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Jinu is a little different today, Rumi notices.
Usually, he’s gentle. Soft kisses and hushed breaths, slow strokes and barely there grazes of his teeth on her skin. Trembling hands too warm, pants of her name too loving. He’s usually careful with his fingers; trails them down her curves soft — so soft and slow like she’s love, like she’s glass fragile enough for him to break.
But today he’s a little mean, more than a little demanding.
He’s fangs digging into the junction between her neck and shoulder, hands mapping all over her all needy and possessive. Claws scratching at her and drawing blood as though to whisper mine, mine, mine. His thrusts are animalistic — hard and fast in a way that knocks the air out of her lungs, that leaves her knees twitching and her eyes teary. There’s none of the gentle lovemaking she’s grown used to; only constant friction and the feel of his balls slapping against her ass. A fang ghosting over the shell of her ear as he licks off a bead of sweat from the slope of her jaw.
“Come for me,” Jinu heaves out, tone an asserted command as though he hasn’t already forced her over the edge too many times.
“Can’t,” is all Rumi can say, a broken whisper as Jinu shakes his head. Quickens his pace instead of slowing down, catches her lips and swallows her cries when she breathes out a scream too loud.
“Yes, you can,” he croons, sweet and loving even as he hooks her legs around his shoulders and buries himself deeper. Stretching her out, moulding her walls to remember his shape. The snap of his hips unforgiving as Rumi hears the squelch, the slap of skin on skin as he rams into her pussy like he owns it. “You wanna make me proud, don’t you? Wanna make me feel good?”
Yes, Rumi thinks, but nothing leaves her except for a whine. The small noise making him bury his head into her shoulder, making him grab at her hips, guide her faster up and down his cock as he pounds into her. The sound he lets out after is guttural — something between a plea and a demand, between affection and instinct as she squeezes around him and he throws his head back at the feel. His breath hot against the hollow space at the base of her throat as his tongue lolls out, tracing idly over her patterns.
“Jinu, please,” Rumi begs, but Jinu simply laughs. Another shake of his head as he peppers hot, open-mouthed kisses all over her neck. Her mind addles with lust, shivers shooting down her spine every time his fang lingers too close to her pulse.
“I can feel you holding it in,” he pants, half-annoyed, half-desperate. Eyes flashing at her with intent as Rumi jolts when his fingers find her clit, digits rubbing back and forth, left and right and in circles before pinching hard. Making her dizzy with pleasure again, the heat in the pit of her stomach building bit by bit, stroke by stroke. “Let go for me. Be a good girl and come undone for me.”
But Rumi inhales a shaky breath. Dares herself to look him in the eye, adamant even as he threatens to snap her in half.
“No,” she says, between chopped breaths, between shaky whimpers as Jinu pins her wrists in one hand when she tries to struggle. Keeping her still and at his mercy as he slams into her, as he fucks her like a man possessed. His breath laboring at the sight of her spurting every time he draws out only to force himself in again. “It’s too soon, I can’t come again when it’s too soon —"
He pulls her hips harder down his length and she startles, melts into nothing but a string of moans. Whatever semblance of resistance stripped away as Jinu glares down at her, eyes shimmering gold, lips a smear of blood and spit. He heaves out a breath — and his patterns seem to glow brighter, purple on sweat-slickened skin as he shifts to angle himself at her g-spot. Laughing again when she quivers violently, when she whispers a pathetic, half-attempt at his name.
“Jinu,” she snarls — or tries to anyway as he pounds into tight heat. Her left eye glinting gold as well as he dips fingers underneath, bruising her clit and forcing her up a precipice. “I said I can’t —"
“You can and you will,” he growls, rhythm growing frantic and uncoordinated, cruel and relentless as she arches her back in pleasure, pushing her chest into his face as he wraps his lips around a breast, tongue flicking at a nipple. “You’ll come for me and you’ll like it. You’ll even thank me, tell me how good I make you feel.”
Had this been any other day, Rumi would have scoffed at him. Scolded him that he was letting his ego get to his head again. But it isn’t any other day and all she can do now is take it, all she can do now is whimper and cry and tremble as he makes her take it.
“Please,” Rumi tries, but it’s useless — the knot in her belly threatens to unravel, fire spreading all over under her skin as her patterns become radiant like his, lips to lips and claws scratching at each other as Jinu lets go of her wrists in favor of wrapping a hand around her neck. Applying pressure; firm enough to choke, soft enough to kiss love into her skin as he laps at the single track of tear springing free. Tongue an aching path on her cheek as he bucks his hips once, twice, and then three more times until —
“Jinu, Jinu, Jinu,” Rumi repeats again and again like it’s a prayer. The world stuttering on its axis as she breaks for him again and everything cuts to white.
But Jinu doesn’t stop even as she comes. Fucks her through the high and even after —doesn’t even take a moment of reprieve before he pulls out almost completely only to sink back into warmth. Feverish, rough and deep like he’s been deprived of her for a year even though it’s only been two days since they last saw each other. Rumi has half a mind to push him down to his back and tie him to the bed until he learns some self-control. She knows she can even though she’s spent. And yet.
And yet.
“Jinu,” she whispers, and he jolts. Gold blinked away as she cups his cheek in one hand, his cheeks flushing and breath stuttering as he stares at her in a confusion between affection and instinct, between demon and Jinu and then demon and then Jinu again. Like this, he looks almost ethereal — pretty under moonlight as the patterns spread to his face, like a plague festering, like love blooming.
“You’re gonna come, aren’t you,” she says instead of asking. Doesn’t have to really, because she feels it in the way he throbs against her walls, feels it in the way his heart stops then sputters into a start again when she splays a hand over his chest. He loses his pace, hips faltering before picking up speed. Battering her swollen slit, using her up the way she lets him.
Jinu parts his lips and almost says something. Probably feels like he has to, like he should. But then no words form — only the flutter of his lips on hers as he moans her name in reverence and clings to her like she’s life, like she’s the anchor keeping him afloat. He nips at her lower lip hard enough to break through skin, and Rumi accepts it, the pain and the taste of iron on her tongue as she bleeds and she scratches his back and makes him bleed, too.
He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. For people like them, peeling apart the layers takes one step forward and three steps back. But it’s okay because it’s enough, because it’s her and it’s him and they fit together like two puzzle pieces. Out of place everywhere else, but perfect when they blend together and Rumi forgets where she ends and he begins and where he ends and she begins. They’re nothing and then they’re everything; two halves of a heart awkwardly meeting half-way.
I love you, Jinu says, but doesn’t. She hears it though — in the pitter-patter under his chest, in the way his lips shake before they find hers again, the way he touches their foreheads together, how he looks at her like she’s perfect the way she is and he doesn’t need her any other way.
Jinu spurts inside her, a warmth of white and everything that is him —
— and Rumi takes that, too. Willingly, happily. Like he’s the air she breathes as she pulls him down for another kiss. Like love, silent.