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Her body still ached from their last run, but it didn’t stop her. She felt him, knew he was close. She always seemed to know once he’d laid eyes on her. Her ankle was still healing from the fracture he’d given her — she doesn’t even know how she’s managed to run this long — but the ache is too much. She dropped behind a tree, chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. It’s gone, that tickle on the back of her neck, she must have lost him. She pushed up her pant leg, taking in the gruesome sight of her barely healed wound, the black and purple mess. She leaned her head back against the tree, allowing herself a few more moments of respite.
Then she heard it – a snap.
Her spine straightened instantly, the instinct of a prey animal, eyes wide and unseeing in the dark. She caught her lip between her teeth, trying to muffle the sound of her breaths.
“Come on, … you know I’ll find you. I always do.” His voice was rough but playful, a whisper, it twisted her gut. He loved this. Loved this game they played, over and over. Hunting her, stalking her, making her his prey. When he finally caught her — it was worse every time. But still, it’s there, that warmth. A burning, deep and low. She hated it. She felt herself slicken. It was disgusting — how her body betrayed her.
She shook her head, his voice had been to her left, far enough away that she might stand a chance. Maybe this time she could get to the gate, or at least the gatehouse, get her hands on a gun. Deep down she knew she wouldn’t, she never did but it helped sometimes to pretend. Made it easier.
She waited, counting in her head.
One.
Two.
Three.
She ran, lifting from the ground in a flash, the pain of her ankle forgotten. The ground pounded beneath her feet, her legs pumping as hard as they could. Her chest burned, her eyes stung with tears, but still she didn’t stop. She could feel it, every mark he’d left on her. Every touch, every cut, every burn, every hit — permanently engraved on her skin. She wouldn’t let him make another. Titus was a man who didn’t know how to love. How to show affection. No, he’d been given the world on a silver platter. All he knew was possession. That’s all she was, a pretty new toy for him to play with. But like the spoiled child he’d once been, he couldn’t stop himself from breaking her.
The roar of her breath was deafening, her heartbeat a pounding drum, sending her forward, on and on. But still she heard him, the all too familiar sound of his boots hitting the ground, running behind her. He was close, closer than she’d thought. She wanted to scream, but he liked that. Liked when she struggled, when she was afraid. She hated that she was. Every time.
Suddenly, something struck her — a body, solid like steel, ramming into her thin frame. She slammed against the ground, all the air pushed from her lungs as she collapsed against the earth. Her mouth gaped like a fish, eyes bulging as she tried to breathe, but he was on top of her. The weight of him always surprised her, a mass of muscle and bone. His breath was hot against her ear, panting from the chase, a small laugh escaped him. With firm hands he gripped her shoulders, flipping her over in one swift movement. Her back slammed against the hard ground, forcing a cry from her lips. Her heart raced in fear when she took him in, the sight of him above her. His hazel eyes were alight with excitement, practically glowing in the moonlight. His handsome face was split with an animalistic grin, the aged lines at the corners of his mouth made it look impossibly wide. His chest heaved above her, exhausted from his age, yet still he could always outrun her. His eyes roamed over her as she writhed beneath him, trying desperately to free herself from his grasp. It was useless and she knew it but she couldn’t stop the instinct to fight. To maim him.
“I got you, bunny.”
She bared her teeth before spitting at him, watching as it hit his lips. She hated that stupid fucking nickname. His smile dimmed for just a moment before he lifted off of her. He rested on his haunches before he pulled back and punched her so hard she saw stars. The white hot pain flooded her senses, forcing her eyes shut as they welled with tears. A warm trail of blood ran from her nose, she tasted iron on her tongue. He grabbed her face hard, pushing her stinging cheek painfully against her teeth. “Dont– do that.” His voice was stern, laced with venom. It’s almost enough to halt her, but her mind connects the freedom of her arms, and in an instant she’s moving. Striking him, blow after blow. Using her nails to scratch, her fingers to tear. His face, his neck, his sides, his arms, his gut, anything she can reach. He cried out when she landed one solid blow to his groin, it’s enough to get him off her. He rolled to the side, grabbing himself, and she’s moving. Crawling across the forest floor, dirt under her nails.
A hand grabbed her fractured ankle, yanking it, pulling her back to where he lay. She cried out in agony, unable to hold it back as what felt like needles dug into the tendons beneath her skin.
With a bruising grip, he yanked her another yard until she was next to him. He stood up then, towering over her as she lay in the fetal position, holding her ankle.
She turned her eyes up to look at him, and all the amusement was gone from his face. In the darkness of the wood, she could barely make out his features but she felt the rage permeating the air around him. She watched as he pulled his leg back, and felt the pain before his boot even hit her. Her lungs burned as she gasped for air but all she got was bits of dirt. The pain in her abdomen was unbearable, but before her body could even register it he landed another blow. Kicking her, over and over. She felt a rib snap, a cry clawing out of her chest. He kicked until his chest was heaving, landing back on his heels, swaying over her.
Titus knelt down next to her, and she could see the sweat beading on his brow. He gripped her long hair, wrapping it tight around his fist before yanking her head from the ground. Tears stung her eyes, a few escaping down her dirt covered cheeks. Leaning in, close enough for her to smell the whiskey and tobacco of his breath, he mocked, “‘S that hurt? Huh, bunny?”
The tight grip he had on her restricted any movement. When she didn’t respond, he slapped her hard with his free hand, shaking her. “Hello! I asked you a question!” Sarcasm dripped from his tongue, and she hates him. Truly hates him with every fiber of her being.
She can see it. The blade twisting deep into his neck, his chest, his back. Feel the hot spurt of his blood on her face, her hands, her body. She can feel the cool metal of the gun, pressed against his temple before the trigger is pulled. The light leaving hazel eyes.
Her voice comes out rough and far more fragile than she wants it to as she whispers a simple, yes.
That smile again. It’d be painfully handsome if it wasn’t fueled by such sadistic pleasure. “We’re gonna have some more fun now… yeah, bunny?” With that he dropped her head, her skull slamming painfully against a root on the ground.
Her body ached all over, blinding pain, yet it’s only gotten worse. The cruelest ache. She knows he’ll see it, feel it, and that’s the worst bit.
He knows.
Just like she knows. That horrid, awful, disgusting truth.
It’s why they’ve done this so many times, why he didn’t just kill her that first time.
He stood back up, hiding himself amongst the shadows of the trees, but she could feel the grin still plastered on his face. He clicked his tongue, nodding his head toward her. She knows the drill, knows what he wants. But she doesn’t move, she can’t make it that easy. It can’t be easy.
His boot presses to her temple, shoving her face sideways into the dirt. He presses just hard enough to hurt her bruised face, kneeling down again. “If you don’t, I will”, there’s venom in the words. She knows that’s what he wants, for her to resist. To take from her. Yet still she doesn’t move. Her limbs are frozen. She doesn’t know why, be it the pain, or something else. Something worse.
He bent down, placing his large hands beneath her arms and pulled her roughly up. Her feet don’t catch beneath her, and she falls against his solid body. He’s warm in the cold of the night, and she hates that a part of her finds it a small relief.
Moving her like a doll, he slams her against the trunk of the nearest tree, pinning her in place with his legs. Then he’s on her, hands roaming and pulling, yanking at her clothes. His palms are surprisingly rough as they run across her stomach, calloused from years of training. His face is pressed harshly against hers, his nose pressing into her left eye. She can feel his arousal, the hard length pressing against her hip and she hates that it burns her. Her cunt is aching and she wants to be sick. Nausea roiling in her gut.
He turns his head, his lips dragging across her jaw, and kisses her forcefully. The blood from her nose mingled with his spit. His tongue crashes against her closed lips, teeth sharp and biting, begging for entrance. Something shifts, takes over her body, it always does. But her lips part, allowing him in. She’s choking. On blood, on him, on arousal, on shame, on rage.
His hand runs up her stomach, gripping her breast painfully. A groan escapes from her throat into his mouth, and she feels his teeth smiling against her lips.
Titus tears himself away, and for a moment she almost misses his warmth. His pupils are blown wide, turned pitch black, blood smeared across his mouth. He looks like an animal, fresh from a kill. In a way he is. He withdraws his hands from her body just long enough to grab the thin fabric of her shirt, tearing it from her body. She jumps involuntarily, the force painful against her beaten body. She stands there, trapped between him and the tree, in her bloodied bra and jeans. Something awful happens then, a change in him for a moment.
His eyes aren’t looking at her, but her exposed body. He lifts a hand, and touches her collarbone so gently it hurts worse than any blow he’s ever given. His fingers graze her skin, dragging slowly down her body, tracing the bruises he’s left. The look on his face is terrifying — almost reverent. Eyes wide with something that looks painfully like adoration.
She can’t stand it. She has to make it stop.
She moves fast but of course, he’s faster. He grabs her throat, slamming her back against the tree. His hand is large, wrapping almost entirely around her neck as he squeezes the sides, the blood stopping instantly. “Ah, ah, ah,” he chastises, “Don’t be dumb now, bunny”. He looks down at her, eyes heavy lidded, all traces of the softness from just moments ago gone.
She tries to breathe through her nose to calm herself but already her vision is spotting, blood draining from her face. His eyes roam over her features, the corner of his mouth turned up in amusement. He watches as her eyes begin to flutter, her limbs growing limp beneath him. Just as the tunnel begins to go black, he releases her.
She gasps loudly, head spinning from the sudden rush of blood. Everything’s a blur, but she sees movement. He’s doing something, she doesn’t know what. Slowly her senses return, and she’s cold, her body trembling. She looks down to find he’s pulled her pants off, the rough bark of the tree pressing against the soft flesh of her thighs. Titus stands before her completely clothed, even his coat zipped tightly up, and she lifts her hands in a foolish attempt to cover herself.
He closes their distance in one large stride, placing a hand above her head, trapping her between him and the tree. But the other, the other he runs down her body, stopping only when he reaches the wetness between her thighs. Her eyes close involuntarily, her teeth baring down so hard she thinks they’ll crack. Titus sucks in a breath, middle and ring finger sliding over the soaked spot of her underwear. “Fuck, bunny…. ‘S that bad, huh?” His voice is rough and low, more growl than anything. “Fuck you” she spits, fists tight at her sides trying desperately to fight the moan trapped in her throat. His fingers continue their movements, stroking her cunt and god she could kill him. It’s all she can think about. Splitting his throat. Or a barrel between his teeth.
But when he stops, the faintest whimper escapes her lips. Of course, he hears it.
He grabs her neck hard, throwing her to the ground. She manages to catch herself, palm slicing against a stick, but his boot lands on her back hard, shoving her to the earth. She hears his movements, quick and methodical, as he kneels behind her. The snap of a belt, a zipper, and her heart is racing. Pounding against the ground. She tries to lift herself again but his hand finds her this time, a punishing grip against her lower back, shoving her back down. Everything exists in painful clarity, the night suddenly technicolor. She can see every tree, every root, every blade of grass, the dew on the soil. The cold of the earth against her skin, the pain of her beaten body, the hot wetness of her dripping cunt, the rough grip of his hand sliding across her skin to her hip, pulling her to him.
She breathes, focusing on the in and out, but when the head of his cock presses against her she can’t stop herself from moving. She tries to get up, to crawl away, to move, anything to stop what’s about to happen but Titus is strong. So much stronger than she, and the grip on her hip only tightens. She knows in the morning there'll be five finger shaped bruises there.
It’s filthy, how easily it happens. With one strong thrust he pushes into her, hips pressed hard against her ass. No matter how she tries to fight, her body wants this. Aches for it.
“Fuuuuck”, Titus groans from deep in his chest, and she feels it all the way up her spine. She bites her lip to stop her own, she won’t let him have it. His free hand slides up the skin of her back, slick with sweat despite the cold, until he grips the back of her neck. She feels him lift from his heels, pressing deeper into her as he shoves her head into the ground. Mouth full of blood and dirt, her cunt tightens around him, pulling another curse from his breath. He pulls out painfully slow, before slamming back into her, hitting hard against her cervix. The yelp that escapes her can’t be stopped, and he relishes it. Again, and again, he thrusts into her. Hitting her cervix over and over, sometimes grazing that sweet spot deep inside her. It’s just enough pleasure mixed with the pain to have her fingers digging into the soil.
The grip on the back of her neck tightens and he’s pulling her up, her back bending painfully as he pulls her head against his chest. The position shifts the angle, his cock ramming against that spot and she can’t stop herself now. Her mouth falls open, with each thrust a moan falls from her throat and she can feel the smile on his face. He nuzzles against her ear, breath coming in heavy pants, “See- I knew you liked this. Y’love it when I fuck you, bunny”. He slams especially hard on the last word, and drinks in the cry that she makes.
His hand slides from her neck, moving to grip her jaw as his middle and ring finger slide into her mouth, between her teeth, pulling back hard on her cheek. It makes her gut twist, her cunt soaked around his cock and she wants to die. Wishes he would just kill her and end this torture. She bites down, clenching her molars on his fingers and takes pleasure in the hiss he makes at the pain.
He yanks his hand back, moving it to her hair and pulls so hard by the roots her vision blurs. She’s bent impossibly, back, practically in half. Her broken rib stabbing painfully against her skin, causing tears to well in her eyes. She can see him now, from this angle, and he looks wrecked.
Forehead glistening with sweat, short curls plastered to his temples, lids heavy over his lustful gaze. His mouth is pulled tight as he pants, something closer to a grimace than a smile. The corner of his lip lifts a fraction, and then his fingers are in her mouth. The intrusion violent, shoving all the way to the back of her throat. Her throat convulses, gagging hard around his fingers and then he lets go. She falls forward to the ground, vomiting up blood and bile.
He doesn’t relent, she’s coughing, hands shaking, his cock still buried deep inside of her when she feels him. His hands come to either side of her face, grip painful on her jaw as his middle and ring finger slip between her molars again. Yanking on her cheeks he pulls her back up, and slams into her even harder than before. Hot tears stream down her cheeks, mingling with the blood and spit on her chin. Drool runs down his fingers, his hands, and wrists but he’s unrelenting. Titus curses under his breath with each thrust, she can feel his cock swelling inside of her and she hopes this will soon be over.
But of course, he’s never that kind. He extricates his hands from her mouth, leaning forward until he’s crushing her with his weight, pushing her down into the ground. This new position is cruel, his cock slides between her ass into her cunt with each thrust. Deep inside her he hits that sweet spot again and again, making her see stars. The air is knocked from her lungs with every thrust, restricting her breath and it only adds to the pleasure building in her core.
Her tears from earlier won’t stop, they stream down her cheeks and at this point she has no idea why they fall. The pain all over her body, the weight of him crushing her, her climax building. Or the shame that a part of her loves this. That deep down she knows, it’s not just her body’s physical reaction — she’s enjoying this too. It makes her hate him. Makes her hate herself.
One hand finds its way beneath her and she freezes. Realizes what he’s doing, and she tries to move, to throw her head back and hit him but he stops her. Gripping her throat, he pulls her face up where he can see her. He looks like he’s about to speak, maybe taunt her, but he doesn’t. His lips part but never move. His hand does, sliding down between her legs and finding her clit. Her eyes blow wide, and she wiggles beneath him, trying to stop this from happening. But he’s too big, too strong, and she’s not fighting as hard as she should.
His fingers gather slick from their joined bodies, and return to slowly swirl the sensitive bud. She bites down on her lip hard, hard enough to break skin, the fresh taste of blood on her tongue. His pace speeds up, circling and pressing, pinching to pull a gasp from her. All the while he thrusts deep, his cock pressing against her spot over and over with the rhythm of his fingers.
When she opens her eyes she sees him, watching her — transfixed. His eyes are black, lips parted, teeth bared as he relishes in her suffering. Their eyes meet, and for a moment there’s almost something.
A fleeting glimpse of intimacy. Eyes locked, breath mingling.
It hits her like a flood. She comes hard, cunt clenching hard around his cock, stealing the breath from him with a groan. Her own cries are louder than she’d like, knowing how pathetic she sounds; knowing he loves it. His face splits into that handsome grin and something twists in her heart.
It feels an awful lot like hate, but it’s malformed and grotesque. And in the right light it could almost be love.
Her body slowly stops shaking — she hadn’t even realized it ever was — and Titus takes the moment to chase his own release. He sits back on his knees, pulling her hips up with him, before slamming back into her. His pace is ruthless, pounding hard against her cervix, making her mouth gape in a silent scream. Over and over, until it becomes erratic. When he finally comes, his hand finds the back of her head, shoving her face into the ground. Dirt clouds her nose, her mouth. She can’t breathe but he doesn’t care.
His thrusts never stop as thick ropes of cum paint her insides. His moans are raw, tender, not at all fitting for the beast pounding her into the ground. A small string of curses under his breath, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…”, softer than he ever is.
Slowly his movement stops, and he rolls off, lying panting on the ground next to her.
She doesn’t want to look at him.
But once again, her body betrays her. She turns her head to the side, just enough to steal a glimpse. When she opens her eyes, it’s like he’s kicked her all over again. The wind knocked from her lungs, ribcage aching.
She hates this part.
When he’s finished. Tired and open. Almost vulnerable.
Gentler than he has any right to be.
Like what’s just happened is normal. Husband and wife making love.
Titus faces the trees above, chest rising and falling and rising again. Hand resting on his muscled chest, bicep straining against the fabric of his jacket. For not the first time it hits her, how handsome he is. In the way all predators are, the beauty of a wolf before it’s got you in its jaws.
He must feel her gaze, because his head falls to the side, blue meeting brown. They stay like that for what feels like a lifetime, until she sees movement from the corner of her eye.
She looks down and finds his arm moving slowly, fingers reaching out, ghosting above the bruised skin of her hip.
“I should have let you kill me.” Her voice is quiet, rough — her throat stinging with bile, aching from the crush of his touch. “I shouldn’t have proposed..... Just killed me.”
He smiles then, that wolfish grin, and the man is gone. Just the monster that haunts her every moment. He lifts his hand, strokes the side of her face “Maybe….”
Then, as if this whole thing hasn’t been humiliating enough, he boops the end of her probably broken nose, making her wince. His face morphs into a pout, mocking and cruel, “But you didn’t. It’s you and me, bunny. Til’ death do us part.” Those last words, his final blow landing its mark.
He stands then, taking off his jacket, draping it over her. He tucks an arm beneath her knees, another her head, pulling her up to him, resting against his chest. All the fight’s been drained from her.
She can feel him, inside of her, but he’s deeper now too. Just like every other time — he’s embedded further, twisting into her body, her heart, her mind. Until the smell of him, the warmth of his arms wrapped round her starts to feel like comfort. The anger flooding from her, the shame and the guilt, gone from her body. All that’s left over is him.