I ran.
The cold January air burned my lungs, snow crunching under my boots, black paint still wet on my hands, dripping down my wrists like fresh ink. My heart slammed so hard it hurt, every beat screaming her name.
Raven.
Raven.
Raven.
I didn't stop for traffic lights. Didn't look for cars. I just ran, through alleys, across streets, past people who stared at the madman with paint-smeared arms and wild eyes.
Her building loomed ahead.
I took the stairs three at a time.
Third floor.
Her door.
Unlocked.
I burst in.
She was in the middle of the room, frozen mid-motion, a wrapped canvas in her arms.
Boxes half-packed around her.
Canvases leaning against the wall like soldiers ready to march away.
Her short pixie hair messy, eyes red-rimmed, face pale as death.
She startled so hard the canvas slipped from her hands and hit the floor with a dull thud.
"You shouldn't be here," she whispered.
Her voice cracked on the last word.
I crossed the room in three strides.
Grabbed her shoulders gently, but firm enough she couldn't look away.
"Why?" My voice came out rough, raw. "Why did you stay away after the accident? Why didn't you talk to me? Why did you disappear?"
Tears welled in her gray eyes, storm clouds breaking.
She tried to pull back.
I didn't let her.
"The accident was my fault," she said, voice trembling. "I almost killed you. You're better off without this freak."
The word freak hit me like a slap.
I cupped her face, both hands, thumbs brushing the tears that spilled over.
"Stop," I said. "Don't you dare call yourself that. Not ever."
She shook her head, tears falling faster.
"You were driving. I distracted you. You were on the phone with me, saying you loved me and then… the crash. You almost died because of me. I thought… if I left, you'd be free. You'd have your life back. Without the girl who broke you."
I pulled her closer, forehead to hers.
"You didn't break me, Raven."
She sobbed once, quiet, broken.
"You saved me," I said. "Every single day since the moment I knelt in that spilled ink and looked up at you, you've been saving me. You're not a freak. You're my obsession. My ruin. My everything. I love you so fucking much it hurts. I've loved you through every second I could remember, and I loved you through every second I couldn't."
Her hands fisted in my shirt, paint smearing black across the fabric.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, voice cracking. "I'm so sorry."
I kissed her then, slow, deep, tasting salt.
She kissed back, desperate, clinging, like she was afraid I'd vanish if she let go.
When I pulled back, we were both shaking.
She looked up at me, eyes wide, searching.
"Your memory was gone. How… how did you remember?"
I lifted my hands.
Black paint, thick, wet, dripping, covered them from fingertips to elbows.
I pressed them to her cheeks, leaving perfect handprints on her pale skin.
"Seeing this black paint on my hands," I said, voice breaking on the words.
She stared at the marks.
Touched them with trembling fingers.
A sob escaped her, relief, love, everything.
Then she laughed, wet, broken, real.
And kissed me again.
The kiss started slow, her lips soft against mine, tentative, like she was testing if I was real. But the fire between us had never died, just smoldered under the ashes of lost time. I deepened it, tongue sliding against hers, tasting the faint clove and salt of her tears. My paint-covered hands roamed, down her neck, over her shoulders, smearing black trails across her pale skin like war paint.
She moaned softly into my mouth, shy but urgent, her fingers digging into my shirt as she pulled me closer. I backed her up against the half-packed boxes, the canvas she'd dropped crunching under my boot. I didn't care. Nothing mattered but her.
The kiss ignited and detonated in the same breath.
I didn't ease her into it.
I slammed her back against the nearest wall so hard a half-packed box toppled, canvases crashing sideways with a clatter of wood and stretched fabric. She gasped....sharp, surprised, but I swallowed the sound, tongue forcing past her teeth, invading her mouth with savage hunger. My paint-soaked hands were already everywhere, grabbing her jaw, squeezing her throat just enough to feel her pulse jump under my black-stained fingers, dragging down to rip her thin black tank top straight down the center.
Fabric tore loudly. Buttons popped and scattered across the floor like dark confetti.
Her massive breasts spilled free, heavy, pale, nipples dark and already peaked from the cold air and the violence of my grip. I crushed them in both palms without warning, fingers sinking deep into soft flesh, squeezing so brutally she cried out into my mouth, back arching off the wall. Black paint smeared in thick, obscene handprints across the full curves, dripping down the undersides, marking her like territory claimed.
"Elliot!" she gasped, voice breaking, shy even now.
"No," I snarled against her lips. "No talking. No begging. You take it."
I dropped to my knees, yanking her skirt up violently, tearing the lace panties aside with a single vicious tug. The fabric ripped at the seams. She was already drenched, pussy swollen, glistening, pink folds parted and dripping. I spread her thighs wide, fingers digging into the soft inner flesh hard enough to leave deep bruises, then buried my face between them.
No teasing.
No gentleness.
I attacked her clit with my mouth, sucking it hard into the wet heat, teeth grazing the sensitive nub while my tongue lashed it relentlessly. She screamed, loud, raw, hands flying to my hair, pulling so hard strands tore free. I didn't care. I thrust two fingers inside her without warning, deep, rough, curling hard against her front wall while my mouth sucked and bit her clit like I wanted to devour it whole.
She bucked wildly, hips grinding against my face, but I pinned her hips to the wall with my forearm across her lower stomach, forcing her to take every brutal flick and suck.
"Elliot.....fuck...."
I added a third finger, stretching her mercilessly, pumping fast and deep, the wet squelch obscene in the quiet room. Her thighs trembled violently around my head. I bit down on her clit, not gently, and she shattered.
Her orgasm hit like a seizure, body convulsing, pussy clamping around my fingers, flooding my mouth and chin. She screamed my name, loud, broken, echoing off the black walls, "Elliot....oh god....Elliot!", eyes rolling back completely, tears streaming, mascara running in thick black rivers down her cheeks.
I didn't stop.
I licked her through it, harder, faster, tongue flicking her oversensitive clit while my fingers kept pounding inside her, forcing aftershock after aftershock until she was sobbing, legs shaking so badly they threatened to give out.
"Please."
I stood.
Wiped my mouth roughly with the back of my hand, smearing black paint across my face like war paint.
She looked at me, eyes glassy, cheeks tear-streaked, body already trembling, and tried to speak.
I didn't let her.
I spun her around, slammed her front against the wall again, breasts flattening painfully against the cold brick, nipples scraping raw on the rough surface. I yanked her skirt completely off, kicked her legs apart wider, and freed my cock.
Thick.
Veined.
Throbbing.
Leaking.
I lined up and thrust in, one savage, merciless stroke, all the way to the hilt.
She screamed, raw, guttural, back bowing, hands scrabbling at the brick for purchase.
Tight.
So fucking tight.
Her pussy clenched around me like a fist, trying to push me out and pull me deeper at the same time.
I didn't care.
I fucked her like I hated her.
Hips snapping forward with punishing force, every thrust bottoming out, balls slapping her clit hard enough to sting. The wet, obscene slap-slap-slap of our bodies filled the room, mixed with her broken, high-pitched moans and sobs.
I fisted her short pixie hair, yanked her head back until her throat arched painfully.
"Mine," I snarled into her ear, teeth grazing the shell. "You don't get to leave. You don't get to hide. You take every fucking inch until you're screaming my name and nothing else."
She sobbed, tears streaming, mascara running in black rivers, "Elliot....too deep....please....I'm breaking....!"
I ignored her.
Pulled out suddenly, making her whimper at the emptiness, then spun her to face me.
Lifted her by the thighs, legs forced wide, and slammed her back against the wall, impaling her again in one brutal thrust.
She screamed louder, eyes rolling back completely, mouth open in a continuous wail as I fucked her folded in half, each deep stroke grinding against her cervix.
Her breasts bounced violently, heavy and full, nipples raw and red from earlier abuse. I leaned in, bit one hard, teeth sinking in, sucking until she cried out, then switched to the other, leaving dark bite marks that would bruise purple tomorrow.
Black paint from my hands smeared everywhere, handprints on her thighs, her hips, her waist, her breasts, her throat, as I mauled her, squeezing, pinching, marking every inch like I was claiming her soul.
"Elliot....fuck....stop....I can't....too much....please mercy....!"
Her begs only made me go harder.
I dropped her legs, spun her again, bent her over the nearest box, ass up, face down on the paint-smeared floor.
Thrust back in from behind, deeper, harder, my hands pulling her hips back to meet every savage stroke. Her ass jiggled with the impact. I slapped it, hard, once, twice, three times, leaving bright red handprints that quickly bloomed into bruises.
She screamed into the floor, muffled but loud, eyes rolling back again as I fisted her hair from behind, yanking her head up, arching her back painfully.
"Take it," I growled, pounding harder. "Take every inch like the good little slut you are."
She came again, violently, pussy clamping down like a vice, gushing around my cock, soaking my thighs and the floor beneath us. Her scream of my name, "Elliot....oh god....Elliot!", echoed off the black walls.
I didn't stop.
Pulled her up onto all fours, hands pulling her hair like reins, and fucked her mercilessly, deep thrusts that made her whole body jolt forward, breasts swinging heavily beneath her, nipples scraping the floor.
One more flip, her on top now, but I controlled every movement, hands on her hips, slamming her down onto my cock over and over, forcing her to bounce hard, breasts heaving wildly, eyes rolling back as she screamed my name endlessly.
She came a fourth time, body seizing, collapsing forward, sobbing uncontrollably, broken completely, pussy still fluttering around me in exhausted spasms.
Only then did I let go.
One final, savage thrust, burying myself to the hilt, and I came with a guttural roar, flooding her, hot pulses filling her until it leaked out around my cock, mixing with her own release and dripping down her thighs.
We collapsed, her a shaking, paint-smeared, sobbing wreck in my arms.
Black covered her everywhere, handprints on her cheeks, throat, breasts, hips, thighs, ass, like I'd painted her as mine all over again, mercilessly, brutally.
She was trembling, wrecked, ruined, tears streaming, body marked and bruised, voice hoarse from screaming.
I held her anyway.
Kissed her temple through the tears.
"You're mine," I whispered.
She nodded weakly, broken, but whole.
"Always."
The boxes stayed half-packed.
The canvases stayed.
We stayed.
Forever stained.