I’ve loved you since the first time I wanted to kill you.
It wasn’t meant to leave my mouth. I keep my confessions buried under teeth and steel, where no one can touch them. But with her grinding down on me, bleeding and sobbing and clawing her name into my skin, it tore free before I could bite it back.
And now it sits between us, heavier than the papers scattered across the floor, heavier than the hook pressed against her spine.
She’s still straddling me, trembling, sweat slicking her skin, her face streaked with blood and tears. Her cunt strangles me even now, pulsing slow, dragging the last drops from me as if her body refuses to let go.
Her eyes are wide, stunned, glassy—but not broken. Never broken. She looks like a blade pulled from fire, fragile in the glow, deadly in the dark.
My hand stays tangled in her hair, keeping her face close to mine. I can smell her breath, taste the iron and salt still clinging to her lips. I drag the hook up her spine, slow and deliberate, a reminder that softness is still a weapon in my hands.
“I meant every word,” I rasp, my voice low, guttural, scraped raw from her. “Love is just another kind of violence. And I’ll bleed you with it as long as you let me.”
Her lips tremble, her breath hitching against my mouth. She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t need to. Her silence is war enough.
I roll her suddenly, flipping us until she’s pinned beneath me again, glass crunching under her shoulders, the papers clinging to her like scripture. My cock slips from her but stays hard, wet with her ruin, twitching against her thigh.
My hand closes around her throat, thumb stroking the bruise I left earlier, claiming it again.
“You’re mine in hate, in blood, in screams,” I murmur, my hook tapping against her ribs, cold and sharp. “But now you’re mine in love, too. And that’s the cruelest vow of all.”
Her eyes flare, wet and burning, as if she’d rather I cut her open than say it again.
Good.
Because vows only matter when they hurt.
Her silence feeds me. I can feel the way it coils inside her chest, heavy, choking, louder than any scream she’s ever given me. She won’t say it. Won’t give me a word back. But her body speaks.
Her pulse hammers against my hand where I clutch her throat. Her cunt still twitches against my thigh, clinging to what I spilled inside her. Her nails tremble where they hover over the sheets, itching to claw at me, to drag me closer, to cut me open.
She thinks silence is resistance.
She doesn’t understand—it’s devotion.
I lean down, nose brushing hers, breath mingling, and whisper, “You’re terrified of love because it’s the only chain you can’t rip free. Hate makes you sharp. Pain makes you strong. But love?” My lips graze hers, cruel and soft. “Love makes you mine forever.”
Her eyes blaze, tears spilling hot and furious. She tries to buck me off, to twist away, but I hold her down, grinding my thigh harder between hers until she gasps, until her body betrays her again.
I smile, sharp and merciless. “There she is. My little fairy. Grinding even when she swears she’s free. You’re addicted, aren’t you? To the knife, to the hook, to the cock that makes you forget who you were before me.”
The hook drags slow across her ribs, pressing just hard enough to leave faint red trails. She shudders under me, chest rising fast, her breath catching as steel traces closer to the swell of her breast.
“You’ll never love me,” I murmur, letting the curve of the hook nudge her nipple until she whimpers. “But that doesn’t matter. I’ll love you hard enough for both of us. I’ll love you the way knives love flesh. The way fire loves oxygen. The way ruin loves beauty.”
Her sob breaks silent, teeth clenched, eyes burning into mine like she’d rather kill me than hear another word.
I press my forehead to hers, my smile unhinged, my voice low and certain.
“I don’t need your love, little fairy. I just need you to bleed when mine cuts you.”
Her silence is molten, heavy, the kind that burns hotter than screaming. She thinks she’s starving me with it, that by refusing to speak she’s denying me something.
She doesn’t know silence is my feast.
I press the hook harder into her nipple, dragging it slow in a circle until she gasps and arches up into me. My mouth curves sharp, teeth grazing her jaw. “Every twitch is a confession, little fairy. Every whimper is a signature. Your cunt’s already screaming louder than your throat ever could.”
My hand slides down her stomach, slow, deliberate, rough. I smear the dried blood crusted on her skin, marking her again, until my fingers dip lower. She jerks her hips, a sob breaking loose, and I laugh low in my chest.
