Alaric started fucking Elaine.
His rhythm was slow, deep, almost methodical. He was testing her, seeing what, if anything, was left inside that empty, porcelain shell.
Her body responded on pure, base instinct. Her hips tilted to meet his thrusts. Her wetness was slick and plentiful. But she was dead. Her mind was a thousand miles away, her face a mask of still water. There were no moans. No gasps. No clenching of her muscles around him.
It was, he thought, like fucking a beautiful corpse.
And it was starting to piss him off.
'Damn it,' he thought, his own pleasure fading in the face of her total, lifeless acceptance. 'I didn't go to all this trouble to fuck a doll.'
He decided to get rougher. Maybe pain was the key.
He pulled her hair, hard, snapping her head back.
Nothing. She just took it, her neck arching obediently.
He bit her shoulder, his teeth sinking into the soft, motherly flesh, hard enough to leave a dark, angry mark.
