The air in the room had thickened into
something alive, heavy and electric, each breath pulled between them like silk
stretched taut. Sayuri could barely catch her own breath, her chest rising and
falling as though her lungs had forgotten the rhythm. Elira hovered over her
with that gaze—dark, feral, hungry—the kind of look that stripped away all
illusions of control.
Sayuri's body trembled, every nerve
buzzing with awareness, and still Elira didn't rush. Her slowness was a
torment, deliberate, a promise that nothing would be given too easily. She bent
low, lips brushing against Sayuri's throat, not yet biting, not yet marking,
only letting her feel the heat of her breath.
Sayuri's pulse hammered beneath her
skin. Her fingers curled into the sheets, knuckles paling as Elira finally
pressed her mouth to that soft place between her jaw and collarbone. A kiss—no,
more than a kiss. Her lips lingered, parted, then sealed around flesh with slow
pressure. Heat turned to sting, sting to ache, until Sayuri gasped, her voice
breaking into the silence. The bite wasn't cruel, but it was undeniable. It
sent a shudder racing through her, her legs tightening, her back arching
helplessly. Elira pulled back only to admire the mark blooming beneath her
lips—dark, deliberate, a bruise that would whisper of this moment long after it
had passed. "You'll feel that tomorrow," Elira murmured, her voice low and
velvet, laced with something dangerous. Sayuri's breath came ragged. She should
have resisted, pushed back, said something to break the tension—but when
Elira's mouth moved again, lower this time, just above her collarbone, she
could only gasp. The next bite came sharper, followed by a soft drag of tongue
that soothed and reignited the sting. Sayuri moaned, high and unsteady, her
body jerking beneath Elira's touch as though she were caught in a storm. Elira
moved with patience, as if mapping Sayuri's body with her mouth alone. Each
bite was placed with intention: one at the hollow of her throat, another along
the slope of her shoulder. Sayuri writhed with every mark, clutching at sheets,
at air, at anything that might anchor her while Elira drew her further into the
abyss. By the time Elira's mouth reached her chest, Sayuri was shivering, her
breaths coming too fast, her skin flushed with heat. Elira didn't hesitate—she
claimed that place too, teeth and lips leaving a vivid bloom against her skin.
Sayuri cried out, her body arching up as though the contact had lit her from
within. Another bite followed, lower, then another, each one dragging her
deeper into helplessness. Her skin felt feverish, alive, each mark throbbing
with heat, each one a reminder that she was not untouched, not unclaimed. She
couldn't hide these marks, not from herself, not from anyone who might look too
closely. And still Elira wasn't finished. Her hands slid lower, pressing Sayuri
down, keeping her trembling form pinned while her mouth trailed downward.
Sayuri's thighs quivered as Elira's lips brushed across them, the ghost of a
kiss that sent a violent shiver through her. The inside of her thigh was soft,
vulnerable—too vulnerable. "Elira—" Sayuri tried to speak, but her voice
collapsed into a moan as teeth grazed the tender skin. The bite came sharp and
hot, then eased with a soothing kiss. Sayuri's entire body jerked, her breath
catching as if the air itself had abandoned her. Elira pulled back slightly,
her eyes fixed on the mark she had left—dark, vivid, possessive. Her lips
curved into a faint smile, and for a moment she looked less like a lover and
more like a predator savoring its claim. She didn't stop. Another bite followed,
deeper on the inner thigh, so close that Sayuri's entire frame quaked. She
cried out, not from pain but from the unbearable mixture of sting and
sweetness, the torment of being left raw and wanting. Her body had become a map
of Elira's desire—each bruise, each mark a star in a constellation of hunger.
Sayuri was trembling uncontrollably, her moans spilling freely now, her voice
rough and broken with need. When Elira finally lifted her head, her eyes caught
Sayuri's. It was the look of someone who wanted to consume her whole—dark,
hungry, unrelenting. Sayuri couldn't hold it. Her eyes fluttered shut, her body
curling as though she could hide from the force of that gaze, but Elira caught
her chin and forced her to meet it again. "You're mine tonight," Elira
whispered, her tone sharp as silk. "Every sound, every shiver—you belong to
me." Sayuri's chest rose and fell rapidly, her lips parting but no words
forming. She couldn't speak. She could only feel—the sting of the bites, the
heat spreading through her body, the ache of being seen so completely, so
hungrily. Elira's mouth returned once more, biting lightly at her hip, then
soothing, then biting again along the curve of her waist. By the time she drew
back fully, Sayuri's body was covered in marks—neck, chest, thighs—all living
proof of this night. For a long moment, the room was filled with nothing but
the sound of their breathing—Sayuri's quick and uneven, Elira's deep and
steady. The intensity had left Sayuri trembling, her body limp against the
sheets, as though Elira had stolen all her strength with each bite. Elira
shifted, stretching out beside her but not letting the silence break. Her hand
brushed over one of the fresh marks on Sayuri's chest, her touch feather-light,
almost reverent. "Look at you," she murmured. "You don't even know how
beautiful you are like this." Sayuri opened her mouth, but no words came. She
felt undone, scattered into pieces by the force of what had just happened. Her
skin was alive with heat, each mark pulsing as though reminding her over and
over that she had surrendered. She turned her head toward Elira, searching for
something—an answer, a reason, maybe even an escape. But when she saw the way
Elira was looking at her, her breath caught again. That gaze—hungry,
unblinking, as though she might lean down and devour her entirely—left her both
terrified and exhilarated. "Elira…" she whispered, her voice trembling. Elira
leaned closer, brushing her lips against Sayuri's ear. "Don't be afraid of what
you're feeling. It's yours. It's ours."Sayuri shivered. She should have pulled
away, should have spoken, but instead she found herself leaning into the touch,
her body betraying her with its need. The silence stretched between them, heavy
with everything unspoken—fear, desire, longing. When Elira finally pulled back,
her hand lingered on Sayuri's waist, tracing the edge of a mark with the pad of
her thumb. Her expression softened just slightly, though the hunger never
faded. "You'll remember this tomorrow," she said quietly. "Every time you see
them, every time they ache—you'll think of me." Sayuri closed her eyes, her
breath uneven. She already knew Elira was right. Every mark felt like a brand,
something she couldn't wash away, something that tied her to this moment, to
this woman who looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered. The
room remained hushed, the world outside forgotten. For the first time, Sayuri
realized that nothing would ever be the same. The marks on her skin were more
than just bites—they were confessions, demands, promises. And beneath the
sting, beneath the trembling, her heart whispered the truth she wasn't ready to
face: she wanted it. She wanted Elira. Even if it left her undone.