Page 76

“Taste yourself,” he commands.

I glare. But my mouth opens.

The metal touches my tongue. I taste copper and heat and something primal. It causes my breath to shudder.

He lowers the blade and presses his thumb to one of the shallow wounds, smearing the blood across my stomach in slow, reverent streaks.

“War paint,” he murmurs. "You wear it well."

He paints me with my blood. My body becomes his canvas. Long strokes down my ribs. A smear between my breasts. He presses a hand to the small of my stomach and slides it up, leaving a crimson trail behind.

And then lower. Between my thighs. His fingers dip into the slick heat already pooling there, mixing it with the blood. He smears that up my inner thighs and across my stomach, painting words with his fingers, like a signature.

By the time he sets the knife aside again, my body is a live wire. I’m drenched. Aching. Writhing.

He kneels between my thighs, unbuckling his pants.

And then I see it.

Two steel barbells pierce across his cock. His cock is thick and flushed, heavy in his hand. And of course it’s pierced. Of course his dick is accessorized like Ruin’s.

My breath catches, eyes flicking down.

And yes. There it is. Tattooed in bold, black ink.Darling.

I choke on a sound. A strangled, disbelieving laugh.Does every part of them belong to me now? Is that the point?

He lines himself up, and I feel the slick head of his cock drag through my folds—cool steel bumping against hypersensitive flesh.

My whole body locks up.

He thrusts in—hard. Savage. Unrelenting.

The stretch is brutal. Pain lances up my spine, white-hot and blinding.

Fuck. Of course my uterus decides to be a bitch and join the party. The cramp screams—but so does the pleasure.

It twists together, blurs the lines. Pleasure and pain folding into something I can’t name.

He’s thick. Hard. Piercings grinding inside me, dragging against every nerve. My mouth opens in a silent cry.

“Feel that?” he growls, voice tight now, no longer calm. “That’s me. Every fucking inch of me. Right where I belong.”

And then he starts to move.

Each thrust is a demand. A punishment. A reward.

My wrists strain. My thighs tremble. The sharp pain deep inside me adds to it all—makes me more raw, more desperate, more alive than I’ve ever fucking been.

He fucks me like he's snapping my spine in half with every thrust.

And I take it.

I scream. I moan. I sob his name.

Tears blur my vision. I don’t know if I’m crying because it hurts or because it doesn’t hurt enough.

I beg. Not because I want mercy. Because I need more.