Chapter 36
Killian
The taste of her fills my mouth. Blood and arousal and the sweet dark underneath that’s just her.
I groan against her and the vibration makes her hips jerk off the mattress.
I’ve been on my knees, obeying every command, letting her carve me, restrain me, control every breath.
But something inside me is ripping apart — every sound she makes, every whimper, every gasp of my name pulling at the leash I’ve been keeping around my neck.
She’s grinding against my face, chasing her release like it’s the only thing that matters.
I eat her like I’m starving and she’s the only thing that could bring me back to life.
My tongue drags through her folds, circles her clit and dives inside her.
My fingers curl inside her, hitting the spot that turns my name into a broken thing in her mouth.
“Killian —”
I suck her clit harder, demanding her orgasm. She shatters with a cry that’s not a word, her thighs clamping around my head, her body clenching around my fingers in pulses so strong I can count them. I work her through every wave. I want to drain her. Consume her.
She pushes at my head weakly. “Too much — too —”
I pull back and look up at her. She’s wrecked and vulnerable in a way she never lets herself be.
Her lips curl into a smile. “Good boy.”
Something inside me snaps. I’m over her in a second, with my hands planted on both sides of her head, caging her body, pressing my weight into her. She blinks in surprise.
“You’ve had your fun.” The voice that comes out of me isn’t the man who knelt. It’s the one who’s been leashed. The predator she woke up and thought she could control. “You’ve had your control. You’ve had me on my knees, obeying you.” I press my hips into hers and she whimpers. “That’s over now.”
Her pupils dilate instantly.
“Stay here. Don’t move.” I push off her and cross the room.
“What are you —”
“I said don’t move.”
She goes still. I find the zip-ties in my bag and turn back to her. Her eyes snap to my hand and her lips part.
“Killian —”
“Hands behind your back.”
She doesn’t move. Those gray eyes are assessing, deciding if she’s going to make this easy.
“Make me.”
There she is.
I’m on her before she can react. One of my hands is wrapped around her hair, yanking her head back, the other grabbing her wrists, pulling them together. I flip her onto her stomach, pressing her face into the mattress, straddling her thighs, and pin her wrists at her lower back.
“I said —” The zip-ties click into place. “— hands behind your back.”
I flip her onto her back. She’s heaving, squirming, trying to find a position where her wrists don’t dig into her spine, but she won’t find one. She’s beautiful like this —restrained and mine.
“You’ve restrained me before.” She tries to keep her voice steady, but I can see the pulse hammering in her throat. “When you fed me.”
I go still. “I remember.”
Her eyes drop to the outline in my jeans. “Going to feed me again, Killian?”
My hand moves to my belt, unbuckling it slowly. Her eyes track every movement. “That mouth.” I drag the zipper down. “It’s going to get you in trouble.”
“Promise?”
I free myself and watch her eyes widen. She’s seen me before, but not like this. Not when I’m this hard, this desperate, this unleashed.
“Later.” I stroke myself slowly, watching her watch me. “First, I’m going to fuck you. And you’re going to take it.”
Ivy
I’ve never felt like this. It’s like every human emotion is crashing into me at once.
His hand wraps around my throat squeezing just enough to remind me who’s in control now. His other hand shoves my legs apart.
“You’ve been in control since I took you off the balcony.” His thumb presses on my pulse. “Making me kneel. Making me watch. Making me wait.”
I’m so wet it’s running down my thighs. “Killian —”
“Don’t.” His grip tightens around my throat. It’s a warning that vibrates through my entire body. “You don’t get to command me anymore.”
He positions himself at my entrance. I’m slick and swollen, still sensitive from the orgasm, and I can feel the head of his cock pressing against me — hot, blunt and impossibly thick.
He slides inside me in one swift motion and bright, tearing, pulsing pain spreads through my entire body.
I can feel myself stretching around him in a way that doesn’t feel possible.
The anatomy I’ve studied, the diagrams I’ve memorized — none of it prepared me for the reality of a man inside me for the first time.
He’s thick and hard and my body is fighting to accommodate something it’s never held.
A cry tears from my throat. Not pleasure. Not yet. Just the raw shock of being entered, split open, and filled.
He doesn’t stop, but he slows. His hand on my throat loosens slightly and he holds still inside me, letting my body adjust. The pain radiates from my core outward, a burning stretch that makes my eyes water.
“Breathe.” His voice is rough, but the word is tender. The contradiction of him — brutal hands and gentle commands.
I breathe. The pain doesn’t disappear, but it transforms — the sharp edge dulling into something deeper, fuller. I can feel every inch of him. The pulse of his cock inside me, matching my own heartbeat.
He pulls back slowly. The drag of him against my walls sends a sensation through me that’s not quite pleasure and not quite pain but something between both that has no name.
He pushes back in, deeper this time. A sound that I’ve never made leaves my throat.
I look down between us. Blood. Dark against his cock, bright against my thighs, spreading onto the white sheets. My blood. My virginity. The last thing Malachi kept pristine, now belonging to the man who’s inside me.
I’m ruined. Finally, perfectly, irreversibly ruined.
His hips move again and this time the pain is less and the other thing — the deep, full, aching thing — is more. He thrusts deeper, making my eyes roll, my back arch off the mattress and my bound hands scrape against the sheets.
“There it is.” His voice is barely human. He pulls out and pushes back in, harder, and the moan that leaves me is so raw I don’t recognize my own voice. “You’re mine now. Every part of you.”
I should hate this. The pulsing ache from my body stretching around him. The helplessness of my bound hands. The way he’s using me like I belong to him. But I do belong to him.
My hips lift to meet his thrust and I hear him groan. The sound of his pleasure sends a wave of heat through me that burns out the last of the pain. What’s left is only want.
He fucks me like he’s trying to ruin me, and I let him because I want to be ruined.
His thrusts are deep and relentless. His hand around my throat, tightens and releases in sync with his hips. Every time he tightens, my vision spots. Every time he releases, the blood rushes back and the pleasure amplifies.
Sounds come out of my mouth that I’ve never heard — whimpers, gasps, moans, broken syllables of his name. My entire brain is rewiring. An entire life of numbness being burned away by this man inside me, with his hand around my throat.
“Don’t come.”
The words cut through the haze. “W-what?”
“You heard me.” He slows his pace. The deliberate, dragging strokes are worse than the brutal ones. “You don’t get to come until I say.”
He's a sadist. He's insane. I knew that, but I didn't know it like this.
He edges me. Relentlessly. Deep and hard, then pulling out slowly, leaving me empty and desperate. His thumb finds my clit and circles it — building pressure until I’m shaking — then stops. The cycle repeats until I’m not a person anymore.
“Please.”
“Please what?”
“Please. I need —”
“Need what? Say it.” His hips snap forward in one brutal thrust.
“I need to come. Please —”
“No.” He pulls out completely and I sob. Actually sob.
“You made me watch you carve your own skin.” His tip traces my folds, swirling around my clit. “You made me wait. Made me beg without words.” He pushes just the tip inside me. “Now it’s your turn.”
The orgasm rips through me violently, my entire body seizing, my walls clenching around him in pulses that steal my vision.
His hand lands between my legs, leaving a stinging slap directly on my swollen, pulsing flesh. The sound that tears from me isn’t pain or pleasure. It’s both fused into something new.
“Did I say you could come?”
“I couldn’t —”
Another slap. His warm palm is rubbing over the sting immediately, soothing, and the contrast between the slap and the tenderness makes my brain short-circuit. “That’s twice you’ve disobeyed me tonight.” He thrusts back inside me. “We’re going to have to work on that.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not.” He thrusts harder. “You liked it.” My body clenches around him, slick and craving, and I can’t deny it.
He’s not edging me anymore. He’s taking me. Every thrust pins me into the mattress. His hand on my throat tightens until my vision starts spotting.
“You feel that?” His voice is ragged. “You’re dripping down my cock. Blood and cum and you.”
I can only moan.
“This is what you were made for.” His hips slam into mine. “Not the surgeon. Not the doll. This. Taking my cock like you were built for it.”
I whimper at his words, and he responds by slamming harder. The wet sounds of our bodies — blood and arousal and skin on skin — fill the cabin.
“I’m going to fill you up, Ivy. And then I’m going to eat you out.”
“Do it.” My voice is destroyed. “Fill me up. Make me yours.”
He groans from somewhere primal, burying himself in me. I feel the moment he starts pulsing — hot cum flooding me. His hand tightens on my throat, cutting my air, and the lightheadedness meets the fullness and the combination is transcendent.
He pulls out and I expect collapse, but he slides down my body and positions his mouth between my legs.
“Killian, I can’t —”
I’m oversensitive and full.
“I told you.” The vibration of his voice against my swollen flesh makes me shudder. “I’m going to eat it out of you.”
Thoroughly and possessively, his tongue is cleaning every drop of us, while his fingers spread me open so he can reach deeper.
Tears stream down my face from the overstimulation.
The third orgasm hits without warning — not violent, but deep and radiating into every cell.
I’m sobbing his name, trying to close my thighs, and he pins them open and keeps going until I beg.
“Please. I c-can’t.”
He lifts his head. His mouth covered in blood and cum and me. He looks like a monster.
My monster.
I’m wrecked. My arms are numb and my body feels used. He cuts the zip-tie releases and my arms falling to my sides, aching.
His fingers rub my wrists tenderly, kissing the raw marks. “Too much?” His eyes are worried.
A breathless laugh escapes my lips. “Not enough.”
Something dark and satisfied crosses his face. “We’re not done, Little Moth.”
He flips me face down, with my face in the mattress and my hips in the air. The position feels so degrading that I’m getting wet again.
His hands grab my hips as he enters me from behind without warning. The angle is different — deeper, hitting a spot that makes my vision dissolve. He fucks me like the world is ending and I take every thrust.
His hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back. “You’re going to feel me for days, Ivy. Every time you sit down. Every time you move.” His hips slam into mine. “You’ll remember who you belong to.”
I can’t process words. Only sensation. His cock splitting me open.
His hand in my hair. The smell of blood and sweat soaking into the sheets and into our skin.
My eyes roll when he comes again with a sound that tears from somewhere deep inside him.
His cum fills me, hotter this time, mixing with what’s already inside me.
When he pulls out, I feel it dripping down my thighs.
I don’t get to catch my breath because he pulls me up onto his lap. I barely straddle him with my trembling thighs. My body is done, but I’m not and neither is he.
His hand wraps around my throat, squeezing lightly, making me focus on him. “Take what you need.”
I sink onto him with a ripped moan that fills the room. I’m so full of him — inside and out — that I can barely breathe when I start to move.
“Oh God —”
“Not God.” His grip tightens around my throat. “Killian.”
My walls clench at his words. I start riding him — slow at first, finding a rhythm. The wet sounds fill the cabin. I’m dripping down his cock, our bodies creating sounds that would shame me if I were capable of shame right now.
I start babbling his name, curses, and pleas for whatever’s building to finally break.
His hand finds my hip, forcing me down harder. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this.” His eyes are black and feral. “Full of my cum. Riding me like you’ll die without it.”
I will.
“Killian.” I’m so close I can barely form the syllables. “I need —”
“I know what you need.” His thumb finds my clit. “Come.”
I explode.
My entire body seizes. The orgasm is so deep it doesn’t feel like pleasure anymore — it feels like being remade.
I’m screaming, clenching around him, feeling him follow.
He slams me down one final time and comes inside me, filling me impossibly fuller.
Everything mixes — the blood, the sweat, the tears.
His mouth crashes into mine and our tongues find each other.
The taste of us together is the only religion I will ever need.
I fall against his chest, unable to move or think, barely able to breathe. His arms wrap around me possessively. My cheek presses against the moth carved into his chest. His palm comes to rest on the K carved into my skin.
Marked and matched.
“You were always mine.” His voice is quiet. Reverent almost. “You just didn’t know it yet.”
I can’t answer. My throat is raw from screaming his name. But I don’t need to. He knows.
I was never a pristine asset. I was never a porcelain doll behind glass. I was always this. A creature made for blood and pleasure and the man whose heartbeat I’m listening to right now.
His fingers trace the K on my skin gently, the raw wound stinging under his touch. I trace the moth on his chest, feeling the raised lines, grounding myself in the permanent proof that we chose each other.