I obey instantly, my heart racing. The string of lights feel suddenly tight against my skin, the glow illuminating the hunger in his eyes when I face him again.
“You went through a lot of trouble,” he says, circling me slowly like a predator. “Left our bed. Scared me half to death. All for this… little show?”
“I wanted to surprise you,” I manage, my voice small.
“Oh, I’m surprised.” His finger hooks under one strand of lights between my breasts, tugging me rough toward him.
My breath catches, the heat of his body, consuming.
“Question is, what should I do with such a... thoughtful gift?”
I swallow hard, heat pooling between my thighs at his tone. “Whatever you want.”
His laugh is dark, dangerous. “Whatever I want?Dangerous words, Vasilisa.”
In one swift movement, he scoops me up, throwing me over his shoulder. I squeal, the lights pressing into my skin as he carries me to the couch.
“Santo!”
“Wrong name,” he growls, setting me down on my feet in front of the arm of the couch. “Try again.”
“Scythe,” I correct myself, breathless.
“Perfect,” he drawls.
He presses down hard on my back, bending me over the arm of the couch, lights digging into my skin in delicious, rough points.
The cool air licks between my thighs, and I know he seeseverything, lit up, bare, soaking.
His palm drags down my spine, fingers hooking into the string of lights and tugging. “You tied yourself up in lights… and left our beddripping. For me.”
“For Scythe,” I whisper.
A guttural sound tears from his throat. “Fuck.”
His hands leave me and then his cock presses against my entrance, thick, hot, unforgiving.
“You’re already so wet,” he growls, rubbing the tip against my clit, teasing me with maddening precision. “Allmine.”
“Yes,” I gasp. “Please—”
He thrusts into me with a sharp, claiming stroke, and I choke on his name, my body jolting forward from the force.
“Scythe!”
“That’s it,” he hisses, hands gripping my hips like he owns them.Owns me. “You wanted to be used? You’re going to take every inch like a good little gift.”
He pulls out almost completely, then slams back in, the couch creaking beneath us. The lights press tighter against my skin with each movement, twisted between pain and pleasure.
“You feel that?” he rasps pausing, the weight and stretch of him overwhelming. “Your tight little pussy pulling me in like it’s starving?”
“Don’t stop,” I beg. “Please, please—”
His hand snakes around to my throat, just enough pressure to make me feel it. Just enough to make me his.
“You don’t get to beg,” he growls in my ear. “Yousurrender.You wanted to be usedremember?”
“I do,” I cry. “Please Scythe.”
