Page 90 of The Final Contract

It shatters me. My body bows off the bed, groans ripping free as I come hard, squirting over his hand, over the handle, over his face. He groans into me, sucking harder, drinking me down as my release drenches everything.

When the spasms finally break, he withdraws the knife, glistening with my cum, and raises it above me.

“Lick it clean,” he orders, voice like gravel.

I grab his wrist, my gaze locked on his, and drag my tongue up the steel. Slowly. Deliberately. Licking my release from the blade like I’m starving for it. His eyes go black, a guttural curse spilling from his lips.

“Good girl,” he rasps, his dick resting hot and heavy on my pussy.

Then he shifts, settling back on his haunches between my spread thighs, his cock poised thick and hard. The knife gleams in his hand, his grin wicked as sin.

“Open,” he orders.

My lips part without hesitation, breathless and trembling, and he slides the handle of the knife between my teeth. The taste of steel fills my mouth, the weight of it heavy on my tongue.

“Bite down, angel.”

The command rumbles through me a second before his hands seize my hips and he drags me onto his massive cock in one brutal thrust.

I scream around the handle, the sound muffled, my body arching as he buries himself deep, hard, unrelenting.

He fucks me ruthlessly, pulling me down over and over, the knife handle locked between my teeth, every moan forced out of me jagged and raw.

Then he plucks it free, his eyes wild as he flips the blade, the tip gliding along my throat, slow and deliberate.

“God, look at you,” he rasps, pressing deeper into me. “Spread wide, stuffed full of my cock, trembling under my knife… you’re everything I ever wanted to worship.”

The blade grazes my throat, shallow, just enough to sting. His mouth is there instantly, sucking, soothing, claiming. He drags the tip lower, tracing the swell of my breast, cutting another shallow line near my nipple. His tongue follows, licking the bead of blood before pulling it into his mouth.

My groans are half pain, half pleasure—and all surrender.

He grips my ankles, spreads me wide, thrusting into me with brutal force. The blade is pressed into my palm now, his command low and raw. “Get yourself off, angel. Show me how much you love it.”

I press the handle to my clit, circling frantically as he pounds into me. The pressure builds fast—violent, unbearable.

“Come with me,” he growls, voice shredded. “Soak me again. Mark me as yours.”

The climax rips me apart—violent, wet—flooding him as my body convulses. I scream his name, soaking his cock, the sheets—ruined by him, for him.

He roars my name as he comes with me, pulsing deep, holding me wide open as we fall apart together.

“Fuck, Seraphina, fuck.”

His forehead drops to mine, his chest heaving against me, both of us shaking, slick with sweat and each other. For a moment it’s just the sound of us trying to breathe.

Then his voice, raw and broken open: “I love you, angel. Christ, I love you.”

Tears sting my eyes, but my smile breaks anyway—wide and unguarded. I cup his face, forcing him to see me. “I love you too, Killian. More than I ever thought I could.”

The weight of it hangs between us—not fragile but solid, undeniable. His lips crush mine in a kiss that tastes like salt and heat and truth, sealing what we both already knew.

And for the first time, it feels like we’ve stopped running—from each other, from ourselves.

The dream is back.

Familiar. At least, I think it is.

“Sera!”