The words echo in my bones—louder than the thud of my heartbeat, louder than the slick sound of my cunt still throbbing for him.
I want to hate him. I want to scream but I can’t look away from the girl in the mirror. Her eyes are wide. Wet. Glazed with need so sharp it should be shame but there’s no shame.
Just hunger.
Just me.
He circles behind me again, dragging something cold along the curve of my ass.
Metal.
Clamps.
I feel the pinch before I see them—his fingers flicking one onto my nipple, then the other, twisted just enough to sting.
I hiss.
My back arches.
“Say it,” he growls, watching my body react like it belongs to him.
“I love her,” I whisper.
He slaps the back of my thigh, and I jerk.
“Louder.”
“I love her.”
“Who is she?”
“Me,” I gasp, chest heaving against the pull of the clamps.
“And what is she?”
He picks up a candle—red wax, nearly gone—and tips it over my lower back.
The wax hits in splashes.
Searing.
Marking.
Claiming.
“Yours!”
Another splash—closer to my ass now.
“Yours. I’m yours. She’s yours. We’re—” I choke.
“Say it right.”
He reaches between my legs again—fingers flicking the vibrator back to life, pressing it against my clit, with the clamp still in place.
The overload is instant.
“You don’t cum until I hear it.”
