He pulls out, flips me onto my back, and slams back into me without a word—his hand wrapped around my throat again, not choking, just owning.
“I’ll carve my name into your skin if I have to,” he breathes, forehead pressed to mine. “I’ll make sure you never forget who you belong to—even if it kills me.”
“Then do it,” I whisper, too far gone to pretend anymore. “Mark me. Ruin me. I don’t care. Just don’t leave me.”
That’s what breaks him.
He lets go completely.
His hand slips between my thighs, thumb circling my clit with brutal precision while he pounds into me like he’s branding me from the inside out. I cry out, breaking apart in his arms, and he groans, deep and guttural, coming undone with a savage final thrust.
For a moment, there’s silence. Just breath. Sweat. Heartbeats that don’t know how to slow down.
Then he cups my face again, gentler this time.
“I would kill for you, Raven.” He kisses my lips. My nose. My eyelids. “But I swear to God… if anyone else tries to take you from me—” He swallows hard. “I’ll become a monster you’ll never forget.”
And as I lie there, shaking, his cum leaking from between my thighs, my skin covered in bruises and kisses and everything in between?—
I realise something terrifying.
I want him to become a monster.
Because that monster is mine.
I don’t know how long we stay there.
My body aches in a heavy, humming way that only happens when someone’s ruined you completely. Damien doesn’t move—just breathes against my collarbone, one arm locked under my back like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he lets go.
His hand slides over my hip. Down my thigh. Slow. Gentle.
Like he’s grounding himself in the shape of me.
“He’s still watching you.” His voice is barely more than a whisper.
My heart stutters. “Damien…”
“I let someone get too close.” He exhales, dragging his fingers through the mess between my thighs, then up over my ribs. “I let you think you were safe. That was my mistake.”
He pulls back slowly, then grabs the discarded sweatshirt from the floor and tucks it between my legs. I flinch at the pressure, but he just shushes me softly, brushing his thumb along my cheekbone.
“I’ll clean you properly when I come back.”
I blink. “Come back from where?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just finds my underwear—what’s left of it—and pockets it like a fucking trophy.
Then he crouches beside me, all sweat and blood and wet skin, and kisses my forehead.
“The man who sent that message? He knew exactly what it would do to me. He wanted me to snap. And now?”
He reaches for his coat. Pulls a blade from the lining and straps it to his forearm like it’s second nature.
“I’m going to show him what obsession really looks like.”
I sit up, my heart thudding too loud. “You can’t just go out there?—”
“I’m not going to kill him,” he says. Then smirks. “Not yet.”
