I try to speak but nothing comes out because I don’t fucking know anymore.
Damien?
He chased me. Branded me. Broke me with love.
But this?
This is something darker. Something worse.
“Say it,” he growls again, and he adds a fourth finger.
I scream.
Not from pain.
From how close I am.
I try to lift my hips. He slams my thighs down and clamps the vibrator back in place. Full intensity. Directly on my clit.
“Say. It.”
“You,” I gasp.
He freezes.
“What did you say?”
I sob, arching.
“You—please— I want—fuck—I want you.”
His eyes flash. His lips curve and then he fucking ruins me.
He thrusts inside in one brutal motion, and my pussy clenches so hard it’s almost painful. He doesn’t slow down. Doesn’t pause. He fucks me like I just gave him the only truth he’s ever needed.
“Mine.” He slams into me again. “Say it. Beg for it. Tell me who owns this filthy little body.”
I grab the headboard, screaming as he pounds into me, cock thick, ridged, brutal.
“You do,” I cry out. “Fuck—please—don’t stop?—”
He pulls out.
My eyes go wide.
No.
He grips my face in one hand, dragging my mouth to his, biting down until I taste blood.
“You don’t cum yet. You don’t cum until I mark you again.”
He stands.
Goes to the drawer.
Pulls out something small. Heavy.
The branding iron.
