But I can feel it in her.
It hums under her skin, louder than her pulse. It’s in the way her body clung to me even after I emptied myself inside her. In the way her eyes tried to burn me alive while her cunt was begging me to stay. In the silence she thinks protects her, but gives her away more than any scream.
She doesn’t know I can hear it.
Love is the only silence that isn’t empty.
I lie over her, still buried deep, my breath ragged against her cheek, my cock softening but refusing to leave her. The papers stick to her skin, smeared with blood and slick, her chest streaked with the scars I carved. She looks like ruin, like death, like everything I’ve ever worshiped.
I brush a strand of hair from her face with the back of my hand. She flinches, just slightly, but not enough to pull away. Her eyes meet mine, glassy, furious, terrified.
And underneath all that—burning.
I grin, sharp, slow. “You don’t have to say it. I already know.”
Her breath stutters. She shakes her head, a whisper breaking out of her throat: “No.”
I press deeper into her, hips grinding slow, claiming her again, forcing a gasp from her lips. My hook traces the fresh line across her breast, smearing blood over her nipple.
“Yes,” I rasp, voice low, guttural. “You can choke on denial all you want, little fairy. But your body already loves me. Your silence loves me. And I’ll make you admit it with every cut, every scream, every time you cum for me until the word bleeds out of your throat.”
Her tears spill hot down her cheeks, but she doesn’t fight me. Not with her wrists pinned, not with my cock still inside her, not with my name burning in her scars.
And that’s how I know I’ve won.
She lies under me, trembling, eyes shining with unshed words she’ll never give me. For a long time she’s silent—my favourite hymn—but then her lips part, voice hoarse, thin, shredded raw.
“When are you going to let me out of this room?”
The words scrape against my chest like glass. Not because they wound me—because she still thinks there’s an out.
I laugh, low, guttural, pressing my forehead to hers, my cock grinding slow inside her just to remind her what keeps her here. “Out?” I murmur, voice curling dark. “You think there’s a door that leads anywhere but back to me?”
Her throat tightens under my hand. Her nails dig into the sheets, desperate. “You can’t keep me locked here forever.”
I drag the hook across her ribs, slow, deliberate, tracing the scars I left like scripture. “Forever is the only word you belong to.”
She gasps, twisting her head away, tears sliding hot down her temple. Her voice cracks: “Then what’s the point of the cage?”
I pause, my smile sharp. I tilt her chin back toward me with the flat of the hook, forcing her to meet my eyes.
“The point isn’t to keep you in,” I rasp, every word a knife, “it’s to keep the world out.”
Her lips tremble. Her chest heaves. Her silence screams louder than her question ever did.
I press my mouth to her ear, voice a whisper that brands her deeper than the steel. “You’ll walk out when I decide the world’s safe enough to see you. Which is never. Because you were never meant to belong to anything but me.”
Her breath shudders, a sob breaking free. But her thighs tighten around my hips, holding me there.
I know she’s starting to understand.
Her question lingers in the air like smoke.When are you going to let me out?
I can still taste it, bitter and sweet, proof she hasn’t yet accepted what I already carved into her.
I shift, slow, deliberate, grinding deeper inside her until her gasp cuts the silence. My hand closes tighter around her wrists, pinning them harder into the shredded papers beneath us.
“You want to know why I keep you here?” I whisper, my voice low, rough, every word dragging against her ear.
