“Oh, little fairy… I’ve been fucking waiting a long time for you.”
The words crawl under my skin, set fire to my chest. My grip tightens, pressing the shard deeper until his breath hitches, until I feel the edge tremble against the thrum of his pulse.
And then I freeze.
Because his hand move.
Slow, steady, inevitable—he grips my waist, fingers digging hard into my hips, bruising me all over again. His strength is casual, terrifying, absolute. He drags me down against him, grinding my cunt over the thick line of his cock still straining beneath his trousers.
The shard bites deeper when my body jolts, my hand slipping. A brighter line of blood blooms across his throat, but he doesn’t care. He laughs—low, dark, hungry—his head tipped back like he’s offering himself to the blade and me both.
“Look at you,” he rasps, his grip bruising tighter, forcing me to ride him slow, filthy, through the ruin of glass and paper. “Threatening me with a sliver while your body begs for the blade I’ve had buried in you all along.”
My thighs quake, shame and heat tangling hot between my legs as he drags me harder, faster, grinding me against him until my breath stutters. The shard trembles in my grip, blood slicking my fingers, my hand shaking between fear, hate, and the sick twist of hunger.
I want to cut him.
I want to fuck him.
I want to ruin him the way he’s ruined me.
His voice curls around me again, low and vicious, his lips brushing the bloodied edge of glass like he’s daring me to press harder.
“Do it. Cut me. Bleed me. But don’t you dare stop grinding on me, little fairy. You were made for this war.”
His hips buck up sharp, grinding me down harder, cock pressed thick and merciless against my soaked pussy, and a broken cry claws up my throat before I can choke it back.
The shard presses deeper. His cock drags harder. My body trembles, trapped between the edge of a blade and the promise of his ruin.
And for the first time, I’m not sure which one I want more.
The shard shakes in my grip, his blood slicking my palm. His cock grinds up against me again, thick, shameless, dragging through the thin ruin of fabric still clinging to my cunt. My thighs spasm. My breath stutters. My hate burns.
“You think pressing your cock against me gives you power?” I snarl, pressing the shard deeper into his throat until a bead of crimson wells and slides down his skin. My voice splinters between rage and hunger. “You think this makes you king? All it makes you is desperate.”
His laugh rumbles deep in his chest, vibrating against my thighs where I straddle him. His eyes blaze dark and feral, blood dripping down his neck and into the papers crumpled beneath us.
“Oh, little fairy,” he growls, his hands crushing my waist, dragging me harder along his cock. “Desperate is what you look like grinding on me with a blade in your hand. Desperate is the way your cunt’s soaking me through my trousers while your mouth spits lies.”
I bare my teeth at him, shoving the glass harder against his throat until it breaks skin wider, a thin line painting his collarbone. “I could kill you right now.”
“And miss this?” he snarls back, his hook dragging slow, deliberate up my thigh, cold steel kissing my skin until it rests just beneath the hem of my ruined gown. His eyes hold mine, daring, taunting, burning. “Go on, little fairy. Spill me open. But we both know the only thing you want spilling is between your legs.”
The shard trembles in my hand. My hips betray me, rolling once against him, slick soaking his cock through the fabric. Heat floods me, filthy and unwanted, and his smile curves sharp at the sound that breaks out of me.
He leans up, his breath hot against my ear, words a knife sliding under my ribs.
“You don’t want freedom,” he whispers. “You want ruin. And ruin wears my name.”
His hand leaves my waist and slips lower, rough fingers dragging over the soaked heat between my thighs, smearing me open over the ridge of his cock. The shard slips in my grip. My body jerks, traitor, grinding down against him with a cry I can’t choke back.
“Say it,” he murmurs, fingers pressing firmer, sharper, circling my clit through the ruined lace. “Say you want it.”
My head thrashes, shame and hunger tangling, glass biting his throat, my cunt riding his cock harder now because I can’t stop. My voice tears out broken, furious, filthy:
“Fuck you?—”
He grips my throat with his bloodied hand, squeezes just enough to make my voice crack, his cock grinding up between my soaked folds, his hook still poised at my thigh. His smile is wicked, merciless.
