Beware the curse that falls on young lovers
it starts so soft and sweet
but turns them into hunters
"No one touches you," he growled into her ear, fisting his hand tighter in her hair, relishing in the groan of pain that escaped her lips.
"Fuck you," she spat into his shoulder.
"This skin," he whispered in a gravely voice, "is mine. Only I will touch you. Only I—" his words were cut off by a grunt as he slammed into her harder, forcing a moan from her as she slid higher up the wall, "—can make you feel this."
She wanted to deny him, to tell him he wasn't the only one, but she was so close and could only manage to gasp one word.
"Jacob," she gasped out cruelly.
The sound Edward made in reaction to hearing that name could scarcely be considered human and she felt a rush of triumph and satisfaction when his thrusting grew impossibly more forceful, so that with every moment of pleasure, came the exquisite pain she needed.
"You are mine!" he hissed at her possessively, yanking her hair harshly, making her whimper.
Darkness dots her vision for a few moments, delivering her into silence, giving her just what she needs.
There are no kisses, no cuddling as he slips out and rolls on his back beside her. Both are satisfied physically, and this brief rapture is what keeps their minds pleasantly blank as they stare at the ceiling.
Eventually, she can move and the peaceful fog she laid within disperses.
Neither says a word as she leaves the bed and begins to gather her clothes from where they were carelessly shed on the floor.
She can feel his eyes on her back, watching her with the same listless gaze he always has when they're done. It's as if she's a demon possessing him, driving him to the point of madness—but the release she gives him is what exorcises her from his mind, body, and heart.
Not that she believes he has a heart. It's difficult to imagine anything other than a gaping hole in his chest, especially after having him so deep inside her. It always felt as if he was trying to claw his way in. She wants to assure him he already has, but she bites her tongue.
She slips her soaked underwear up her legs, the moisture serving as a reminder of how much he can control her.
Notes: This was inspired by Florence and the Machine's Howl.
I wrote this quite awhile back. I'm not sure where I had planned on going with this, so it'll remain a one-shot for now. Perhaps I'll remember and write more in the future.