“Give me your soul.”
The words don’t echo. They root.
Burrow into me like the bite of the brand, the slap of his hand, the weight of his cock—realer than all of it.
I don’t answer right away because I’m not sure I have anything left to give.
My wrists burn from the silk. My thighs ache from the trembling. My clit pulses with the ache of a dozen denied orgasms. I still taste like ghosts in my throat.
He kneels behind me—still hard, still ready, still not letting me cum but not because he wants to punish because he’s waiting.
My voice is barely more than a breath.
“Take it.”
He doesn’t move.
Doesn’t breathe.
The air between us thickens, saturated with blood and wax and sweat and the final thing he’s been waiting for.
“Say it right.”
I close my eyes.
See the girl I was.
The one who was stalked.
The one who fought back.
The one who fell for a monster with two faces and begged to be broken by both.
And then—I kill her.
Right there.
I open my mouth.
“Take my soul, Damien.”
He groans.
Low. Animal. Relieved.
“Good girl.”
He grabs the vibrator, turns it on high, and presses it hard against my clit.
His cock slams into me in one brutal, perfect thrust—deeper than before, no more teasing, no more withholding.
He fucks me like he’s sealing the pact.
Like he’s claiming every cell I have left.
Like my soul is pouring out of me and into his hands, and he’s pushing it back into my body as something new.
Something his.
