19. Ava
AVA
I ’d walked into our dorm apartment later that night, yawning as I kicked off my shoes, Ciaran and Ty following behind me.
I heard Ty dumping the stack of books I’d checked out of the library on the dining room table with a thump.
As much as I wanted to start reading them, my eyes were glazing over.
“Good night,” I mumbled, already aiming for my bedroom.
A firm hand wrapped around the back of my neck, stopping me mid-step.
The grip was familiar, commanding, and unmistakably Scáth.
“Where do you think you’re going?” His voice was low, smooth, but it carried that edge of possessiveness that made my pulse spike.
“Um, bed?” My voice wavered as I turned to him, a little hopeful, a little unsure.
He smirked. “ My bed. ”
My mouth opened, but no sound came out. I wasn’t sure if it was his boldness or the way he said it—like it wasn’t a question—that made a rush of adrenaline surge through me.
So much for sleep.
Over his shoulder, I caught a glimpse of Ty standing there in the living room, his jaw tight, his hand fisting the back of the couch.
For a fleeting moment, his mask slipped, and I saw it—the pain through the crack in the facade he tried so hard to keep in place.
Guilt weaved through me and I opened my mouth to tell Ciaran no, but then I clamped my mouth closed.
Screw Ty. I told him that Ciaran and I were together. Nobody forced him to live with us.
I tore my eyes away from Ty’s, refusing to be guilted into feeling bad.
Scáth’s grip didn’t loosen as he guided me into his bedroom.
Ciaran’s dorm bedroom was as chaotic as the man himself. The walls were a riot of pinned sketches, faded schematics, and scrawled notes layered haphazardly over dark damask wallpaper.
The room was dimly lit by antique lamps, their soft glow contrasting with the harsh blue light emanating from a laptop on his cluttered antique desk in one corner.
A battered leather chair sat in front of the desk, its surface cracked and well worn. The poster bed was unmade, the dark sheets spilling over the side, as though he’d kicked it down mid-battle during another restless night.
The faint scent of smoke and spice lingered in the room, mingling with the sharp tang of whiskey from a decanter and used glass sitting on the mantle.
The door slammed shut behind me, the sound reverberating like a warning, and I flinched.
I turned toward him, but before I could scream, Scáth shoved me up against the wall, pressing a blade to my throat.
“Shhh…” he whispered, his voice soft, a total juxtaposition against the strength of his body pinning me. “If you fight me, I could cut you.”
I froze. Fuck. Those words…
“If you fight me, I could cut you. You wouldn’t want me to cut such a sensitive area, would you?”
I couldn’t respond, my breath catching in my throat as memories flooded back. The cold press of metal against my skin, the exquisite tension between fear and desire.
“Remember?” he murmured, his lips brushing my cheekbone. “How you trembled under my blade?”
I nodded, unable to form words as heat pooled low in my belly. Having a cold sharp knife at my pulse point should have terrified me, but instead it sent jolts of electricity through my body, my skin tingling with anticipation, begging for his touch.
With agonizing slowness, Scáth began to trace the edge of the blade along my neck, following the curve down to my collarbone. The cool metal sent shivers across my skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
My breath came in short, ragged gasps as he dragged the knife lower, dancing it across my chest.
“So responsive,” he purred, eyes dark with hunger. “I’ve missed this. ”
The tip of the blade caught on the neckline of my shirt. With a wicked grin, Scáth began to slice through the thin fabric, exposing my skin inch by torturous inch. The sound of tearing cloth filled the room as he cut a line straight down the center of my shirt.
“Don’t move,” he warned, voice husky. “We wouldn’t want any… accidents.”
I clung to the wall, my knees trembling, my nipples hardening as he cut away the remnants of my shirt and bra, the tatters sliding off my shoulders to the floor, leaving my breasts exposed and vulnerable.
His eyes raked over me, his gaze hungry and possessive.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, trailing the flat of the blade down my sternum. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to have you under my blade again. No idea how much it turns me the fuck on.”
My breath hitched as the knife dipped lower, tracing lazy circles around my navel, sending heat and wetness into my pussy. Every nerve ending in my body felt electrified, hyper-aware of the deadly instrument in his hand.
His eyes glinted with dark promise as he trailed the knife lower, catching the waistband of my skirt.
“You know, I don’t much care for this skirt. Too fucking short. Exposing too much of what’s mine. Especially to my greedy fucking brother.”
He sliced through the fabric, the blade whispering against my skin as it cut a path down my thigh. The skirt fell to the floor, pooling at my feet.
“And these…”
His breath was hot against my neck as he pressed closer, the knife now tracing the lace edge of my panties. I shivered, torn between the urge to press into the blade and shrink away from it.
“These are in my way,” he growled, hooking the tip under the delicate fabric. With a quick flick of his wrist, he shredded one side, then the other.
I gasped, flinching, waiting for the pain of him accidentally slicing me. But there was no pain. Just brutal need surging through me as my ruined panties fluttered to the floor, leaving me completely bare before him.
I felt desperately exposed, pinned between Scáth’s hard body and the wall, completely naked while he remained fully clothed.
The cool air mixed with his hot breath caressed my heated skin, making me acutely aware of every inch of exposed flesh. Goosebumps raced across my skin, my nipples hardening into tight points.
And my pussy ached, soaking my thighs.
I stood there trembling, desperate, needy, while Scáth just trailed the flat of the blade lazily across my exposed skin, up my inner thighs and belly, across my breasts, circling my nipples.
“Scáth,” I whispered. “Please…”
He smirked. “Please what, rabbit? Tell me what you want.”
I swallowed hard, my throat dry, my heart racing, desire and fear mingling in a heady cocktail.
“I… I want…” The words caught in my throat. How could I admit to wanting this? To craving the danger, the thrill? How could I admit that I liked when he used his knife to make me come? That I wanted it again?
Scáth’s eyes flashed with fire and he let out a growl .
“Say it,” he commanded. “Tell me you want me to use the knife on you.”
His eyes bored into mine, intense and unblinking.
I felt exposed, vulnerable—and not just because I was naked. It was like he could see right through me, past all my defenses, right into my dark little desires.
“I want…” I breathed, the admission sending a shiver down my spine. “I want… you to use the knife… on me.”
“Use how?”
“I…”
“Say it. Claim it, rabbit. There’s no need to be ashamed of what you crave.”
“Fuck me with the knife handle,” I blurted out, heat rising to my cheeks.
But there was no judgment on his face.
He smirked. “I have a better idea.”
Oh. A dark thrill sent a shiver down my spine. What twisted things would my shadow do to me?
“Open your legs,” Scáth commanded softly.
I hesitated, my legs trembling, momentarily unsure what I was signing up for.
His eyes burned into mine, dark and hungry.
“Open. Your. Legs,” he repeated, each word deliberate and commanding as he pressed the sharp edge of the knife across a nipple, not enough to cut but enough to promise pain if I didn’t comply.
Slowly, I parted my thighs, stepping my feet apart, exposing myself to him. The cool air caressed my swollen clit and folds, making me acutely aware of how wet I was. My heart pounded in my chest, a mix of anticipation and fear .
His gaze raked over me, his pupils widening with need.
“Don’t move a fucking inch,” he growled as he shifted aside.
His hand plunged downward, the blade flashing in the dim light.
My breath caught, heart stuttering as I waited for the sharp bite of steel against my most sensitive flesh. But the pain never came.
Instead, I felt the sudden vibration of the blade embedding itself into the wall between my legs, mere inches below my exposed pussy.
The knife quivered there, its polished hilt jutting out obscenely between my thighs.
His eyes gleamed with wicked satisfaction as he took in the sight before him, from my parted lips down to where the knife pinned me in place. “Now, show me how you ride that handle.”
I stared at him, my breath coming in short gasps as I processed his command.
Slowly, hesitantly, with my fingertips on the wall beside me for balance, I lowered myself onto it.
The smooth, polished handle pressed against my swollen folds, sending a jolt of pleasure through me. I bit my lip, stifling a moan as I began to rock my hips, sliding my wet pussy along the length of the handle.
His eyes burned into me, dark with desire as he watched. “Good girl.”
His fingers worked the buttons of his shirt open one by one, revealing tantalizing glimpses of smooth toned muscle and clean-lined tattoos beneath.
I watched, mesmerized, as he shrugged the shirt from his broad shoulders. It fell to the floor, forgotten, as he moved to his belt. The soft clink of the buckle seemed impossibly loud in the tension-filled room.
My movements became more urgent, my hips rocking faster against the knife handle. The smooth, cool handle slid easily between my slick folds, sending waves of pleasure through my body with each stroke, the tension building low in my belly.
Scáth’s eyes never left me as he finished undressing, his movements deliberate and unhurried. The contrast between his calm control and my desperate need only heightened my desperation.
He stroked his cock, already so hard, and I ached to have it inside me.
“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice low and husky. “Soak that handle for me.”
I whimpered, my hips moving faster, my thighs trembling as I chased my release. The knife handle was dripping with my juices now, warmed from the heat of my body.
Just as I felt myself teetering on the edge of orgasm, he grabbed my hips and tugged me forward off the handle and toward him.
I let out a whimper as my orgasm fell away.
“Not yet, rabbit. You’re going to choke on my cock first.”
I went to drop to my knees, but he gripped my hips, stilling me, and shook his head. “Bend over from the hip and open that fucking mouth.”
Shuddering with need, I bent forward from the waist, my legs still shaky from being so close to release.
I grabbed his hips to brace myself and tilted my head back. The position left me feeling exposed and vulnerable, my wet pussy aching and empty.
Scáth’s hand tangled in my hair as he guided my mouth to his cock.
I parted my lips obediently, my tongue darting out to wet them in anticipation.
The thick, blunt head pressed against my lips, hot and velvety smooth. I opened wider, letting him slide inside.
With a grunt, he thrust forward, burying himself to the hilt. I gagged as he hit the back of my throat, my eyes watering.
“Take it,” he growled, holding me in place. “Take all of it and I’ll let you come.”
Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes as I struggled to breathe around his thick length. My hands gripped his hips tighter, nails digging into his skin.
“Relax,” he commanded, his voice low and husky. “Breathe through your nose.”
I forced myself to take slow, measured breaths through my nose, fighting against my body’s instinct to panic. Gradually, my gag reflex eased, and I felt myself relax around him.
“Good girl,” he purred, “Are you ready for your reward?”
Before I could react, he pushed me back, guiding me back onto the handle tip still jutting out from the wall.
“Let me see you fuck that handle while I fuck your mouth.”
I groaned around his cock as I slid back onto the handle, letting it fill me up.
He hissed. “Fuck yes.”
The handle wasn’t as big as him, but it pushed in deep and the little lip of the guard pressed against my clit when it was all the way in to the hilt.
Scáth began to thrust into my mouth, sliding me back and forth on the knife handle. The dual sensations overwhelmed me—the smooth handle inside my pussy, its lip pressing my clit, and his hot, thick cock stretching my lips and filling my mouth.
Scáth’s grip tightened in my hair as he set a punishing pace, fucking my throat raw and me powerless to stop him, pinned between his cock and the handle on the wall.
Tears streamed down my cheeks as saliva leaked from my mouth and wetness gushed from my pussy, but I didn’t want him to stop. The roughness, the way he used me, only made me want more.
“Look at you,” he growled. “So fucking desperate. Riding that handle like the little knife slut you are.”
His words sent a fresh wave of heat through me. I moaned around his cock, the vibrations making him hiss with pleasure.
My hips moved faster, grinding down hard on the handle. Each thrust pushed it deeper, the guard rubbing against my clit with delicious friction. The pressure was building again, coiling tight in my belly.
His thrusts became more erratic, his breathing ragged.
“Fuck, I’m close,” he grunted. “You gonna come for me, rabbit? Gonna come all over that knife handle while I fill that pretty mouth?”
I moaned around his cock, begging him. The combination of his words, the relentless stimulation against my clit, and the utter fuckedupness of being spit-roasted by my boyfriend’s cock and his knife handle pushed me over the edge.
My orgasm crashed over me, my pussy clenching rhythmically around the handle, my whole body shaking with the force of it. I cried out, the sound muffled by Scáth’s cock.
He chuckled as he pulled me off the knife. “Change of plans. I’m going to fill this pussy— my pussy—while you suck your mess off my knife.”
With a firm hand on my back, Scáth positioned me so I was face-to-face with the knife still embedded in the wall. The handle glistened in the dim light, slick with my arousal.
“Open,” he commanded with a slap on my ass.
I whimpered as the delicious pain flared across my sensitive skin.
I parted my lips, my tongue darting out to taste myself on the smooth metal.
The flavor was sweet and musky, sending a fresh wave of heat through my body as I remembered how he made me suck up my juices off his fingers the very night he broke into my bedroom.
Slowly, I took the handle into my mouth, wrapping my lips around it as I had done with his cock moments before.
Behind me, I felt him grip my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh, the head of his cock pressing against my entrance, teasing me.
I whimpered around the knife handle, pushing back against him, silently begging him to fill me as need surged in me again.
With a low growl, he thrust into me, burying himself all the way in.
I gasped around the knife handle, my eyes rolling back at the exquisite fullness. He was so much thicker than the handle, stretching me in ways that bordered on pain but felt so impossibly good.
“So tight, so wet for me.”
He pulled back slowly, dragging against my sensitive walls, before slamming back in. The force of his thrust pushed me forward, driving the knife handle deeper into my mouth, making me choke on it.
Scáth set a punishing pace, each powerful thrust rocking me forward. The room filled with the obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin, my muffled moans, and his grunts of pleasure.
“Fuck,” he hissed, his fingers digging into my hips. “I’m not going to last long.”
He reached around me, his fingers finding my swollen clit. The sudden touch sent a jolt through me, making me gasp around the knife handle.
His fingers were rough and calloused, creating delicious friction as they circled my sensitive bud.
“Come for me again,” he growled, his voice strained with the effort of holding back his own release. “I want to feel you strangle my cock with your cunt while you mouth-fuck that handle.”
His fingers moved faster, applying just the right amount of pressure.
The overwhelming sensations of his thick cock stretching me and his skilled fingers on my clit quickly pushed me toward the edge.
My thighs began to tremble, my inner walls clenching around him .
My second orgasm crashed over me like a tidal wave, intense and all-consuming.
My vision blurred as pleasure surged through me, every nerve ending alight with sensation. I cried out around the knife handle, my body convulsing with the force of my orgasm.
Scáth groaned behind me, his hips stuttering as my inner walls clenched around him.
“Fuck, yes,” he hissed, his fingers digging into my hips hard enough to bruise. “That’s it. Milk my cock with that tight little cunt.”
His cock seemed to swell impossibly larger inside me, stretching me to my limits. The overstimulation bordered on painful, but in the most exquisite way.
With a guttural groan, his hips jerked as he came, his cock pulsing inside me, flooding my insides. His fingers dug into my hips, holding me in place as he ground against me, prolonging his pleasure.
“Fuck,” he growled, his voice raw and ragged. “Take it all, rabbit. Every last fucking drop.”
I whimpered around the knife handle as he marked me as his from the inside out.
But as my pleasure haze began to fade, a terrible realization slammed into me, leaving me breathless.
God. We were so loud.
Ty would have heard it all.
Every moan, every cry, every dirty word must have echoed through the walls, slicing him like the knife I just came around.
A wave of guilt surged, threatening to pull me under, and I had to fight it—clawing for air, for composure, for something to make it hurt less.
I didn’t want to hurt him. I never did.
But it didn’t matter what I wanted.
Somehow, I kept breaking him anyway, over and over just by loving his brother.
I fell asleep naked next to Scáth in his bed, still worrying about it.
And woke up when someone stuffed something into my mouth.