He leans down, and I flinch, expecting a slap or a bite. Instead, I feel the wet, hot slide of his tongue against the base of my throat. I let out a jagged, broken whimper, my head thrashing against the pillow.
“Don’t move,” he growls against my skin. “I’m cleaning you up. You wanted to play in the glass? Now you have to deal with the consequences.”
He moves his mouth down to my shoulder, finding a small nick where the mirror bit me. He doesn’t just lick it; he lingers. I can feel the rough texture of his tongue as it laps at the blood, tasting me with a slow, methodicalhunger. The sensation is sickeningly intimate, a terrifying blend of care and absolute desecration.
“Fuck, you taste like everything I’ve ever wanted to destroy,” he mutters, his breath hot against my wet skin.
He moves lower, his tongue trailing a path of fire down the centre of my chest, swirling around my nipples until they’re aching and raw. I’m sobbing, my body shaking with a mix of terror and a need so deep it’s humiliating.
“You like this, don’t you?” he mocks, looking up at me, his mouth smeared with a faint ghost of my blood. “You like being my little wounded bird. You like the way I’m tasting your pain.”
He reaches the deep scratch on my thigh—the one from the driveway that’s still weeping. He spreads my legs wider, his hands digging into my hips to keep me still, and buries his face between my legs.
I scream, a raw, guttural sound, as his tongue finds the wound. He’s not gentle. He’s thorough. He licks the blood off my skin with long, firm strokes, his tongue heavy and insistent. It hurts, the friction of his tongue against the raw skin making me hiss, but beneath the pain is that same, pulsing heat that’s been driving me insane all night.
“I could just leave you like this,” he whispers, his voice muffled by my skin. “Bound and bleeding. Let the city forget you ever existed while I keep you in the dark. Would you like that, Wendy? Would you like being the secret I never tell?”
“No… please,” I gasp, my hips bucking against his face.
He ignores my plea. He moves his tongue higher,away from the blood and toward the centre of my ache. He doesn’t touch my clit—not yet. He just licks around it, teasing the edges of my pussy, tasting the salt and the slick and the come he left inside me.
“You’re so fucking responsive,” he murmurs, his eyes meeting mine as he flicks his tongue over the very top of my entrance. “Look at how your skin jumps. Look at how much you’re begging for the monster to finish what he started.”
I’m losing my mind. The zip-ties are cutting off my circulation, my skin is on fire from his tongue, and the shame is so thick I can taste it. I’m a mess of blood and fluids, pinned to a bed by a man who treats my body like a playground for his darkest impulses.
“Tell me you belong to the dark, Wendy,” he commands, his fingers sliding into my pussy while his tongue stays locked on my clit. “Tell me you’re never going back to the light.”
“I… I belong to you,” I sob, the words a final, crushing surrender. “Please, Peter… just finish me.”
He grins, a slow, predatory baring of teeth. “Finish you? Darling, I’m just getting started. I have all night to find every place you’re still hiding from me.”
He leans in, biting my inner thigh hard enough to leave a permanent mark, his hand tightening around my throat.
“You’re not a girl anymore,” he hisses. “You’re a mark. And I’m going to make sure you never forget who made it.”
The zip-ties are screaming against my skin, my pulse thrumming against the plastic as Peter looks up at me from between my knees. He looks like a kingsitting on a throne of my wreckage. He’s got my blood on his lips and my slick on his chin, and he looks at me like I’m the most delicious thing he’s ever had the pleasure of breaking.
“You’re shaking, Wendy,” he murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that travels straight to my core. “Is it the cold? Or are you just realising that I’m the only thing in this world that can make you feel this fucking alive?”
“Peter… please,” I whimper, my head thrashing on the pillow. “I can’t… I’m going to snap.”
“Then snap,” he growls.
He doesn’t go slow anymore. He dives back in, his tongue flat and heavy as he licks me from the bottom of my pussy all the way up to my clit in one long, soaking stroke. I let out a jagged, broken shriek, my hips bucking violently, the zip-ties digging deep into my wrists as I try to reach for him.
“You like that, don’t you? You like the way I taste like you and the mess I made?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. He sucks my clit into his mouth, his lips creating a vacuum that feels like it’s pulling my soul through my skin.
I’m losing my goddamn mind. My vision is blurring, the room dissolving into nothing but the sensation of his tongue and the raw, stinging heat of the scratches on my thighs. He’s being brutal, his tongue flicking fast and hard against the most sensitive part of me, while his fingers—those thick, tattooed fingers—slide back inside me, stretching me wide, reminding me how empty I am without him.
“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he pants against my skin, thewords vibrating through my entire body. “You’re flooding the bed, Wendy. You’re drowning in it. Look at me. Look at me while I take it from you.”
I force my eyes open, my breath coming in short, pathetic hitches. He’s looking up at me, his eyes dark with a possessive, terrifying hunger. He’s watching the way my face contorts, the way my chest heaves, the way I’m completely and utterly destroyed by his mouth.
“That’s it,” he whispers, his voice a dark lullaby. “Give it to me. Give me every fucking drop of your shame.”
He speeds up. His tongue is a blur of heat and friction, his fingers thrusting deep and rhythmic inside me, mimicking the way he fucked me on the hood of the car. I’m right there—at the edge of the cliff—teetering over a void of pure, white-hot ecstasy.
“Please! Peter! Now! Fuck, now!”
