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the anatomy of a bad choice

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 Eleanor Adler was having the worst month of her life.

 At the beginning of it all, she had been faced down with a completely impossible decision; a decision that had to be made no matter how much she didn’t want to make it. She would have given almost anything to have some sort of divine power reach down to stir around in the mortal realm, and make the decision for her.

 Sometimes being weightless was preferable, to everything else.

 Eleanor had an odd proclivity for otherworldly powers. She didn’t hate the idea of everyone being the plaything of some god or devil who was behind the curtain. She could be a puppet, a little lego girl in someone’s giant toy metropolis. She didn’t mind that at all.

 However, the soul-crushing development of that past month had assured her that nobody would be making this decision but her. So she made it, and twenty seven days later she was dubiously unsure if she had made the right call. It felt like something that would haunt her until she died. It felt like dying wasn’t that far off anyways.

 Actions like hers always had consequences. That's what one of the reapers had told her.

 So now, as an honorary celebration towards what was possibly the end of her days (or her sanity, if the darkness didn’t come for her first,) she had decided to go out and try to have some sort of...fun.

 Fun was something Eleanor had been good at, a month ago. Her energy seemed to seethe out into the world, whether she was dancing or laughing or doing something highly illegal and morally questionable, she was the life of the party. She never knew what else to be. Never knew there was anything else to be.

 Now, she knew that there actually was something else to be: nothing. The past month had robbed her blind of any character trait that she felt comfortable assigning a name to, had gutted her completely without leaving a mark, fundamentally changed the way she thought, moved, dreamed. She didn’t know who she was anymore, and wasn’t sure that there was enough left of her to build a new one, either.

 Her familiar, Gore, had reassured her that her bleak state of mind was only temporary, that in another week, two, three, she would regain the parts of her that made her Eleanor, that she would once again have something to hold onto, something to show the world like a kid showing their parents a hot-glue macaroni art canvas splattered with colors of paint that didn’t make any sense.

 Even if she was weird and out-of-place, she was still her.

 Trying to shove the empty, void-filled thoughts aside, she braced the knuckles on one hand against the sleek cherry-wood counter of the bar, hearing the satisfying crunch as they cracked. Her hands often found themselves in tightly wound fists, nails digging red crescents into her palms while she barely noticed. She flexed the hand gingerly, the moons weren’t nearly as visible tonight, the atmosphere of the lounge was seemingly doing its job.

 She had to admit, despite the shortcomings in her life of late, the lounge was nice. The walls were either hung with heavy black drapes, or painted blood-red, the rich, polished wood that made up the bar-stools and tabletops shone in the dim light that glowed from behind the bar, the only source of light in the room that didn’t come from the stage, where a sultry woman in a tight black gown was singing something soothing, and sensual.

 Idly, she remembered the name of the bar; The Snapdragon Lounge. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she realized that she knew the entomology for snapdragon flowers: gratuity and deceit. Helena had always been fascinated with silly things like the meaning of flowers and gemstones and colors. 

 Eleanor was finally starting to feel the buzz from her third long island when she felt someone brush by uncomfortably close to her.

 She receded into the stool as far as her spine allowed her, to make room for the stranger that slid into the seat next to her. The entire bar was empty, every other patron preferring the comfort of the deep-seated couches and chairs, and yet someone felt the need to sit directly beside her. She grit her teeth in annoyance.

 However, any feelings of irritants or disgust at the thought of another person (a man, at that,) so close to her were abruptly done away with when she got a good look at him. Her first thought, dipped in liquor and half-delirious, was, I have never seen a man before.

 He was almost entirely in black, save the glossy pin that held his cravat together, which gleamed yellow like a tiger’s eye. She wondered if he was the type of man who would notice if she stole it. Eleanor liked to keep things that were important to people, it was her nervous habit. His shirt looked soft, and it seemed almost ridiculous that his arms hadn’t burst the seams yet. It fit incredibly well, hugged his muscles everywhere irresistible. She had a sudden, uncouth urge to see him entirely naked.

 “Good evening,” he greeted her suavely, with a small smile. He already was twirling a glass of something amber in his hand, neat by the looks of it, but it didn’t stop him from flagging down the bartender. Eleanor briefly wondered if he was an alcoholic. Her father had been one, and she was particularly used to the habit of getting another drink before the one in your hand was finished. Somewhere in the back of her mind, as if by reflex, she remembered the way it felt to snap open a bear against the gritty countertops of her childhood home. 

 “I’ll have one of whatever she’s drinking,” he said, and then paused, and turned back to her, catching her momentarily breathless as she studied the strong definition of his cheekbones, jaw, mouth, “May I?” he asked, motioning towards the bartender, or the wall of liquor behind him- it was unclear. The message wasn’t.

“Oh-yeah, sure, why not,” she mumbled in reply, sounding a great deal more nervous than she had wanted, or planned to. She felt a sudden pressure to quickly finish off her current drink, so that she wasn’t just sitting there with two. Even though this guy clearly didn’t mind, so she wasn’t sure why she would either.

 For the first time since he sat down beside her (which had been two minutes, but had felt like two hours,) she noticed that he was wearing sunglasses indoors. Something in her mind slithered around, and whispered: red flag . It was easy to push down. Some dudes were genuinely weird and creepy, others just did weird things to appear nuanced. Maybe he was just a really big fan of the matrix. 

 “Thanks,” she muttered to the bartender as he slid them both another long island. She noticed that he had left the twisted lime peel out of the stranger’s drink. Without thinking, she grabbed the lime from her drink, “So the bartender is clearly a misandrist- he forgot the best part of your drink,” she said thickly, and dropped the peel into his drink. Then she finished her old one in a single go, being reminded the entire time it went down of how strong of a drink it actually was.

 “Now that we’re all set, and I have this staggeringly important piece of garnish in my drink, may I ask your name?” He was all smooth words, no tripping or stumbling over his own tongue. Something about that compelled Eleanor, something about it unnerved her. He was either incredibly confident, or ridiculously arrogant. Eleanor decided that he was attractive enough to boast confidence.

 She cleared her throat lightly, “I’m Eleanor, and you?” she got it out easier than expected.

 “Rire,” was all he gave her in return, as he studied her from behind the glasses. She idly wondered if he was blind, but he had made too many sure movements for her to really believe that. Still, the glasses were weird.

 “Eleanor,” he repeated slowly, and she felt her cheeks flare. She hardly ever used first names, they always felt so strangely intimate. There was a lot you could do with a name. “That’s a nice name, rolls off the tongue just right,” he gave her another reserved smile, and finished the first drink that he had brought with him.

 “What’s your poison?” Eleanor asked inquisitively, with a nod towards his drink, "I have to assume it’s not this god-awful combination of liquors that don’t like each other very much.”

 Rire gave her a short laugh, “I was drinking scotch, but I’m up for anything.”

 “Interesting. So if I had been drinking daiquiri?” she asked him, eyebrows arched. The steady thrum of the alcohol had made her impervious to nerves, despite her whole body being on fire.

 “Then I would have ordered a daiquiri. They serve them with little pink umbrellas here, although I have a feeling, like the lime, mine would have been left absent,” he said politely, raising the long island just a little before taking a sip. He didn’t flinch. “So did you come to such a sultry bar alone, or is there someone who’s about to come out of the restrooms and be very annoyed with me?” Rire asked her playfully, but there was something more deceptive underneath that. It was a cute way of asking if she had a date or not, she gave him that much.

 She took another sip of her drink, her hands were starting to feel numb, “I am regrettably alone,” she told him, feeling odd trying to hold his gaze when his eyes were behind sunglasses. She wondered what color they were. For some reason, she was picturing honey-gold.

 “Regrettably?” He inquired, one of his dark eyebrows arching above the other. She hated that he could do that.

 “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed the amount of couples in this lounge, but it doesn’t bode well for a single person,” she alluded with an awkward laugh, realizing too late that she had also just revealed that while nobody was waiting for her elsewhere in the bar, nobody was waiting for her at home either. She was interested in Rire, that much was certain. What wasn't certain was how much she trusted his intentions.

 What’s next? The voice in the back of her mind chided her cruelly, we're gonna tell him our only and best friend died last month? Gonna let a stranger know you’re completely alone in the world? She shook the thought out of her mind. 

 “Luckily, you are not the only single person here.”

 “Luckily?” she asked, slightly breathless, mocking him for earlier. She thought a dark look swept across his face, but it was so quickly replaced by the calm, good-natured expression he had been wearing all night that she couldn’t be sure.

 “Yes, lucky, if you’re discontented with your solitude.”

 She wanted to smack him in the face. She wanted to rip the sunglasses off. She wanted to drag this complete stranger to the women’s bathroom and have him fuck her senseless. She got the feeling that he was capable of it.

 “You know,” she said, leaning her elbows on the bar, “I’ve heard this place has really fancy bathrooms,” she pointed out, finishing her long island, but waving away the bartender when he shot her a glance, wondering if she wanted a top up. She idly wondered if Rire would foot this bill. She wasn’t sure this lounge would let her open a tab that she didn’t intend on paying, especially on her first visit. She’d have to leave them her social security card and risk the moody bartender stealing her identity to buy fuckable blow-up dolls on ebay.

 Both his eyebrows shot up at her implication, “My, aren’t you eager,” he teased, but it wasn’t entirely playful. After thinking about it for a second too long, Eleanor decided that it wasn’t playful even a little bit.

 “Unfortunately, I really must be going, I have an early morning.” If Eleanor hadn't been as tipsy as she was, she might have been able to hide the pout. She was about to open her mouth to say goodnight when he spoke again.

 “Unless, of course, you’d like to spend some time with me somewhere that isn’t a public bathroom.”

 She let out a breathy laugh, “Where’s your trashy side?” she asked, watching as he stood up from the bar. He was tall, she hadn’t noticed when he first came over. He must have had a foot on her. It made her stomach fuzz like it was filled with t.v static.

 “In hell,” Rire answered plainly, with a thin smile, “Unless your apartment is trashy, in which case, my answer changes to whatever the address is.”

 Eleanor eyed him for a minute, a little annoyed that he just assumed off the bat that she lived in an apartment and not a house, and he seemed to gather that he had overstepped, “Or we can find a hotel, I’m sure there’s plenty in the area with bathrooms that are fancy enough for your tastes.” 

 She softened a little at his response, but, still, something was sending little warning signals off in her mind, something about a man this attractive being that eager to fuck her, but she chalked it up to low confidence, and didn’t let it bother her. Later, she would wonder if that was a mistake.

 “No it’s okay, I actually live really close to here, in a house ,” she said pointedly, against all reason, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw him flash a grin.

 “Perfect.”

 ****

 Not even fifteen minutes later, after a short walk where Eleanor got momentarily distracted by a stray cat and Rire looked like he just barely tolerated it, they were back at her house. 

 She unlocked the door, and paused for a moment, trying to remember the last time she cleaned and if anything embarrassing was strewn about. She couldn’t think of anything immediately, and even if she could have, she wasn’t about to tell the handsome stranger to wait outside while she removed any evidence that she lived in her own home. 

 She stepped aside to let him in first, before she had a chance to flick the lights on. The door clicked shut behind her, and Eleanor felt the cool nighttime air slip away, replaced by the stifling silence of her dark living room. Only a month ago, Helena had been home almost every night, up until the late hours, playing music or watching tv. Her presence had made the house feel more alive, and without it, it became dark and looming and entirely unfriendly. 

 Gore was likely off snoring in some dark corner, or the inside of a box, that was fine with her. Gore looked like roadkill to most people he was introduced to, and she didn’t feel like scaring off the guy she was about to bang with her monster raccoon familiar. 

 “Oh- I should get the light-” she murmured, backing up to reach for the light switch when she backed into solid muscle. When did he get behind me?

 “That’s perfectly alright, I can see in the dark,” Rire said, his voice low, and not playful anymore.

 “I can’t,” she whispered, as Rire moved his hands from her arms, where they had gone to steady her, to her hips. She was just starting to relax back into him when she was suddenly spun around, and slammed into the wall with enough force to urge a small sound of surprise out of her.

 “That was a good sound,” Rire all but purred, his hands finding her wrists and drawing them above her head. She felt uncomfortably exposed this way, and even more-so knowing that he was strong enough to hold both of her hands with one of his. She gave an experimental wriggle of her arms, and found that his grip was like a pair of manacles- unbreakable.

 She let out a ragged breath as she felt his lips against her chest, climbing up to her neck, leaving soft warm patches as he went. He nipped her with his teeth just slightly, but it stung more than she expected, and she squirmed around in his grasp, making a sound of annoyance as she did.

 Rire breathed an apology that didn't sound sincere, his free hand circling around her back as he drew her in to press his mouth against hers. He was surprisingly warm, and tasted of the silver tequila that had been in the long islands. She suddenly remembered that neither she or Rire had actually paid for those drinks, and found herself trying to remember anything about the lounge or the people in it after Rire approached her. Quickly, she realized that she couldn’t.

 There was almost time for that to be concerning, when all of the sudden the hand binding her wrists dropped and went to the back of her thighs, where it was joined by the other, and then she felt her feet lifted off the ground as Rire picked her up and pushed her back into the wall. He held her there with nothing but the force of his body as his hands left her legs, which were busy wrapping around his waist. Her dress slipped away from her thighs, leaving her partially bare skin to slide over whatever heavenly fabric his suit was made out of. It felt softer than pure silk, like running water. She wanted to drown in it.

 Rire’s hands went to work as he kissed her again, but only softly, to her frustration. Eleanor wanted the feverish, desperate kissing that you were supposed to do with strangers in the dark, but he wouldn’t relent. He didn’t even shove his tongue down her throat, which she was almost grateful for.

 However, he made up for his tentative kisses with the things he did with his hands. They roamed everywhere over her skin, drawing down the zipper of her dress slowly and surely, running over her hips, slipping off her shoes, and finally moving to tangle in her hair roughly, and hold her head firmly against the wall. Eleanor let out a whimper as he stopped kissing her, but it was soon remedied when he breathed, “I’m guessing you have a bedroom in this place, and you don’t just fuck every stranger here against the wall.”

 She huffed, “I thought you could see in the dark,” and one of Rire’s hands moved to curl around the underside of her thigh roughly. After that, he put her down, the feeling of her feet on the floor foreign like she hadn’t known it in years, and she reached for one of his hands to lead him to a bed.

 Her bedroom was actually a disgusting heap of books and papers, with a sheet hung over the window, and a single sofa in the corner that she spent almost every night on. There was something comforting about having her back against a wall. The spare bedroom downstairs had an actual bed, a big one with lots of pillows and soft sheets, and when she took people home, that was generally where she took them.

 Unless of course, she thought they were the kind of person who enjoyed fucking on couches. She didn’t imagine Rire was that sort of person. So she led him to the first-floor spare, the doorknob cold from lack of use beneath her hands as she twisted it open, the room itself meeting them with a soft breeze of citrus-scented air, and for a moment she worried that it smelled too clean, too sterile. It wasn’t Helena’s room, hers had been upstairs, adjacent from Eleanor’s. It hadn’t been opened since the day she died. 

 Eleanor couldn’t see, but somehow knew that Rire was grinning behind her, “This isn’t your room,” he told her, as if she didn’t know.

 She let out a distracted hum, ignoring the light-switch in this room too, although she was entirely unsure why. She wasn’t so self-conscious that she cared about being seen with the lights on, but something about the darkness felt safer with Rire. She hadn’t been able to live in her apartment with less than every light on for the past month, it was a welcome change.

 “No, but it has a bed that you can fuck me on, all the same,” she countered, somehow feeling tipsier from the drinks than she had half an hour ago. Endorphins, her mind scrambled to excuse the odd feeling, your adrenaline is up, hormones raging.

 Rire didn’t respond to this with words, but shoved her down onto the bed roughly. She let out a sound of protest, and tried sitting up only to be shoved back down again. This time she stayed down.

 “Be good,” Rire encouraged, as he reached beneath her dress, fingers catching in the thin lines of fabric that held the tiny pair of underwear she wore together. They were purple lace, and she was wearing a matching bra, something she felt went to waste given the lack of light. Her breath caught in her throat as he pulled them down her legs slowly, part of her feeling that it was odd he had taken those off before her dress, but all concerns of him leaving it on were sated when he took the straps of the dress beneath his fingers.

 “Just how difficult are you going to become if I rip this?” he asked, but didn’t actually give her a chance to respond before he pulled up on both straps roughly- and both of them snapped beneath the pressure almost instantly.

 Eleanor fumed, “That was a really cute dress,” she argued, torn between being extremely turned on, and extremely annoyed.

 “It was,” Rire agreed, grabbing a handful of the silky material and hauling it off of her. She thought she heard more stitches rip as he went, but she barely cared anymore. As he was slipping the dress off her legs, she reached behind her to undo the clasp that held her bra together, and when it was off, she flicked it somewhere in the room. If it landed on a hard surface, it didn’t make a sound. 

 “That’s better,” he told her, his voice low, hands starting on her stomach and smoothing down her body, all the way to her calves.

 “Unfair though,” Eleanor whined, hand reaching forwards to grab a handful of his vest, “You still have every layer on,” she pointed out, not wanting to sit up again in attempt to remove said layers, mostly due to the ferocity he had shown last time she tried to sit up. Rire clearly preferred to be in control, and that was almost entirely alright with her.

 “Life is unfair, but since you’re so soft and pretty, I’ll indulge you,” he offered. His hands stopped touching her then, and for a moment she waited for him to remove his clothing, until she realized that he meant for her to do it. She scooted up on the bed, sitting on the edge and letting her legs brush against his lightly. Her hands gingerly went to his vest where she found three buttons that she undid with haste. She reached up to pull it down over his arms, going slowly to admire the toned muscle beneath his shirt, and then less slowly as she realized it was the next thing to go. She made quick work of the button down shirt he wore, somewhere deep in her thoughts she made note to ask him what it was made out of.

 Rire seemed to get impatient all of the sudden, and did the rest of the unclothing himself, shrugging his shirt off and unclasping his belt. Eleanor could barely see, the blackout curtains that hung in the window blocking even the moonlight from filtering through, and she tried to picture exactly what he looked like shirtless when he pushed her back down onto the bed, this time coming with her. Elbows on either side of her, he was close enough that she could have kissed him again if she wanted to.

 Her hands wandered up to his chest, roaming down to his abs, and finally, to the deep v-curve of his hips, and the soft trail of silky hair that started at his stomach and made its way down, down, down….

 She was almost exactly where she wanted to be, trying to vividly picture what it all looked like, when he gathered her hands up again, this time crossing them on her chest and holding them there. She could feel her own heartbeat against her left wrist, slamming beneath her ribs so hard she was surprised he couldn’t hear it. Then, without much warning other than slightly nudging her legs apart, Rire’s fingers found exactly what they were looking for.

 His hands, slightly rough and very big, brushed against her clit lightly, teasingly, and not stopping to give it a moment’s attention. She arched into his touch, and let out a frustrated sigh. When his fingers moved further down, she heard him give a mean laugh. “My, my, you are excited,” he purred, firmly pushing two fingers inside of her, and immediately curling them up to brush against a spot deep inside of her that made her cry out and see stars.

 “You’re going to be a lot of fun,” Rire told her, his voice doing things to her that she was barely able to control. As he worked his fingers inside of her repeatedly, brushing against that spot that drove her wild again and again until she was writhing on the bed beneath him, she felt the whisper of a plea starting at the back of her throat, held back by nothing but the thin thread of self control that she was clutching onto.

 She felt Rire’s growl right down to his fingers inside of her, as they got rougher and faster, accompanied by the sudden demand of, “Don’t hold back, I want to hear all of those cute noises you can make.” That was enough to do her in, and she felt her legs tense up and her heart skip a beat as she was almost there, just a little closer-

 Then Rire pulled his hand away all at once, and she couldn’t help the loud groan of annoyance that slipped out of her, followed by a desperate, “Please.”

 He laughed again, not in a good natured way, and she heard the silver buckle of his belt hit the hardwood floor. Suddenly her disappointment evaporated, and her heart sped up again. Rire collected her legs and rested them over his shoulders, which felt strong and well-rounded beneath her calves.

 He experimentally slid his cock up against her, a quiet sound of contemplation leaving him as he did, one of the first out-of-control noises she had heard him make all evening. She squirmed uselessly beneath him as he continued teasing her for a minute, and then she felt the blunt force of his cock pressing against her, harder, harder, harder until he slipped inside of her, and she twisted around on the bed, her hands curling into the sheets. Rire growled as he pushed further inside of her, tantalizing slow-inch-by-inch, until he bottomed out inside of her, earning a breathless moan from Eleanor.

 Then his hands grabbed her legs roughly and he pulled out much quicker than he had gone in, and then snapped his hips up and drove himself back into her. Just as she felt tears sting at the edges of her eyes from the size of him, he began to move at a faster pace than she expected. He pounded into her mercilessly, his breathing becoming slightly labored, but never hitching as he did, every time he brushed against the spot he had made so sensitive with his fingers, and her head spun. She could barely breathe, all focused on the feeling of being completely used by Rire, who didn’t seem to care if she was comfortable or not. 

 He kept the rigorous pace up as his nails clawed down her thighs, his teeth lightly scraping over one of her calves as she curled her toes in anticipation of a bite that never came. Her heartbeat became unstable, her breathing quick and mechanical, and she was just getting used to the pace, he let her legs down gently, slowing down long enough to flip her over onto her stomach.

 She made a surprised sound, a noise that quickly turned to a drawn out whine when he shoved himself inside of her again, his hand grabbing a fistful of her hair and pulling her head back roughly. His hand grabbed her hip hard enough to leave bruises, and her head fell back down to the bed after he let go of her hair, which was tangled and damp in places where she had drooled and cried. She felt like a mess, and that didn’t change the longer he fucked her into her own bed, setting a pace that made her feel like his goal was to slam through her guts and out her stomach on the other side. It would have been nauseating, if it wasn’t the best sensation Eleanor had felt in her life.

 After a few minutes, Rire seemed to tire of that position too and pulled out of her entirely. She felt uncomfortably empty with him gone, “Rire,” she begged, the words after it coming out as senseless groans as she kicked her feet in protest. Then she felt the bed sink down beside her, and a second later she was being roughly pulled into his lap. She let her legs straddle him, his huge cock beneath her, his hands on her hips, and she felt a rush of satisfaction at being in a position of control for once.

 Instead of immediately impaling herself back down on him, she decided to grind her hips down against his length, enjoying the friction it gave her, and feeling the orgasm that he seemed unwilling to let her have to start to build again. Her eyes had adjusted enough to the dark by that point that despite her haze of pleasure that was close to lulling her into a coma, she noticed that Rire still had the sunglasses on. 

 She stopped her movements suddenly, his hands squeezing her hips as if signalling her to continue.

 “Are-are you wearing sunglasses indoors, at night, while you’re fucking me?” she questioned him, feeling her hand twitch as she debated reaching up to slide them off his face.

“I might be,” Rire answered, but sounded completely uninterested on the accessories he was wearing, too busy reaching around behind her, presumably in an attempt to start fucking her again. She wasn’t satisfied.

 “Um, why?” Eleanor asked, idly raising her hips a little so he could line himself up with her entrance again. Rire didn’t answer her, and in a rush of confidence, she reached forward to knock the sunglasses off his face at exactly the same time as he lowered her down onto his cock again.

 She choked noticeably. In place of what should have been brown eyes, blue eyes, green eyes, were two pupils, split like a cat’s, their iris’s entirely yellow. Suddenly, she could see much better in the dark than she could before. His eyes seemed to almost glow, and she knew what it meant, but wouldn’t quite let it sink in until he grinned at her, and she realized it was the first time that she was looking straight at him while he smiled with his teeth. All of which were pointed like a shark’s. Suddenly the all-too-tentative kissing made sense- he hadn’t wanted to spoil the fun too soon. A lance of fear went through her chest. 

Two rows of razor sharp teeth, and yellow cat eyes. Her stomach lurched forwards, and it had nothing to do with him shoving his hips forwards to push his cock right up against her cervix. He was a demon. She was fucking a demon.

 She let out a gasp, the first sound she found herself able to make, and tried to slide off of him when his hands took her hips again, this time with more brute strength than any person had the right to possess, and forced her to stay down on him.

 “You really shouldn’t have done that,” he said maliciously, looking satisfied despite his words, and then as if to demonstrate his point, Rire started fucking into her harder than he had been before, when she thought he had been going rough. Eleanor wasn’t long before she had a steady stream of tears down her cheeks, her words a jumbled mess of “please,” and “let me go,” and meaningless whines and groans of defeat as he pushed her closer to the edge, however unwillingly. 

 “Shhh,” Rire hushed her, one hand leaving her side to brush through her hair gently as her nails scratched down his chest, “Enjoy yourself while you still can, little human. This is hardly the worst I can do,” he growled confidently, but his thrusts were getting erratic, his breathing becoming less and less steady.

 Eleanor grabbed his forearms and curled her hands around them, her nails clawing into his skin as her breathing pitched higher, and all of the sudden her entire world came crashing around her as she came around him, her eyes rolling back into her head, her body going limp.

 When she came down, she all but fell forwards on top of him. Her ears were ringing, but she could feel the chuckle vibrate through his chest as he purred in her ear, “Good girl,” he praised mockingly, and focused on finishing himself off as he slammed into her over and over again until finally he bottomed out one last time, hands going to her hips to hold her in place as she tried to squirm away.

 In the aftermath, she was breathing so hard, nothing in her vision except an array of stars, that she didn’t even care that he was a demon, that he was probably about to rip her intestines out and eat them for a midnight snack. She let herself rest on his chest waiting for her breathing to get steady, his hand idly tracing up and down her spine as he let her breathe. She realized with an eerie creeping sensation that he didn’t have a heartbeat. It was the last thing she realized before what little she could see became distorted, and her vision blurred until it went entirely black, and her bones turned to jello as she slipped out of consciousness.