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“Bite me.”

“Not yet.” He pulled my underwear aside, and I felt the cold steel press against my entrance. “But soon.”

Then he pushed the tool inside me.

The sensation was immediate and overwhelming—cold, unyielding, stretching me open until my back arched against the chair. He moved it slowly, letting me feel every inch, and I heard myself make a sound I didn’t recognize.

“That’s it,” Malachi said. “Let me hear you.”

“Bastard,” I gasped.

“I know.” His mouth found the inside of my thigh, kissing and biting his way higher. “But you’re still going to come for me.”

The tool slid deeper, angling upward, and I felt it press against something inside me, my vision going white behind the blindfold. Then his mouth was on my clit, hot and wet and relentless, and I stopped being able to form coherent thoughts.

He worked me with brutal precision—the tool thrusting in a steady rhythm while his tongue circled and flicked and sucked until I was shaking against the restraints. Every time I got close, he pulled back just enough to keep me on the edge, dragging it out until I was begging.

“Please,” I whispered. “Please, Malachi⁠—”

“Say my name again.”

“Malachi.” It came out broken, desperate. “Please make me come.”

My body was on fire. My thighs trembled. His mouth, his hands, his voice—everything he was doing to me was exactly what I'd been chasing since I walked through the front door.

But I also wanted to see him.

“Take off the blindfold,” I said.

He didn’t stop. The tool kept moving, his tongue kept circling, and I felt the orgasm building so close I could barely breathe.

“Malachi,” I said again, louder. “Take off the blindfold.”

Silence. Then his mouth sealed over my clit and sucked hard.

“That wasn’t⁠—”

He thrust the tool deeper, and the orgasm hit me like a freight train. I screamed, my body convulsing, my hands pulling uselessly against the remaining wrist restraint as wave after wave of pleasure tore through me. He didn’t stop—kept moving the tool, kept his mouth on me—until I was sobbing and shaking and completely undone.

When he finally pulled away, I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t think. Could barely breathe.

“Beautiful,” he said quietly, and I heard him set the tool back on the cart. “Absolutely fucking beautiful.”

The Butcher’s gloved hand appeared on my shoulder—a single, almost gentle touch—before he stepped back again.

For a long moment, the room was silent except for my ragged breathing.

Then Malachi’s fingers reached the back of my head and worked the knot.

“I told you to take it off,” I said, my voice hoarse. “Before. And you didn’t.”

“I know.”

The silk fell away, and I blinked against the sudden brightness.

Malachi knelt in front of me, his iron mask still in place, his shirt unbuttoned and his tattooed chest visible. Behind him, the Butcher stood motionless beside the cart, his pale eyes unreadable above the white veil.

“You heard me,” I said. “I asked you to take off the blindfold, and you ignored me.”