“Perfect,” he murmurs against my skin, voice rough, drunk on me. “Your ruin tastes sweeter than your hate.”
He reaches my chest, lips closing over a mark he carved across my breast, and he spits my own slick across it. The warmth slides down my skin, sticky and filthy, before he smears it in with his mouth, licking, sucking, sealing the wound with what he stole from me.
My scream tears out again, part agony, part desperate moan. My hips jerk up even though nothing touches them, my body still chasing what it swore it hated.
He grins against my skin, his teeth scraping raw across another line. “Look at you. Your own body’s baptising itself in sin. Every scar soaked in your climax. Every wound sealed with proof you can’t deny.”
He trails higher, mouth closing on my throat, licking the bruise he left there earlier, the taste of salt and iron still sharp. His breath is ragged, his cock hard against my thigh again, twitching with the hunger he hasn’t spent.
“You’ll never wash this off,” he whispers, biting down hard until my vision blurs. “Not the blood. Not the scars. Not the taste. Every part of you’s branded with yourself—and me.”
I choke on a sob, tears hot and endless, but my thighs press together, trembling, my cunt aching for more even in its ruin.
And that’s when I realise?—
he doesn’t just own my body.
He’s turned me into the weapon that brands me.
I am his mark.
And I hate him for it.
I hate him so much I’ll never stop trembling for more.
His teeth release my throat, leaving a welt already darkening into a bruise, and before I can catch a breath he’s shifting—hook digging into the mattress beside my ribs, his body looming over mine, cock thick and dripping against my thigh.
I gasp, shaking my head, voice rasping, broken. “No?—”
He grins, feral, sweat streaking his jaw, blood still smeared across his neck where I cut him. “Yes.”
One hand pins my wrists above my head, the hook drags my thighs apart until the wounds on them scream, until I’m spread open again, raw, wet, trembling. He presses the blunt head of his cock against my swollen entrance, smearing himself in what’s left of my climax.
The sting of his stretch tears me open all over again as he forces himself in—slow at first, then brutal, grinding so deep until my scream ricochets off the walls.
My fresh scars pull with every thrust of my chest against his weight. My nipples rub against the smeared blood and spit he left there, each graze another shock of filthy pain that coils down to my cunt.
“God, listen to you,” he snarls, slamming into me harder, his hips crashing against mine, papers shredding beneath us. “Every scar I gave you is singing while I fuck you. You’re a hymn written in blood, and you don’t even know it.”
My sob breaks into a moan, my body arching despite the agony, pussy clenching around him with every merciless stroke.
He lowers his mouth to my chest, licking one of the fresh red lines, groaning as he tastes the mix of blood and my release smeared across it. His hips pound harder, his cock hitting sodeep I see stars, every thrust forcing me up against his tongue, his teeth, his ruin.
“Your body doesn’t lie,” he growls against my breast, biting hard enough to make me scream. “It wants me to fuck these scars open until they belong to me twice over. Once with steel. Once with cum.”
His words slam through me, filthy, brutal, undeniable. My nails rake his back, my thighs tremble, my cunt spasms violently around him.
I hate it. I hate him.
But my body is already breaking again, hips grinding up into his, chasing the ruin even as it tears me apart.
And he knows it.
He feels it.
He owns it.
His thrusts turn savage, every stroke slamming me deeper into the glass and paper, every snap of his hips tearing a scream from my throat. My body writhes under him, raw, bloodied, but my pussy grips him tighter, wetter, soaking him in the confession I swore I’d never give.
