Bites, Bruises, and Beach Attack
1076 Words
The morning after smelled of salt, s*x, and candle wax.
Aeaid stirred first. Rope marks bit into her skin, delicious reminders of the night before. Her cunt ached, used and sated; her lips were swollen from kisses and fangs.
She tried to slip from Ronan’s arms.
Bad idea.
The vampire grunted, eyes snapping open, red flashing in the gloom. His hand shot out, catching her wrist.
“Going somewhere, guppy?”
“I swear by Poseidon’s left nut, Ronan—stop calling me that,” she snapped, hair a tangle of salt-crusted curls.
Ronan smirked, fangs peeking. “Make me.”
---
She almost did.
But the words choked on her tongue, because the moment his fingers curled around her bruised wrist, her body remembered every thrust, every slap, every command.
Wetness pooled between her thighs.
She hated how quickly she melted under him.
“You look like you’re about to bite me,” Ronan teased.
“Only if you ask nicely,” she shot back.
---
They kissed — messy, salt-slick, teeth clashing. She bit his bottom lip, drawing blood.
He hissed, eyes darkening. “Bad little siren.”
Her c**t throbbed.
Ronan’s hand closed around her throat, squeezing just enough to steal her breath. Her eyes fluttered, cunt clenching.
“You love that, don’t you?” he rasped, voice rough.
“Yes,” she croaked, the word ghosting past the pressure.
He released her, only to flip her onto her stomach. The bruises on her ass were purple, raw, beautiful. He ran a thumb over them; she whimpered.
“Color?”
“Green,” she gasped.
---
He pulled leather cuffs from under the pillow. Click. Click. Her wrists locked behind her back.
Then a collar, heavy black leather, buckled around her neck. A ring glinted at the front.
She shivered, p***y dripping.
“f**k, yes,” she panted.
Ronan snapped a leash onto the collar. “Crawl.”
She obeyed, knees burning on cold stone, t**s swaying, the marks on her skin singing with pain and desire.
Ronan walked behind her, leash tight, guiding her to the iron post in the middle of the room.
---
He tied the leash so her head stayed lifted, spine arched, ass high.
Her cunt glistened, folds swollen, ready.
She felt his gaze like claws on her skin.
“Stay,” he growled.
He vanished behind her; she heard leather and buckles.
Then — crack.
A crop lashed across her ass, the sting a searing bloom.
She cried out, tears springing.
Another. And another. Her skin blazed, each hit driving her deeper into the haze.
“Count,” Ronan barked.
“One,” she sobbed.
Crack.
“Two!”
Her voice broke on “seven.” Her body shook, drool dripping from parted lips.
Ronan’s hand cupped her cheek, thumb brushing away tears. “Color?”
“Green,” she whispered.
“Good girl,” he praised.
Praise cut deeper than pain. Her heart twisted, hunger and something softer coiling inside.
Ronan dropped to his knees behind her.
His tongue dragged through her folds, tasting, teasing. She bucked; the leash tugged her neck, choking off a moan.
“Stay still,” he commanded.
He sucked her c**t, fingers teasing her hole, not entering.
She was trembling, on fire, and breath ragged.
“Please!” she sobbed.
“Please what?”
“f**k me! Bite me! Anything — please....my mate!”
Hearing that word - mate - set off something primal within him. Like a finality to understanding what was truly happening between them. Ronan stood, gripped her hips, and rammed into her in a single, brutal thrust.
She screamed, walls clenching around him, pleasure white-hot.
He f****d her hard, hips slamming into bruises, the leash keeping her head up.
Fangs grazed her shoulder. He bit down.
Pain exploded, blood flowing.
She shattered, orgasm tearing through her, p***y fluttering, milking him.
"My mate! Mine!" Ronan growled possessively, spilling inside, seed gushing to fill her to the hilt as his own organs ripples through him.
They collapsed, leash slackening.
They lay tangled on the cold stone, breath mingling.
Aeaid’s head rested on his chest, heart pounding.
For the first time, the humor faded. The truth clawed up her throat.
“I need to tell you something,” she whispered.
Ronan’s thumb traced circles on her hip. “Go on.”
---
She swallowed.
“I’m not just some stray mermaid,” she said, voice hoarse. “My pod… my family… they were murdered. Torn apart.”
Ronan’s jaw tensed. “By who?”
“Leviathans,” she breathed. “Older than any other species of the Sea, including my own. They rule the deepest trenches. And now… they’re coming here.”
Ronan’s silence cut sharper than his fangs.
“How do you know?” he asked.
“I saw them. Last night. Moving under the tide.”
Ronan’s crimson eyes met hers. “Then we’ll fight them,” he swore.
“We?” she echoed, voice cracking.
He touched her collar, gaze softening. “You’re mine now. And I protect what’s mine. I can bring this to the council of Elders, they can help.”
"Elders of your race?" she asked with confusion, looking into his eyes for the truth.
"Of ALL supernatural races," he corrected, placing a kiss on her cheek before unhooking the leash on her collar. "Come on, I can get us an audience."
They dressed quickly: she in ripped jeans and a borrowed shirt that smelled like him; Ronan in black, leather jacket sweeping around his thighs.
They left the den. Outside, dawn bled over the supernatural quarter.
Demons slouched on stoops, nursing hangovers. Witches blinked awake in their homes, smoke drifting from their chimneys. Several werewolves were shaking themselves awake on the stretch of beach in front of Ronan's house, the shifters so drunk from the night before that they had slept in their animal form.
And then — an unholy roar, shaking the ground with its intensity.
The sea began to move in higher tides, waves starting to crest high in the deep. Shadows rose within the depths of the water, vast and coiled as a rotten smell of carcass blew in across the beach front.
Leviathans.
Aeaid felt the magic pulse, old as abyssal plains.
Panic rippled through the supernaturals as people scrambled off the beach and the city alarms started to ring.
Ronan bared his fangs. “Let’s f*****g go.”
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