He heard her moan, and it excited him to know she was a deviant. Or perhaps all angels were the kind of creatures who would love to be hurt and pleased at the same time. The taut tunnel that took him broke in some ways that made him sentimental. She'd given him her first, even if she could argue he'd not been so readily invited. What kind of seraph moans like that when impaled against her will? He could be her destiny, then, a tutor in how a woman's body really worked. What a shame to have lived so long and not been delighted with the beautiful paradox of pain receptors and endorphins.<br/><br/>She had some anger for him, another show, and her legs moved as though to hurt him. It seemed she was outside her own control in that aspect. He had to memorize her abandon, or it would be such a waste. It of course didn't slow him down. He'd already given her enough seed, but more was waiting to mark her. It should be particularly scrumptious to wash her with white at the place intended for it. Perhaps angels can't do anything with human offerings like that. He must at least enthusiastically try.<br/><br/>She flattered him when she couldn't answer, his cock taking up her lungs's audience, and leaving her only with capacity to heed her need for oxygen, so she could keep surviving his onslaught. He didn't need a reply beyond that, but she still offered the slick of her inner. What an insufferable deviant she was turning out to be. This was using her immortality right, wasn't it? She should have offered it to him sooner, so they'd be further along her road to knowing herself through his tortures.<br/><br/>He gasped when she looked at him like that - he would have believed her divinity then, even if he'd not already seen for himself her rise after death - but the kind of respect that took hold behind his diaphragm wasn't the kind that would earn her rest. Instead it was important that he continue his hips's barrage, and holding her broken fingers tightly in his. The grip was strange, her muscles were want to act differently when the bones were unset, and it made him appreciate the things that she could provide that another woman couldn't.<br/><br/>When her head was pinned and she asked, almost hurt, if her love was not welcome, he loved her back. She had very little benefit from that revelation and convulsed in harrowing beauty when his fist came down. Her round mouth and her hips lifted gave him inspiration and access to violate her harder. It was excruciating, feeling the tremors of his own punches vibrate his cock inside her while she seemed willing to be fucked and beaten. How lovely she displayed herself.<br/><br/>He simply pushed his knuckles down deeply into her, above her womb, when he spilled. Roan dropped his head in fatigue and stayed like that for a while, weight resting on the hand on her forehead, and the fist planted in her gut. Eventually he slid out of her, and the sounds of her juices between her walls and his limb were enough to embarrass her once more before he was free from her inner.<br/><br/>He'd had his fill of this dream in the early morning, and stood, naked and satiated, tired from pleasure no man should ever have, and turned to pull a sheet off the bed for her. He tucked her in gingerly on the floor, but with the white fabric on the well-used body it was hard not to see the imagery of carcasses on slabs. He didn't mind the likeness as he collapsed on his back beside her, not touching the woman he'd claimed in unholy ways as he drifted off to sleep. One hand fleetingly did seek hers out.