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His room was dark, pitch black.
Fuck it, he wanted to see her.
Maybe, a small part of him wanted her to see him, too. He realized he wanted her to see him. All of him, his scars, his soul. She had tried to push up his T-shirt before, she had tried to look. But he had always stopped her. Hidden himself, with his T-shirt or pitch blackness. He had thought if she saw his body she’d think he was an ugly monster. She’d hate him, her pretty face would twist with disgust and he’d be right back in that pit of hell again. He didn’t want her to see. But now he knew she wouldn’t think that at all.
What the fuck was happening to him? He didn’t know and he didn’t care, he just wanted to sit back and enjoy the ride. Hell, he wanted to go faster. He didn’t care if he went off the rails, if he crashed, he just wanted to go full throttle into the horizon with Sophie. Leaving nothing but blood and bones in their wake.
The room was cool, calm, and dark.
Not for long, Sophie thought. She felt like a hot mess about to combust, and she knew Phantom was exactly the same, burning up. He paused and batted on the lights in the bathroom, casting a soft shadow onto the bed.
She gazed about the room from her upside down position on his shoulders. Through the haze of her hair and her pounding head, as the blood had all rushed to it, she took in Phantom’s room. The sheets were black, of course, but cotton. There was barely anything in his room. She felt a stab for the lonely, hurting man who had inhabited these walls. Who came home and washed blood off his hands, and silently moved about in his room. The man who thought he was a monster. But there wasn’t too much more monstrous about him than the average person. In fact there was something rather god-like about him.
She blinked as the soft light turned on. She would get to see him. And he would see her. This was going to be different, special. She could tell he was building up to something.
He threw her down off his shoulder, her back bounced against the surprisingly soft bed. And he immediately started ripping off his clothes. His jeans first. She couldn’t take her eyes from him, his angry face was all on fire. She did the same to her clothes. Her jeans yanked off like they were scalding her skin, and her top gave way to the lightest of pulls. Panties off, and finally, she was naked.
She stretched out on the bed, arms above her head, cocking her knee up a little, tilting her head as she admired the man in front of her. Then his T-shirt. He put his hands to the neckline of his shirt, and just ripped it. Right down the center. Exposing his olive skin, a light wisp of black hair, rolling muscles and-
Scars. So many scars. On his torso, on top of the muscles. Angry slashes, careful incisions, a lace pattern of intricate scars. Each one was no doubt a story to keep a person up at night. Sophie swallowed and saw more on his legs, too. Road rash scars underneath the light fuzz of black hair. His thigh muscles rippled and he stepped nearer. He held his head high. He wasn’t going to stop for this. He was happy to expose himself but he didn’t want to linger. That was fine with Sophie, she was not in her right mind, she was possessed. She didn’t want to stop and dwell on nightmares, she wanted fantasies to come true.
He looked fearsome and beautiful. He looked like the apocalypse personified. He was her doom. He was her end. She was not scared. She closed her eyes, tipped her head back to show him her bare, fragile throat. Welcoming him, laying herself down at his complete mercy.
And in no time at all, she felt his hot breath there. His beard stubble. His teeth.
“Yes,” she hissed.
“Mine,” he ground out.
Her breath stuttered out of her lips. She opened her legs and he was there. Kneeling. He pumped his cock, squeezing it so hard she almost cried out loud. Then he gripped the base of it with one hand, the other on her hip, and he slammed in.
She cried out. She felt her eyeballs might fall out of their sockets. Her vision went black, his darkness taking her and she fell into it willingly. Her soul howled with satisfaction, her body rocked and shook like never before.
“When I see what I want… And this is what I want…” his voice cracked as he hoarsely spoke to her.
He kept thrusting.
“Only you,” he groaned.
She clung on to consciousness, barely.
“Hard. Every night. Mine,” he chanted in between each slam.
She felt herself edging up the bed, her hands above her head hit the headboard.
She cried out. She wanted him deeper. Harder. It wasn’t enough.
“My fuck fairy. My Sugar Plum Fuck Fairy.”
She wanted to respond, but she couldn’t talk. Her brain lost all her words, her mouth moved trying to put together letters. Nothing came out. He had taken her power of speech. When he spoke, it generally meant she could not. She was past the point of words, she had lost the power to form words into intelligent, recognizable sounds. She was in his realm, his darkness. And yet, he clawed his way out, the closer he got, the deeper they plunged together, the more coherent he became. She slipped into only feeling and sound and she welcomed it.
“Fuck,” he rasped.
And then he stood. On his feet, crouched over her, yanking her legs up his chest, her ankles by his ears. He spread her open wide, and bit his lip like she was a beautiful delicacy he was going to enjoy consuming like a fucking animal. Like she was a neat little canapé brought out to him on a plate, and he was just going to shove his face into it and mess it all up and devour it whole. He closed her legs a little, and stood to almost his full height.
She was doing a shoulder stand on the bed, her chin now against her chest, her legs straight up in the air, unable to touch any part of him. She was bracing herself against the headboard with her hands to stop her head slamming into it, panting. He was hitting her G-spot, hitting her so deep. The blackness edged back into her vision. The pleasure built up within her. She needed to burst. She needed to explode. A supernova, burning brighter and brighter until a cataclysmic explosion triggered.
“Love. Sophie. Mine. I Love. I. Love. You,” he said, gazing down at her. Each word punctuated by thrusts deep into her.
