She squirms in what I assume is embarrassment at putting her bodily functions on display like this, but her lips part in a soft moan. Not shame. Arousal. It hits me like a punch: she's into this, the exposure, the edge of humiliation twisted with pleasure. My fear fractures a little more–replaced by a dark thrill that I might not be the only monster here.
I set the tampon aside on a discreet tray by the bed–no mess left behind in a place like this–and my fingers return to her immediately, dipping into the fresh warmth. She's wetter now, blood mixing with her arousal, coating my skin as I stroke inside her, curling to hit that spot that I’ve seen makes her arch. The metallic tang hits the air, primal and forbidden, and it sends a shudder through me. I want to taste it. To smear it across her thighs and mark her as mine.
"Use your mouth," the King commands, as if echoing my thoughts. "Clean her. Then hurt her again."
My pulse thunders. This is the line–the one I've danced around since that night in the boiler room. Tasting blood, inflicting pain in the most intimate way. What if I bite too hard? What if I lose control and draw more?
“Lick me,” she whispers. “Taste me.” Her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling me closer. I lean in, breath hot against her slick folds. My tongue traces the piercing first, tugging the ring with my teeth until she whimpers. Then lower, lapping, savoring the coppery heat mixed with her sweetness. She bucks against my face, moans climbing, and I grip her thighs harder, nails biting into skin to hold her still and pin her open.
When she's trembling on the edge, I pull back just enough to pinch her clit again, vicious and unrelenting, while my other hand slides two fingers inside, thrusting through the blood-slick heat. I twist the nipple bars with my free hand and overload her until tears streak from under her mask.
“Does it hurt?” I ask.
A sob, then, “Yes.”
“Do you want me to stop?” I ask, already knowing I won’t. I just want to hear her say it.
“No,” she shakes her head, brown eyes meeting mine. “Don’t stop.”
The words rip the last tether clean off.
I surge up her body, mouth crashing against hers, swallowing the broken sounds she’s making. My tongue forces past her lips, tasting salt from her tears, copper from her blood, all of her. It’s the first timewe’ve kissed, the King’s rules didn’t allow it before the wedding, but now she kisses me back like she’s starving. Her hands claw at my shirt, yanking it up. I break the kiss only long enough to rip it over my head and toss it aside, then shove my jeans and boxers down in one rough motion. My cock springs free, heavy and aching, the tip already wet.
I fist myself once, twice, stroking while I look down at her spread out on the crimson sheets–piercings glinting, skin flushed, thighs slick with blood and arousal. She’s watching me, lips swollen from my kisses, chest heaving.
I lean over her, guiding the head of my cock to her clit. I circle the piercing with the slick tip, rubbing back and forth. The metal is cool against the heat of me, her swollen flesh so soft underneath. Every pass drags a groan from my throat–it feels filthy, perfect, the ring catching on my slit and sending sparks up my spine.
“Fuck,” I mutter, voice wrecked. “Your little piercing feels so good against my cock.”
She arches up, trying to get more friction, but I pin her hip down with one hand and keep teasing with slow drags, pressure just enough to make her squirm.
“That good for you, Hex? Or does it still hurt a little?”
“Both.” I watch her face, the way her mouth falls open, the way her body trembles under me. And that dark thing inside me rises fast, flooding my veins with heat. The need to hurt. To own. To break.
I lean down until my mouth brushes hers again, not quite kissing, just sharing breath.
“Do you remember when you were on that table, tired and dirty from the hunt?” My fingers run over the scar on her chest, tracing the pattern of the star and circle. She nods. “I cut you that night. My blade was so close to your heart. One quick move and you would’ve bled out on the table. I didn’t, because I was also watching. You liked it. You liked the pain mixed with the way DK was touching you, didn’t you?”
“Y-Yes.” Her breath hitches with every word. Her hips start rocking against my cock frantically, chasing the grind of my tipagainst her piercing. I keep talking, low and filthy, painting every dark fantasy I’ve ever locked away.
“I knew who you were then, Hex, and I knew how dangerous you were for me. You want it so bad. You don’t rebel because you’re angry. It’s because you’re hurt. You want more, so much fucking more. I see it in your eyes. In the way your pussy trembles every time you’re touched.”
I run the length of my cock over her clit and take her nipple in my finger, twisting hard.
“I can give that to you. So easily. I know you want it too.”
I don’t know if it’s the words or my touch that triggers the fall, but she comes with a shattered cry, body convulsing, cunt clenching on nothing as she floods my cockhead with fresh slick. The sight of her breaking just from my words, from the promise of pain–it snaps something primal in me.
A red haze drops over my vision. My hand shoots to her throat, fingers wrapping tightly just above the collar, squeezing enough to feel her pulse hammer against my palm. I line myself up, the head of my cock nudging her entrance, ready to slam home and take everything I just described.
“Stop.”
The King’s voice cuts through the speaker like a blade–calm and absolute.
I freeze, muscles locked, breath sawing in and out. The command hits me harder than any punch. My grip on her throat loosens instantly, but the violence still thrums under my skin, demanding release.
“You may come. On her. Not in her. Not tonight.”
