CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
RAVEN
Imoan louder this time, not because I want to but because I know he’s watching.
Not him.
The other one.
The real one.
Damien.
Wherever he is—whatever camera he’s hacked—I want him to see it.
See me on my back.
Naked.
Panting.
Arching for a man who wears his face like a stolen goddamn crown but not because I’m broken because I’m stalling.
N’s tongue drags up my inner thigh, slow and reverent, like I’m a prayer and he’s the church that built itself around my suffering, slow wet kisses lick the inside of my knee.
“You were made for me, little moth.” I moan again, softer. Like I believe it. “You taste like you missed me.”
His fingers spread me open, and his mouth finds the centre of me—and I let my head fall back against the mattress. Let my mouth fall open. Let my thighs shake but in my fist, curled beneath the pillow?
A shard of a broken camera lens, wrapped in cloth.
Hidden when I first fell.
Waiting.
His tongue circles my clit with maddening precision—just like Damien. Because he’s watched the footage. Memorised the angle. The rhythm. The sound I make when it’s too much but he doesn’t know what I’m doing now.
Clenching. Loosening. Timing my breaths.
Building myself closer and closer?—
To the edge.
To the kill because when I cum for him, I’m going to slit his throat with a smile.
His tongue drags up my slit again—slow and deliberate, like he’s tasting ownership.
I whimper, hips twitching, but he presses his forearm hard across my pelvis, pinning me down like prey. His tongue flicks over my clit with infuriating precision—teasing. Never giving.
“No,” he growls against me. “You don’t get to cum yet.”
His voice is identical to Damien’s, but there’s something else now. Something rotten in the tone, like sweetness left in the dark too long.
He licks me again—flat tongue, slow drag—and then bites the inside of my thigh. Hard.
“You’re going to wait,” he says calmly. “Because good girls suffer first.”
I cry out, and he grins like it feeds him.
