“Yes.”
“You want my danger.”
“Yes.”
“You want the man who would level this whole county just to keep you.”
“Royal… yes.”
My control snaps.
I shove her firmly onto the bed, spreading her out with my hands, mapping every inch of her bare skin with the knife’s flat edge.I make her feel every cold inch, every slow, sinful drag.
The letters carved into her back, R.O.Y.A.L, calls to me like a prayer.
“You remember how it felt?”I ask.“When I cut my name into you?”
Her eyes flutter shut.“Yes.”
“You want more?”
“God, Royal… please.”
I flip the knife in my hand.
“Turn over.”
She obeys without hesitation.
I touch it with the blade.Soft.Worshipful.
Her breath breaks.Beautiful.Ruined.Mine.
The whelps shine faintly in the low basement light.My name cut into her softness like it belongs there.Like she was born waiting for it.
I bracket her hips with my knees.My hand spreads gently across her lower back.
And I carve again.
Slow.Deliberate.Just deep enough to mark, not deep enough to damage too bad.Her breath hitches, pain tangled with pleasure so tightly like she can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.
A single letter.
P.
Right over my name, exactly where it will one day spell Property of Royal.
Her body shivers, a broken sound slipping out.
“That’s it,” I rasp.“Take it.Take every mark I put on you.”
A bead of blood rolls down her spine.I catch it with the tip of the blade… and lift the steel to my mouth.
I lick it clean.
The taste is metallic, sharp, pure devotion.
She shudders like the sound alone pushes her over an edge.
