Page 31 of Devil’s Night (The Shadows of Darkness Universe #3)

Chapter twenty-four

You're Mine Little Butterfly

Echo

T he first thing I register is heat. Not just the kind that comes from a flushed face or a pounding head, but the low, slow burn of shame and arousal twisting together beneath my skin.

My throat is dry, lips parted around something soft and soaked.

It fills my mouth completely, muffling every breath, every word I want to spit.

Something damp clings to my tongue, laced with salt and musk.

Fucking hell.

I blink, the fog in my head beginning to clear, only to be replaced by a different haze that'd thicker, darker, and far more dangerous.

My knees press into the soft rug beneath me, and my hands are bound behind my back, not with rope, but with silk, something that clings and constricts in a way that feels too elegant to be cruel, and yet…

it is . My shirt is gone. My chest rises with each slow, ragged breath. And then I see her.

Katya.

She’s no longer in jeans or leather. She’s no longer playing the captive or the soldier or the heir to a violent empire.

No, now she’s something else entirely, something untouchable.

The sheer black fabric of her gown kisses every curve of her body, leaving nothing to the imagination.

Her legs are draped lazily over the arm of the chair, one heel dangling from her toe, her thighs spread just enough to drive me mad.

There’s no underwear to shield her, no modesty left to protect her.

Candlelight flickers across her skin, catching the shimmer between her legs and the curve of her breasts.

The gown is barely more than a whisper clinging to her nipples, which harden in the chilled air and my helpless stare.

A blade glides between her fingers.

She looks at me like I’m prey she’s already sunk her teeth into, like she’s not just toying with me, but feeding off the very act of control. Her expression is unreadable, lips parted slightly, amusement hiding just behind the venom in her eyes. And then she speaks.

“You know,” she says slowly, running her fingers along the hilt of the knife as though recalling a memory she’s learned to enjoy, “you fucked me with a blade just like this.”

The words slam into me like a punch to the gut.

I should look away. I want to look away.

But I can’t. My cock strains hard against my pants, twitching at the sight of her, the sound of her voice, the scent of her soaking my tongue as her underwear gags me in place.

The weight of what’s happening coils tighter and tighter around my chest.

She doesn’t approach me. Doesn’t rush the moment. She lounges there, legs open, gown hitched high, letting me see all of her but keeping me exactly where she wants me, on my knees, caged by silk and pride and the suffocating taste of her.

And she knows. Of course she knows. Her gaze flicks down to the tension bulging against my zipper, and the smirk that curls across her lips is nothing short of sinful.

She leans forward, slow and deliberate, the gown slipping off one shoulder. “Look at you,” she purrs, almost pitying. “Drooling. Silenced. Harder for me now than you ever were when you thought you were in control.”

Her legs shift again, spreading wider. The blade grazes her thigh, then disappears beneath the fabric.

I can’t breathe. Not because of the gag, but because of the way she moans , soft and low, as the metal dances across her bare skin.

She doesn’t look away as she plays with the knife, doesn’t blink.

She watches me unravel like a thread pulled too tight.

“I thought about this,” she murmurs. “About how it would feel. You, gagged with the same thing you ripped off me. Me, finally getting to watch you need , while I decide whether or not you get anything at all.”

I groan, half in frustration, half in awe. My whole body aches for her, every part of me straining for release, for contact, for permission.

Katya leans back, satisfied with the wreck she’s made of me.

And I’m left kneeling in the flickering dark, bound by silk and drowned in scent, aching for the very woman I once believed I controlled.

“What was your goal coming here, Echo?” she breathes, her voice dripping with cruel amusement. “Hmm? Were you going to take me again? Fuck me? Drag me back to your house and slip me past my men like a dirty secret?”

She grins wickedly, then rises from the chair like sin itself.

The sheer gown clings to her every curve, barely hiding anything.

Her nipples press against the translucent fabric, the hem barely brushing the tops of her thighs.

She’s bare underneath. I can see the heat between her legs. And she knows I see it.

She wants me to see it.

God, what the fuck is she doing to me?

Each step she takes is slower than the last, deliberate and lethal, hips swaying like she’s stalking prey. Me. “Garrett is a nice man,” she says, circling me like a flame teasing gasoline. “Safe. He takes his time. Fucks me gently.”

My vision goes red.

The idea of another man touching her, kissing her, sliding into her where only I’ve been, rage coils in my gut and I lunge.

But she moves faster, that sadistic smile still painted across her lips.

Her foot slams into my chest, sending me sprawling backward.

I grunt from the impact, but I barely feel it.

My cock is still throbbing, harder now, the pain only fanning the fire burning under my skin.

“You’re dangerous,” she whispers, crouching beside me, her fingers lazily trailing a blade over her bare thigh. “Unpredictable.”

The tip glides higher, her other hand cupping her breast like it’s nothing, like she owns every inch of me with the flick of a wrist. “You held me like a hostage,” she says. “Kept me like I was something to be played with. And maybe I liked it.”

Her fingers slide down her hip, stopping just below the curve of her ass. “Your name,” she purrs, voice thick and heavy, “permanently carved into my skin. Like branding a cow.”

My cock twitches at the memory, a smile creeping along my lips.

She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t back down. Instead, she rips her underwear from between my lips, soaked with her scent and covered in my spit.

“What’s so funny?” she asks, eyes narrowing.

I grin, with shameless possession. “You can run,” I murmur, standing slow, closing the space between us, “hide, disappear halfway across the world... but that scar? Those marks?”

I lean in, breath brushing the shell of her ear. “They’re a permanent reminder that you will always belong to me, Katya.” I chuckle darkly. “That no matter how hard you fight it… your body remembers me.”

She tosses the ruined lace to the side, venom flashing in her eyes. “Am I yours?” she whispers, stepping closer, too close. Her knees touch the ground, and suddenly she’s at my feet, a goddess disguised as a weapon, her knife dragging down my chest.

“Or are you mine?”

Her eyes sparkle, deadly and divine.

Then she moves.

Hand on my throat, she slams me to the floor like I weigh nothing. My back hits hard, but she’s already straddling me, her thighs tight against my ribs, her cunt pressed to my abs. Hot. Wet. Hungry.

She grinds against me, slow, torturous, slick heat spreading across my skin. I buck beneath her, groaning like an animal, hands flying to her hips. But she grabs my wrists, pins them above my head with one hand, blade still pressed against my hip with the other.

“Katya-” I rasp, my voice shredded with lust and fury and fucking need.

“That’s right,” she purrs, leaning forward until her lips brush mine, her breath like smoke and sin. “Say my name again.”

Her hips roll again, this time lower, right against the bulge of my cock. I nearly lose it right there.

“You think you’re in control?” she whispers, tongue flicking over my bottom lip. “Tell me, Echo… if I let you up right now, would you fuck me like you hate me? Or like you need me more than your next breath?”

My voice is gone. My thoughts are gone.

All that’s left is her.

I try to sit up, barely. But her hand slams into my chest, knocking me flat again. The force stuns me, head reeling, stars dancing behind my eyes. I don’t know if it’s the blow or the rush of watching her work, but I can’t move.

She straddles me like I’m a canvas, not a man. Her blade glints in the low light, and then, slow and merciless, she drags the edge across my skin. A hiss breaks past my teeth. Not from pain. No. It’s pleasure in its rawest, most feral form.

Her eyes go wide, dark with delight, transfixed by what she’s doing to me. The slice is shallow, precise, cruel. She carves like an artist, every stroke intentional, every flick of her wrist owning me.

And I can’t do a fucking thing about it.

My arms are useless, pinned, limp with submission and shock. I’m stuck between pain and ecstasy, delirious. Drenched in heat.

“Now,” she breathes, voice low and deadly, the words slithering into my bloodstream like poison. “You are no one’s… but mine.”

She lifts off me slowly, a slick trail glistening on my chest where her pussy just was, wet, warm, and absolutely soaked from the violence she just gave me. My head drops back, and then I see it.

The cut. Her name.

Her fucking name, etched into my skin.

My cock pulses so hard it hurts. I can’t stop it. Don’t want to. I want her to see what she’s done to me.

Her gaze drops to the obscene bulge in my pants, eyes narrowing like she owns every twitch beneath the fabric. Without a word, she leans down, lips brushing over the outline of my cock, barely, before trailing up.

Higher.

To the cut. To her mark.

Then her tongue flicks out, slow and sinful, dragging across the open wound. My blood stains her mouth like a kiss from the devil. She tastes me like I’m her last meal, like she’d bathe in me if I let her. And I would.