Chapter 5 Bound For Me
BOUND FOR ME
The silken cords bite deeper into her wrists as she tests their hold, the fibers tightening with every desperate tug. The bedposts groan under the strain, but my knots—meticulously tied, unyielding—hold fast.
Her breath comes in sharp, uneven gasps, the cool air of the chamber brushing over her exposed skin, raising gooseflesh in its wake.
Candlelight flickers, paints her in gold and crimson as she lies bound before me—my witch and my ruin—spread wide and trembling. Every shadow that dances across her skin feels like a confession whispered to the dark.
I stand at the foot of the bed, the enchanted dagger gleaming in my grasp. It was a gift from an elder demon prince, forged to slit witch-throats and sever immortal magic at the root. I’ve carried it for a millennium.
The blade catches the light like a sliver of ice. It hums faintly, a low, resonant thrum that vibrates through the air and into her body, making her shiver before I’ve even touched her.
My gaze drifts over her, rabid and deliberate, as if I could memorize her all over again: the rise and fall of her chest, the way her thighs press together, seeking friction that the bindings won’t allow.
The dagger descends, hovering just above her collarbone, close enough for her to feel the cold kiss of steel without contact.
She gasps, a sound half fear, half invitation.
The pulse at her throat beats in time with the hum of the blade, and I think—no, I know—that the gods who cursed me could never have crafted anything half as exquisite as this: her body straining toward danger, her soul laid bare beneath my hand, betraying how badly she wants this, wants me.
“Such a pretty feast you make, my dear,” I murmur, my voice a dark caress.
The blade traces a path downward, following the curve of her breast, the metal so cold it burns. Elara arches into the sensation, a whimper spilling from her lips as I circle her nipple—never quite touching, never quite giving her what she craves.
I know the contrast is maddening, the heat of her skin, the chill of the blade, the way her body trembles for more. Her hips lift off the bed of their own accord, seeking something, anything, to ease the throb between her thighs.
“I’m going to gorge on you so hard.”
I hear the hunger thrumming beneath my own voice, the ruinous devotion wound through it, and I accept this too. It will always be this way with her, this woman who owns me with one look, one breath, one lifetime stretched into eternity.
A low chuckle rumbles from my throat as I dip the dagger lower, skimming the soft swell of her stomach before gliding over the flare of her hip.
“You’re dripping for me, aren’t you?” The flat of the blade presses against her inner thigh, just shy of where she needs it most, and Elara lets out a broken sound, her bound wrists twisting against the silk. “I can smell how wet you are.”
My free hand slides up her leg, fingers splaying possessively over her belly before dipping between her thighs.
She’s soaked, her folds slick and her clit throbbing, and when my fingertips graze her, she jerks against the restraints, a moan tearing from her throat. “Fuck, you are dripping.”
The dagger abandons her thigh, the cold metal now tracing the crease where her leg meets her body, teasing closer, closer, until the flat of the blade presses against her clit.
Elara’s back bows off the bed, a choked cry ripping from her as the icy steel meets her overheated flesh. The sensation is too much, the cold, the pressure, the way it sends a jolt of pleasure-pain straight to her core.
Her thighs tremble, her muscles locking as she fights the urge to grind against the blade, to chase the release that hovers just out of reach.
Blood and the spilling of it has never been a problem for us, her magic and my blood always at hand to heal, to rejuvenate.
To heighten the smallest caress into a lusty inferno, ready to consume.
“Lucien—please—” The word is a broken plea, her voice raw with need.
My breath is hot against her ear as I lean over her, the dagger still pressed flush against her clit, unyielding.
“You think you deserve to fuck my dagger and come, little witch?” My lips brush the shell of her ear, my teeth grazing the sensitive skin just hard enough to make her gasp.
“You’ll come when I say you come. And when I do, you’re going to scream so loud the whole fucking palazzo hears how good I make you feel.
” The blade shifts, the edge now dragging lightly over her swollen flesh, not enough to cut, but enough to make her feel—to make her ache.
“You’re mine to play with. Mine to ruin.
And by the time I’m done with you, your cunt is going to be so sore, so used, you won’t be able to walk without remembering who put you there. ”
Elara’s breath hitches, her body strung tight as a bow, every nerve alight with anticipation.
The dagger leaves her clit, trailing downward in a slow, torturous descent, the blade’s tip dipping into the slick heat of her entrance.
She whimpers, her hips rolling helplessly, trying to force the steel inside her, but I pulled back with a dark laugh.
“Not yet. You don’t deserve to bleed for me, sweet witch,” I admonish, even as my fangs descend, fatten and sharpen and drip with saliva in anticipation of the intoxicating feast ahead.
The dagger retreats, leaving her empty, her pussy clenching around nothing, her frustration mounting. “Beg me for it.”
Her pride wars with her need, but need wins out. “Please,” she breathes, her voice trembling. “Please, fuck me with it. I—I need—” The words dissolve into a moan as the dagger returns, this time pressing more firmly against her entrance, the cold metal a stark contrast to her scorching heat.
My free hand tangles in her hair, yanking her head back just enough to expose the vulnerable line of her throat.
The dagger withdraws, and for a heartbeat, she thinks I’ll deny her again but then the blade is at her neck, the edge resting just above her pulse point, the cold kiss of steel making her breath stutter.
“Look at me,” I command, my voice a velvet growl.
Elara’s gaze snaps to mine, her dark eyes wide and blown with lust, her lips parting as she pants.
The dagger doesn’t move, doesn’t press harder.
It just rests there, a promise and a threat all at once.
I brush my thumb over her bottom lip, my touch almost tender in contrast to the blade at her throat.
“You’re mine, Elara. For all eternity. Say it. ”
These words she’s heard before. Uttered in strife and in love. In curse and in benevolence. And yet they send a fresh wave of heat pooling between her thighs, dripping onto my dagger. Just as they did the first and the thousandth time.
“For all eternity, yours,” she breathes, raw and honest, and something inside me breaks.
I press my thumb against her mouth, and she takes it instinctively, her tongue swirling around the digit, eyes locked on mine.
The dagger shifts in my other hand, its edge dragging lightly over her skin—not breaking it, just enough to raise a trail of gooseflesh in its wake.
I can’t stand the distance any longer. My lips crash against hers, the kiss bruising, possessive. I nip her lower lip before my tongue claims her mouth, tasting the confession still trembling on her tongue.
The dagger slips from my grasp, clattering to the bed beside us, forgotten as my hands find her body, palming her breasts, rolling her nipples between my fingers until she gasps into the kiss, her back arching, offering me everything I’ve hungered for.
My touch is everywhere, owning her, and when my fingers finally slide between her thighs again, she’s so wet, so ready, that I groan against her lips. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”
Two fingers plunge into her without warning, curling upward to stroke that sensitive spot inside her. Elara cries out, her bound wrists straining against the silk as her body convulses around my fingers.
“That’s it,” I murmur, a flash of crimson hazing over my eyes before I blink it away.
My lips trail down her neck, my teeth scraping over her pulse.
“Take what I give you. Come for me like a good girl.” My thumb finds her clit, pressing down in tight, relentless circles, and the world narrows to the way she feels beneath and around me, to the way my fingers fill her, stretch her, own her. “Now, my love,” I command.
The orgasm crashes over her like a rogue wave, brutal and all-consuming, her body locking as pleasure wrings a broken scream from her throat.
I don’t let up, my fingers working her through it, drawing out every last tremor until she’s a boneless, panting mess beneath me.
Only then do I withdraw, fingers glistening with her arousal, and without hesitation, I bring them to my lips, sucking them clean with a dark, satisfied hum.
Elara’s chest heaves, her skin slick with sweat, her wrists still bound above her head. The dagger lies beside her, its blade catching the light, a silent reminder of how close she’d been to the edge—in more ways than one.
I loom over her, and I know my gaze burns with something far more dangerous than lust. “And we’re just getting started.”
She lies very still in the aftermath.
And then, in the quiet, I feel it—the wrongness prowling just beneath her skin, the faint tug of a leash held by someone far away. Her breath hitches. The shadows around the door shiver like something outside the room has taken notice.
“Lucien,” she whispers. “They’ll feel this.”
“Let them.” I tighten my arms, bare my throat to her without thinking, the oldest sign of trust I own. “Let them feel what it means when you come home.”
Her fingers press to my molasses-slow pulse.
For one sweet second, the bond between us hums like it remembers the route. Then she flinches, a pain blooming in her eyes. “If I stay, I endanger you.”
I feel the old fury try to wake. I force it back down. “Everything in this house was built to endure a siege,” I tell her. “And so was I.”
She looks at me, torn to pieces. “You don’t understand. I can feel the call…like a hook. If I don’t answer—”
“Then don’t answer.” I tilt her face up, thumb stroking the hinge of her jaw. “Answer me instead. Answer to us, only us. To this.” I pull her closer until we’re one flesh, one blood.
Her mouth trembles against my neck and I feel a sob moving within her.
Her arms and legs wrap tight around me, nowhere near the strength and power I possess to bind her to me but it will do.
For now.
And for a heartbeat, I think I’ve won. Then she shuts her eyes and the hook pulls again, harder; I feel it through her, a shudder that doesn’t belong to either of us.
“Stay,” I say, a rough bark lined with bewildered desperation. “Stay, Elara. I command it.”
“I can’t,” she breathes, and the apology in it nearly kills me. She glances at the shadowed corridor, already calculating escapes she shouldn’t be able to see. “To stay will be to rip us both apart.”
I hold her tighter. “Why? Tell me now. Is this another trick? Another torture?” My voice cracks on the last word. “You said you were mine. Did you lie, Elara?”
She looks confused, stricken, as if the room blurs out of focus for her. “No. I didn’t.”
“Then why won’t you fight?”
She swallows. “I’m trying. Believe me, I’m trying, Lucien. But…I don’t know. Something…they call to me and I don’t know if I can ignore it.”
“You can. You will.” I press my forehead to hers. “Say it,” I murmur. “Say you will stay with me. Fight, Elara.”
She doesn’t answer with her lips.
And the tears falling from her eyes terrify me more than her silence.
The fire snaps. Somewhere in the house, a clock decides to chime midnight. Her breath trembles against my mouth.
The portraits on the walls seem to lean closer, waiting for her verdict like a jury of ghosts.