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Titus Danforth is a brutal, complex man. This much, you know. He doesn't so much make love to you as he does claim you. You'd been a nobody, really, before he'd met you. Chosen you for your quiet, pleasant nature. Your willingness to obey him, and your interest in the occult.
His twin sister had hated you at first, hated your dirty, common blood, and the way that you seemed to have her brother's ear. The way you could so easily control him.
She tolerates you now, well enough. Or at least hides her disdain.
You never thought you would see the day where your husband was anything but almost feral whenever he took you. Not that you minded. Titus often left you a complete mess, his age and experience making it almost too easy for him to fuck you senseless, until you couldn't feel your legs and the only thing you could say was his name. Even then, it was usually more of a whimper.
While he might automatically default to roughness, you love it. He never once left you harmed or unsatisfied, spoilt you rotten on a daily basis.
Titus never showed you overt affection in front of his father and sister, regarded you with a kind of predatory possessiveness. But in private, he was softer, more open to gentle touches and keeping his hands on you in ways that weren't reminiscent of a kept pet.
He had explained it to you, once, when you had both been in the afterglow of particularly good sex. That he had once had another lover that he had thought he might marry, only she hadn't received the approval of his father, nor the dark entity that his family served.
But shortly after he had introduced you to his twin and his father, the family lawyer had come to all three Danforths, claimed you as the future of the family line.
Even if Ursula wanted to, she couldn't touch you.
You had known that your life came with a price, but you had gotten to marry the brutal, sensual man that you loved. You would have willingly given your soul for that, regardless.
Titus liked that you were soft, obedient. That you took what he gave you and thanked him for it. That you embraced the occult and the darkness of his family line. It didn't hurt that you liked the way he fucked you, had soft curves and curled into him when you slept.
He also loved that you could play the part of controversially younger wife perfectly. Slid into the roles of socialite, hostess, partner in crime, almost with a scary ease. He's not a criminal mastermind, more of the brawny type over a man of immense intelligence, but he loves to show you off.
Titus loves the way his name sounds, mewled through your soft, pouty lips. Lips that he likes best when they've been kissed plump, like right now.
You chase his kisses, and he lets you. Licks into your mouth like he's claiming you over and over again. He doesn't restrain your hands often anymore; you have a tendency to claw at his broad shoulders, leaving red marks in your wake with your perfectly manicured nails. He wears those beneath his expensive clothes like badges of honour.
Becoming his wife didn't make him handle you with any more care, but now you're carrying his child, it's a different story.
He's almost gentle with you now, by his standards. Spent the better part of half an hour with your thighs draped over his broad shoulders, his big hands holding your hips down so you couldn't squirm away while he practically made out with your drooling cunt. Sucked on your clit, fucked you with his tongue, drinking down your slick like the expensive wine in the cellar that he favours.
When you'd first met him, you'd assumed he would be a selfish lover, thanks to his occasionally petty nature. He'd fast dispersed of that assumption, still ensures you never think it again.
He'd made you fall apart for him at least three times before he crawled back up the bed; now, finally, he has you caged in beneath him, one hand caressing your curves, over where your abdomen is just slightly starting to round out.
You give him some of those pretty little mewls as he takes his thick, aching cock into his hand, slaps it against your swollen clit.
"Come on, princess," he purrs, voice low against your throat, "beg for it."
Titus loves it when you beg. Loves to watch you lose your mind pleading for him to fuck you. He's always gotten off on power, but there's something particularly sensual to him about his pretty younger wife begging for his cock that gets him achingly hard. Always has, but now you're carrying his heir? Something about that little detail threatens to have him on his knees at your feet.
"Please," you beg him, "please, I need it so bad-"
He smirks down at you as you look up at him with wide, pleading eyes, lets his heavy cock rest on your mound, sliding his hand between you to circle your clit with his fingers.
You know that look, that condescending little smirk as you whimper, know that he isn't going to show you any mercy.
"You don't need anything, you want it." Titus corrects, applying just a little more pressure to your clit, making you mewl before you can even think of something to say back to him.
He thinks you look so pretty like this, spread out for him, whimpering and writhing beneath him in the soft, expensive sheets.
"Mmhmm-" you agree, moaning again as his hand cups your pussy, just resting his palm over you.
The urge to slap your clit is strong, half because he likes dealing it out, and half because he knows you love his particular brand of sadism.
But Titus has to remind himself that he has to handle you with a little more care now. That he can manhandle you a little, but that he can't go as far as he usually might.
You're still looking up at him with big doe eyes, lips parted slightly. His cold hazel eyes search your gaze for a moment, the briefest silent check in, to ensure that you are, in fact, okay.
By now, you can read him perfectly. Know that beneath the cold, brutal monster, there is still a man with a heart. And whilst your husband may not ever be vulnerable with you, he's never given you any reason to doubt that he cares about you. Loves you, even though he's almost afraid to.
"Please..." You whisper, as he removes his hand, slides his palm back up, pausing to caress your abdomen again with a surprisingly tender touch.
No matter how rough he can be with you, he keeps finding his hands returning there, brushing over where his child - your child - grows.
Your eyes drop closed at the unexpected touch, which gives him a moment to regard you with an almost softness in his gaze before he shifts, adjusting your body beneath his.
He buries his face in your shoulder as he stuffs you full of his cock; the filthy groan that rumbles in his chest is half muffled into the soft skin of your neck.
Your reaction doesn't disappoint him; you inhale in a sharp gasp, the exhale coming out as a drawn out, breathy moan.
"O-ohhhhh, fuck, yes-"
You whimper as his hips meet yours, giving him a breathy little whine as you stare up at him, your hands sliding up his forearms, over thick biceps, settling on broad shoulders.
That's something Titus likes, but won't ever admit to you; that he enjoys the soft touches you give him, regardless of how brutal he is.
Even more, he likes the way you stare up at him with such desire and love in your eyes. Being desired isn't new to him, but the love in your gaze whenever you look at him is more precious than any antique he owns.
"Shhh, shh, I know, it's a lot, but you can take it, can't you? Yeah, you can, baby, that's it, good girl-"
He coos at you, drags the pad of his thumb over your kissed plump lower lip. You nod, still speechless as he slowly starts to move, giving you shallow little thrusts, barely allowing you any friction.
The little whimpers and moans you give him as he starts to pick up the pace only serve to make him harder somehow, more determined to have you coming apart around his cock.
He has to almost force himself to take his time, giving you deeper, heavier thrusts but still not fucking you the way he knows that you love.
"Ohhhh, ohhh fuck-"
You moan, each pretty sound more high pitched and needy than the last; truthfully, Titus is glad that you have an entire wing of the family mansion to yourselves, because he's certain that the sound is echoing.
He groans softly as you cling to him, pull him down into another greedy kiss. He allows it, almost melts into the embrace as he grinds against you.
"That's it, there you go," he grunts thickly as you mewl, start to tighten around him as he works you up to the edge.
By now, he knows exactly how to move, how to kiss and touch you to make you come apart for him; which is how you know for certain that he's deliberately edging you, making sure you get close only to pull away at the last moment.
You give him pretty little frustrated whines, trying to rock your hips to meet him, but he's much stronger than you, keeps you pinned with almost extraordinary ease.
"No, no, you know better than that. You cum when I tell you to, remember?"
His voice is dripping condescension, and yet somehow still low and sensual and only makes you more desperate.
Titus has spent so much of his life under the control of others; his father, his sister. You're different. You know he isn't someone to be controlled, know that he's powerful in his own right. Submit to him willingly.
After your own painful past, you were happy to switch off. To be claimed by him, to belong to him, knowing he would burn the world down before he let anyone ever lay a finger on you again.
The sort of love you share is intense, probably a little toxic, but you want nothing more.
You writhe beneath him in the luxurious sheets, gasping breathy little whines as the fat tip of his cock kisses your cervix with each thrust, each deep, deliberate grind of his hips.
"Please-" you beg, elaborating when he raises an eyebrow, "- kiss me?"
The smirk he gives you is gorgeous, lightens every detail of his handsome face as he leans down. He kisses the way he fucks - passionate, rough, not so much kissing you as claiming you.
He licks into your mouth, your lips parting automatically to let him in; sometimes you think about the other women before you that he's kissed, that he's had in his bed, and it makes your heart twist with jealousy.
You're just as possessive as he is, just as needy.
One hand slides down your side, grabs hold of your thigh and hikes it high up around his waist, making you both moan in satisfaction at the sudden angle change.
All restraint he's been clinging to snaps; planting his free hand on the mattress to brace himself, he starts to pound you into the bed, harder and faster with each thrust.
The room swiftly fills with the obscene wet slap of his hips against yours, your high pitched moans, his filthy groans. He isn't quiet, never has been, never feels the need to pretend that he isn't taking immense pleasure in ruining you.
"Ohhhh, ohh- please!"
Your hand moves to card through his soft silver curls, tugging lightly at the roots. He lets you, for a moment, but when your other hand reaches up, he releases your hip, catches your wrist and pins your hand above your head.
He can feel your velvet walls tightening around him, your thighs starting to tremble just ever so slightly, knows you're close again. For a moment he considers edging you again. Making you cry with how badly you need to cum.
But he feels merciful today. Likes the feeling of you coming apart for him more than he likes to torment you.
He looks down at you, at your parted lips and your lust blown pupils, listens to every perfect, sweet moan you give him as he fucks you.
"Cum." He orders you, voice low and raspy, expecting you to obey.
Blissfully, you do, letting go, your back arching up off the bed as best you can with his broad frame holding you down. The climax seems to go on forever, peaking and then dropping, only to reach a new crescendo as he fucks you through it.
Titus is older, wealthy, handsome - he knows how to fuck a woman, how to draw pleasure out. So you're still barely through it, dimly aware of the obscene wet sounds of his cock stuffing your still fluttering cunt, when he pulls out of you.
You whine at the sudden loss, but he has you flipped onto your front before you can form a proper thought.
Big, rough hands seize your hips, pull your body up so that there's no pressure on your abdomen; face down, ass up, he stuffs his cock back inside you with a satisfied, filthy grunt, planting one foot on the mattress to give himself better leverage.
"Mmmffff, you love that, don't you? Yeah, you do. You fucking love it. Sold your soul for this cock, didn't you, princess?" He purrs, landing a heavy slap to your ass, groaning when you clench around him.
You gasp, hands balling into the sheets as you keep yourself upright, choked moans muffled until you turn your head to one side.
"Nnghhh- fucking... Take it-"
You love the raspy, low gradient to his voice, the way he leans over and purrs in your ear as he fucks you into the mattress, alternating which side of your ass he slaps every so often, hard enough to bruise.
He keeps himself in good shape. Better than good. Peak physical condition, stronger than most men half his age.
His endurance and stamina may be incredible, but even he has his limit; his thrusts start to become sloppy, brutal, less rhythmic.
You have no strength left in you, can only mewl and sob as he uses you to get himself there, groaning thickly as he spills inside you in a series of particularly deep, intense thrusts.
"Ohhhhh, shit-"
He chokes out, finally slowing inside you, hips stilling, palm soothing the deep purple hand prints he's left on your ass cheeks.
Once he's caught his breath, he pulls out of you, helps you turn over, watches the way you look him up and down with an expression of sheer desire and satisfaction.
"Fuck," you manage to get out, giggling breathlessly. "Every time... You manage to surprise me."
Titus shakes his head, lays down beside you, makes grabby hands, pulls you against his chest when you're within reach.
"And every time, you surprise me by just taking whatever I give you."
He sounds impressed, runs his hand up and down your side as you rest your palm on his solid pectoral muscles, fingertips tracing the soft greying curls that litter his chest.
"Did I not swear my mortal body and eternal soul to you? In this life and the next?" You remind him of the ritual vows you spoke as your blood mingled in the ceremonial bowl at the altar.
His palm caresses your abdomen once more, rests there.
"You did. And I to you."
Again, you smile, your hand moving to brush sweat damp curls from his hazel eyes, your own expression soft and loving as he reiterates his own vow.
"I love you," you whisper, uncaring how soft it may make you seem, how weak.
Titus Danforth is more monster than man most days, but you make him feel human again, evident in the way his gaze softens as he kisses your forehead.
"I adore you. I would burn this world down for you."
Perhaps from anyone else, that sentiment would unsettle you. But from Titus? It's different. As comforting as a kiss, and his arms around you.
Perhaps you and he aren't so different, after all.