Eavan

He wasn’t very careful. In fact, he lost control entirely. We should talk about it, but the truth is I don’t really care. There is no past and no future, just this beautiful present and our bodies burning with a primal hunger. I don’t think. I just feel. I want to feel the whole of him, bath in our desire, and fuck until forgetfulness. I want to fuck raw, fuck fast, fuck forever. I want him to come inside me and I want to see his pleasure.

“Why a crow?” I ask him.

His insane eyes blink a few times and he rolls them as he plants me against the tiling, pulls away from me and cups my face in both his hands. “What?”

“The crow tattooed on your back. Why?”

His lips brush against mine then go down, touching my chin, grazing, caressing.

I chuckle. “I asked you a question.”

I’m hyperaware of his hardness touching my tummy, of the desire sharpening his face, but the tattoo on his back intrigues me. It’s a crow with outspread wings, a work of true art, gothic and mysterious.

Seafra’s palm runs up and down my outer thigh. “I can’t focus on any conversation.” His lips capture mine and demand, explore as his hand slides between my thighs.

I avert my face and catch a rapid breath. The shower cabin is filled with clouds of steam, enthralling us into a magical realm. The heat and the murmur of water create one powerful mix, weakening yet igniting wildness inside me. I notice tiny details-droplets on Seafra’s skin, veins on his arms, more ink on his chest. He is slim, but his body consists of pure muscle, absolute perfection.

For one desperate moment, I feel ugly compared to him.

I’ve never paid attention to my scars. I couldn’t afford that. But now, a beautiful man is standing in front of me, watching me and I want my scars to disappear. Then I kill all the doubts. I can’t afford to have them either.

I can afford to have an interesting conversation for an instant.

“Tell me,” I whisper. “Why a crow?”

“Crows symbolise magic and mystery.” He wipes water away from his face and shakes his head.

“I didn’t know about this.”

“And death.”

“That’s creepy.”

He chuckles. “Why a moth?”

“What?”

He kisses my forehead. “Like two souls brought back from the afterlife, brought back to be together.”

“I don’t understand. Your song?”

Seafra

“My life. From now on.” I grip her waist and lift her, slamming her on the green tiling then press my chest against hers. Our lips meet again. I can’t focus on talking. I know we need to talk, but I missed her so much that I can only focus on touching her, absorbing her and blending with her.

Eavan wraps her thighs around my waist and our kiss doesn’t break, but deepens, our mouths moving frantically then she turns her face to the side, catching a desperate breath.

My glance slides down to the bottom of the shower cabin. The delicate redness of her virginal blood is tinting the water at my feet in thin streaks. Something primal stirs inside me, crude like jagged mountain peaks, wild. I have just claimed her.

I took her innocence and made her mine. She belongs to me. Like olden times.

My heartbeat accelerates as I hold my cock and drive it into her again, kissing her groan of pain.

“Good?” I rasp.

“Good,” she gasps.

I hook her under the arms and fuck her, watching her unearthly face, indulging myself in her pain and pleasure. My thrusts are slow, but I go deeper and deeper. Eavan spreads her folded legs and surrenders to me entirely so I carry her at a steady pace then faster, harder until she rests her forehead against mine.

“I need,” she pleads, her voice laced with torment.

“I know, baby,” I say.

She needs to come so I clutch her outer thigh and pound into her, making her body rock against the tiling. She comes for me on my cock, trembling, moaning, crying then I come for her.

I enclose her in my arms until we steady our breaths, then I step out of the shower cabin, grab the towel and throw it on her back. The stream of water marks my way as I carry her.

We fuck again in bed. She’s on her stomach and I’m on top of her. It’s rough, fast, our greed for each other like a dry river meandering in a desert, drinking rain, gathering water, turning into a devastating force. I bunch Eavan’s wrists and pin her hands over her head, our bodies slapping against one another.

We fuck to the point of total exhaustion then lie on the bed, enclosed in the cloud of our dreamy languor.

“Why the symbol of death?” she murmurs, her head resting on my chest, her breasts against my stomach.

“Death is intriguing.”

“Do you want to die?”

“No, I want to find out what awaits people there. I don’t know; it’s interesting.”

“That’s creepy.”

“What is intriguing to you?”

“Castles with ghosts. I want my own castle with a ghost.”

“You see, you’re creepier than me.”

I run my palm up and down her back, the scars uneven against my skin. The tattoos belong to me; the scars belong to her, but they’re so much mine too. I want to ask her about them but Eavan drops off into oblivion, snoring lightly, resting on her back so I grab my phone and take a few photos of her. She mumbles something in her dream as I bury her in my embrace and drift off to sleep.

My last thought is that I want to wake up beside her, take her for a meal, and fuck her again. Then she’ll attend my concert and after, we’ll go to Coyote’s parents’ house. We’ll snuggle and talk, get to know each other better. I will cook for her and she will sit in the chair, smiling at me.

Somebody’s hand shaking my arm tears me out of the blackness of my sleep.

“Wake up,” a male’s voice growls into my ear.

Uneasiness courses through me like an arrow. I lift my eyelids and my glance meets Coyote’s.

“What the fuck?” I growl.

“We have a concert, remember?”

“Eavan,” I say. “Eavan.”

“There is nobody here,” Coyote says and pulls my arm up. “Have you slaughtered a pig in your bed? Man, there is something wrong with you.”

“Where is she?”

“There is nobody here.”

“She was here.”

“Get up,” Coyote roars. “Tania wants to kill us all.”

I jump off the bed and slide into my jeans, my eyes travelling to the bed sheet sprinkled with blood.

Coyote slaps my arm. “Hurry.”

“I have to find her,” I mumble.

“There is nobody here.”

I pull forward, but Coyote obstructs my way, his glance cold, sending a silent warning.

“Compose yourself, man,” he says. “You look like you’re crazy.”

“Get out of my way.” I shove him to the side, then run out of the room and leave the house.

Clouds of vapour leave my mouth as I run towards the flower shop, my naked feet scratched and pierced by the tiny stones covering the pavement, but I don’t feel the pain. I feel overwhelmed by rage.