She was still trembling when I rolled off her, chest heaving, skin slick with sweat and tears. The room smelled like sex-raw, animal, unforgiving. Candles had burned low, wax pooling like blood on the skulls and bottles. The massive canvas on the wall seemed to watch us, ravens in the paint staring with black, judgmental eyes.
Raven lay on her stomach, face turned away, short black hair damp and tangled. Her back was a map of my obsession-red scratches from my nails, bruises blooming on her hips where I'd gripped her, bite marks on her shoulder and throat dark and possessive. Between her thighs, my cum mixed with faint traces of blood leaked slowly onto the black sheets.
She didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Just breathed-shaky, uneven, like she was trying to piece herself back together after I'd torn her apart.
I should've felt guilt.
I didn't.
I felt triumph.
She was mine now. Completely. Irreversibly.
I reached out, trailed a finger down her spine. She shivered but didn't pull away.
"You okay?" I asked again, voice rough from growling her name so many times.
A long pause.
Then, so softly I almost missed it:
"No."
The word wasn't angry. Wasn't accusing.
Just honest.
Shy Raven-strong, quiet Raven-who'd taken everything I gave her and still hadn't fully broken.
I rolled her onto her back gently this time.
Her eyes met mine-glassy, red-rimmed, mascara streaked down her cheeks like war paint. Lips swollen, black lipstick gone. She looked wrecked.
Beautifully wrecked.
I brushed a thumb over her cheek, smearing the tears.
"You will be," I whispered.
She searched my face, something vulnerable flickering behind the fire.
"You… you didn't stop," she said, voice hoarse. "Even when I begged."
"No," I admitted. "I couldn't."
A tear slipped free again.
But she didn't look away.
"I thought it would hurt more," she whispered. "The first time. But you… you made it hurt in a way I didn't expect."
I leaned down, kissed her forehead. Then her eyelids. Then the corner of her mouth.
"I told you I'd devour you," I said against her skin. "I meant it."
She let out a shaky breath-half laugh, half sob.
"You did."
Silence settled, heavy but not uncomfortable.
Then she reached up, fingers tracing one of the scratches she'd left on my chest.
"You're bleeding," she murmured.
"So are you."
Her hand moved lower, brushing my abs, stopping just above where I was already getting hard again.
"You're insane," she said quietly.
"For you."
She looked at me then-really looked.
And for the first time, the shyness cracked fully open.
Something soft. Something real.
"I've never…" she started, then stopped. Swallowed. "I've never let anyone this close."
"I know."
"I was scared you'd leave after."
"I'm not going anywhere."
She nodded slowly.
Then, in the smallest voice:
"Stay tonight."
It wasn't a question.
I pulled her into my arms, her head on my chest, legs tangled.
"I wasn't planning on leaving," I said. "Ever."
She was quiet for a long time.
Then her fingers found mine, lacing them together.
"Elliot?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm still scared."
"Of what?"
"That you'll wake up tomorrow and realize I'm just the freak they all said I was."
I tightened my arm around her.
"Raven," I said, voice low and certain, "you're not a freak. You're my everything. And tomorrow, and every day after, I'm going to prove it to you. In every way you'll let me."
She didn't answer.
Just pressed closer, her breath evening out against my skin.
The candles burned out one by one.
In the dark, she whispered:
"Even if it hurts?"
"Especially then."
And for the first time since I'd met her, Raven Blackwood fell asleep in someone's arms.
In mine.
Where she belonged.