your thigh soothingly as you drift off.
You’re in and out of consciousness as he drains and refills the tub, adding more bath salts and making sure the water is just how you like it. You moan weakly as he gathers you into his arms, and settles the both of you into the tub, holding you snug against his chest as you doze off, lulled to slumber by his heartbeat, rhythmic breathing, and the warmth of the water.
Michael watches you sleep, tracing invisible patterns onto your skin as he enjoys the quiet in his mind until the water grows cold, and you start to shiver. He jumps to action immediately at your discomfort. He scoops you up and steps out of the tub, holding you effortlessly with one arm while he grabs towels with the other. He dries you both off, and carries you back to bed, laying you down and climbing in next to you. He gathers you to his chest, and pulls the duvet over you both. His mouth twitches into an almost-smile when you let out a pleased sigh in your sleep, and nuzzle into his chest with a sleepy hum.
Michael’s mind is blissfully quiet, no more demands for blood and violence and death. He focuses instead on the feeling of your skin against his, the sound of your breathing, and the sound of the winter wind blowing against the house. The beast is sated for a little while longer, sustained by the body and blood of its faithful mate. It will be back, but for now, it goes back into hibernation, content.