"Explain?" He sneered, leaning closer. "Your explanations are worthless against evidence."
He suddenly kissed me, teeth biting down hard on my lower lip, the taste of blood filling my mouth.
I tried to resist, but he pinned me down completely.
In the struggle, my bra was torn open, exposing my chest to his view.
Kholod's movements suddenly stopped.
He stared at the bite mark near my nipple, something complex flashing in his eyes before being replaced by deeper fury.
"It's healing," he said quietly, as if talking to himself. "Soon it'll be gone."
He released me, walking to the nightstand and pulling open a drawer.
I leaned against the wall, panting, dread rising in my heart.
He pulled out a small box. Inside was a tattoo kit—needles, ink, disinfectant.
"What are you doing?" Terror filled me as I edged toward the door—I wanted to run.
He didn't answer, catching up in a few steps and dragging me back to the sofa, using his knee to pin my legs so I couldn't move.
"No!" I fought desperately. "Kholod! You can't..."
"I can." He cut me off, taking out a disinfectant wipe to clean the wound on my chest. "This mark will fade, but I can give you one that never will."
"Please..." My voice broke with tears. "Don't do this..."
He ignored me completely.
The moment the cold needle pierced my skin, sharp pain shot through the already sensitive area.
"Ah—Kholod! Let me go!"
"Quiet." He said coldly. "This is just the beginning."
Tears blurred my vision. I could feel the needle puncturing my skin over and over, each stab accompanied by excruciating pain. I couldn't help crying out in agony, so he simply sealed my mouth with a kiss.
He was carving his name into my body.
Time felt endless.
When the final needle pierced, I was trembling from crying, breathless from his kiss.
Kholod set down the needle, gently wiping the red, swollen skin with a cotton ball. His fingers and the cold cotton inevitably brushed over the tip, the tingling and pain causing another shudder.
I looked down, and where the bite mark had been, two clear Cyrillic letters were now branded: "H.M."
Kholod Morozov.
"This," he caressed that patch of skin, his voice full of satisfaction, "will never fade."
I closed my eyes, tears falling silently.
He'd won.
In the cruelest way possible, he'd completely made me his possession.
