Blood Sacraments Read Free Page B

his hips. Marcus’s growl is as steady as my grunts are staccato.
    He’s off me before I know it. Again I’m aching and empty. Not for long, I sense. Seizing my bushy goatee, Marcus drags me across the grass to a broken column lying on the ground. He heaves me across it, bends me over. My face and knees are sunk in dead grass, my ass cocked in the air. He fang-nips both cheeks, spreads them, roughly shoves up inside me and begins pummeling me anew.
    I’ve no sooner started a new series of rapturous, stuffed-full-to-the-brim grunts than his right hand’s again clamped over my mouth. His left hand finds my left pec. He manhandles the thick flesh, tugs painfully at the chest pelt. “A better angle, is it not?” Marcus pants into my tangled hair. “And a small price for all of Rome?”
    What ecstasy it is to be completely vulnerable and completely owned, thoroughly plowed. I had almost forgotten. Nodding, I close my eyes, spread my thighs, push back onto him, and grip him from inside, as if I were squeezing the handle of a sword. “Ah, yes. Very nice. You are skilled for a dirty savage,” Marcus says, increasing the speed of his thrusts. “You have learned well beneath my predecessors.”
    Smiling beneath his palm, I squeeze and relax, squeeze and relax. He rides for a bit, sighing with delight, letting the sweat build up between us, before he says, “I will hurt you now, boy. Yes?” Marcus pants into my ear. “You are ready to suffer for me? I may mark you?”
    I grunt an affirmation, nodding against his firm grip. Immediately his fingernails sink deep into my nipple. I clench my teeth as he brings blood, twists and tugs the tiny nub of flesh, cuts deeper still.
    Keeping one hand over my mouth, with the other he rakes my torso, my nipples, and my back with his sharp fingernails, leaving long, deep wounds. Blood wells up, trickling into my chest hair, down my spine. “And now, I think…” He shifts the position of his loins just a fraction, pulls back, shoves forward hard. My eyes roll, my fangs gnash my tongue, my own blood tinges my mouth.
    “Here, I think, is the bodily seat of your submission, yes? This spot here?” Marcus chuckles. “Am I right, forest trash? Wild one so sweetly tamed?”
    Yes, deep inside me he has found what few men have ever found, the point that makes me shake with the greatest pleasure. I go wild, bucking and writhing in his arms, crying out against his hand, trying to pull him into me even deeper. Giving my chest one last savage clawing, he locks his arm around my head and sinks his teeth into my neck.
    The sucking begins—an irresistible gravity, a riptide more and more intense—hard and steady to match the pounding below. Within a minute, I’m immobile, sprawled limply across the column that once bore the weight of an empire, rocking helplessly inside his thrusts. I hear him hissing against my split skin, feel him stiffening atop me, pumping my depths. Then Marcus’s bloody hands grip my shoulders, his fangs slip from my flesh. He gives a shout, a final thrust, gushes into me, and collapses.
    Blood tickles my neck. The column’s marble is cold against my belly; my master’s weight is great upon my back; my hole’s a throbbing circlet of fire. The grass before my eyes smears, a brittle gold. That grades to red, then unbroken black.
    I wake cradled in his lap. He is rocking me in his arms, gazing down at me, blond hair curtaining his face. Again that faint smile. He bends over me, caressing the blood-ooze claw trails his nails cut into my chest. I try to embrace him, only to find myself still weak, still cuffed. His lips meet mine. I can smell and taste my own blood in his kiss.
    “You will be scarred for a time,” Marcus says. “My nails leave welts even undead bodies have difficulty healing.” He runs a finger along my chest, daubs up some blood, laps it off. “But you are even more beautiful scarred, no? And these scars will mark you as mine during your stay in