They stop again. Just before the edge. I scream into the skin of whomever I’m riding.
And the rhyme returns—darker now.
“Up came the spider, whispered in her ear…Cum for us, darling—but only if you fear.”
My legs are shaking.
I’m drowning in heat but I still haven’t come.
Because they haven’t let me.
Because I don’t know which one I’m begging anymore.
Because maybe I enjoy being the web.
My throat is raw from screaming without climax.
My legs tremble from holding still while they unravel me and when they whisper the rhyme again—closer, filthier, slower—I already know something’s changed.
“Incy wincy spider, slid beneath her skin…Tore her open wider, to taste the fear within.”
One Damien kneels at my side, stroking my inner thigh like he’s petting prey.
The other’s above me, fingers tangled in the silk around my wrists, watching my chest rise and fall like he’s measuring how much more I can take.
And then I see it.
The blade.
Thin.
Silver.
Stained at the tip.
He drags it down between my breasts—not cutting.
Just cold.
Just cruel.
Just a warning.
“Blood or breath, little moth,” one of them murmurs. “You can only lose one.”
The knife circles my nipple.
I whimper.
He flicks it. Gently.
Then slices.
Just enough to let the skin break.
A drop of blood blooms. Perfect. Crimson. Sinful.
And before I can cry out?—
