Page 144 of Dance With A Devil

I stand there, watching, burning.

With one ruthless thrust, he slams into her.

“Wells!” she cries, body arching.

He growls, “I’m not Wells tonight. Call meSpade.”

His hand curls in her hair again, yanking her face up to meet his, eyes locked. The other hand snakes around her throat, tight. Squeezing until her gasp turns into a stuttered moan.

“You got an answer for me yet, little slut?” Spade hisses, voice rough with the rhythm of his punishing thrusts. “Or do I need to fuck it out of you?”

From the doorway, I smirk.

She’s not ready for me yet. But she will be.

Tonight, I’ll give her something none of them can.

Not just pain.

Not just pleasure.

Butruin.

And she’ll fuckingthank mefor it.

Brows knit. Tears streak her cheeks. And yet, she’s fucking perfect like this. Crumbling and radiant.

She hesitates.

Not out of fear.

Out ofwant.

Because sheknowswhatever answer she gives, it’ll mark her. Break her a little more. Make her ours.

And then, as if surrender blooms in her bones, her expression twists, pain melting into pleasure, lips curving into a smirk that’s goddamn sinful.

“Yes, Spade. I do.”

Spade leans in. “Say it.”

“I want you to carve your name into my ass.” Her voice breaks around his thrusts. “So anyone who ever sees me naked knows exactly who fucking owns me.”

My cock twitches.

Spade grunts, hand tightening in her hair. “I don’t own your ass. Not yet.” He pulls out, and the absence makes her whimper. “Don’t move.”

He steps away, grabs something from the dresser, comes back with a small bottle and a glint in his eye that spells danger.

“I’ll carve my name into your ass,” he says, voice low and lethal, “if you let me fuck it. Right now.”

Her head whips toward me, eyes wide, pleading, unsure.

Sheseesme now.

Standing in the shadows like the patient executioner I am. Her tether. Her Devil.

She's not asking for rescue. She’s asking for permission.