Chapter 40
KYLIAN
The scent of her omega slick hits me like a physical blow, cutting through the forest's earthy perfume and the lingering chemical taint of her blockers. It's the smell of cinnamon sugar and surrender, and it makes my vision sharpen to a razor's edge.
Brylee.
My Brylee.
My perfect obsession.
She lies beneath me, the macabre crown of teeth and bones nestled in her golden hair. Her chest heaves, the fabric of her sports bra stretched tight over her breasts. Her frantic pulse beats in the hollow of her throat, a drumbeat calling to the predator in me.
“Look at you,” I growl, my voice a low rumble that vibrates through my chest. “You don’t look like a queen, Brylee. No…you look like a fucking goddess. Is that what you want? To be worshipped? To have a blood sacrifice in your honor?”
I reach across the forest floor until my hand connects with my discarded dagger. The blade is a sliver of moonlight in the dim clearing.
Her eyes, wide and beatific, follow its movement as I hold it up. A flicker of fear, yes, but beneath it, a spark of curiosity. Of anticipation. She knows I would never truly harm her. She knows this is just another form of worship.
I press the flat of the cold steel against her collarbone, and she shivers, a delicate tremor that runs through her entire body.
“So responsive,” I murmur, trailing the blade downward, over the thin fabric of that damn sports bra that’s been taunting me for hours now. It catches slightly, a promise of what's to come. “Such a good, perfect omega.”
I stop just above the swell of her breast. With a flick of my wrist, the tip of the knife slices through the cloth. It parts like water, revealing the pale skin beneath. I make another cut, and another, until her bra is in tatters, exposing her to me, to the moon, to the watching forest.
“Kylian,” she breathes, my name a prayer and a curse on her lips.
“Shhh,” I command, setting the knife aside for a moment.
I close my hands over her wrists and pin them above her head in one of mine. My grip is unbreakable, a cage of flesh and bone. She struggles, a token resistance that only fuels the fire in my blood.
“You don't speak unless I give you permission. You don't move unless I allow it. Understand? Allow me to worship my goddess the way I plan to.”
She hesitates before finally nodding, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Her scent thickens, the sweet aroma of her slick growing stronger, an intoxicating perfume of submission and desire. It's an invitation I have no intention of refusing.
I reclaim the knife and trace the tip over the curve of her breast, and her breath hitches. I press a little harder, not enough to break the skin, just enough to leave a faint, white line that will fade by morning. A temporary mark. A reminder of who holds the power here.
“Such pretty skin,” I murmur, bending my head to follow the path the blade just took.
My tongue is hot against her cool flesh, and she arches into me, a silent plea for more.
I smile against her skin before lifting my head. “So desperate for my touch.”
I move the knife with deliberate slowness, circling her nipple without touching it. It tightens into a hard peak, and the surrounding skin puckers in anticipation. She squirms beneath me, her hips lifting slightly from the ground.
“Please,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.
I ignore her plea and instead press the flat of the blade against her hardened nipple. The cold steel makes her gasp, and she arches her back. I trace patterns around the areola, watching her reactions as I vary the pressure.
When I finally flick the tip of the knife across her nipple, she cries out, a mixture of pleasure and pain. I do it again, following the sharp contact with my warm mouth, soothing the sting with my tongue.
Moving to her other breast, I repeat the process, this time using the edge of the knife to create a series of shallow scratches in a circular pattern around her nipple. The marks are barely visible, but she seems to feel them intensely, her breath coming in ragged pants.
I finish by pressing the point of the knife directly against the center of her nipple, holding it there as she trembles beneath me. Her eyes are wide, pupils dilated with desire and fear.
“Look at me,” I command softly.
When her eyes meet mine, I lower the knife and replace it with my fingers, pinching and rolling her sensitive flesh between my thumb and forefinger.
“Good girl,” I murmur as she moans, her body reacting to every touch. “So responsive to everything I give you.”
“More,” she breathes, her long lashes fluttering.
A dark chuckle rasps out of me. “More? Greedy, aren’t you?”
“Kylian…”
“A servant can never say no to his goddess.”
I move lower, parting her thighs with my knee.
The scent of her slick is overwhelming now, a heady musk that makes my own alpha arousal spike.
I can feel the pressure building at the base of my cock, the promise of my knot swelling, preparing to claim her, to lock us together in the most primal way possible.
I press the flat of the blade against her inner thigh, so close to where she wants me most. She whimpers, a desperate, needy sound that goes straight to my groin.
“Please, Kylian…”
“Please what?” I demand, my voice harsh with need. “Beg for it, Brylee. Beg me to take you.”
“Please.” She gasps, her hips rising to meet me. “Please, Kylian…take me. Claim me.”
That's all the encouragement I need.
I toss the knife and tear away the remaining scraps of her clothing, leaving her bare and exposed beneath me. My own clothes follow in a flurry of impatient movement until there's nothing between us, nothing but skin and sweat and the electric charge of our combined scents.
I enter her in one swift, possessive thrust, not bothering with foreplay. I can’t fucking wait a second longer.
She's so wet, so ready for me, her body welcoming me like I was made for her alone. Her cry is a mix of pain and pleasure, a sound of pure, unbridled sensation that echoes through the forest.
I set a punishing pace, each thrust a declaration of ownership. My knot begins to swell, stretching her, filling her completely. The crown of bones shifts on her head with the force of my movements, the teeth clicking together in a percussive rhythm that drives me wild.
“Mine,” I growl, my teeth sinking into the sensitive flesh where her shoulder meets her neck.
I don't break the skin, not yet. Just leave the impression of my mark, a promise of what's to come.
“All mine.”
Mine.
Mine.
Mine!
The metallic tang of blood fills the air as I finally bite through, just a little, just enough to taste. It's a coppery sweetness on my tongue, the essence of her, the proof of my possession.
Her body convulses around me, her inner muscles clenching as her orgasm rips through her. The feeling of her coming undone beneath me, the taste of her blood on my lips, the tight grip of her slick heat around my knot—it's too much.
With a final, powerful thrust, my knot locks into place, binding us together.
My release is explosive, a torrent of heat that floods her, marking her from the inside out.
I collapse against her, my body covering hers, my weight a comforting pressure that anchors us both in this moment of pure, unfiltered reality.
For a long time, we lie there, tangled together, our breathing gradually returning to normal. The forest is silent except for the crackling of nearby foliage and the distant call of a night bird.
I raise my head to look at her. Her face is flushed, her lips swollen from my kisses, her eyes dark with satisfaction. The crown of teeth and bones sits slightly askew on her head, a testament to our ferocious coupling.
“Mine,” I say again, softer this time, a statement of fact rather than a demand.
“Yours,” she agrees, her voice a sleepy murmur.
I smile, a genuine one that feels foreign on my lips.
In this moment, with my knot still buried deep inside her, her scent mingling with mine, the taste of her blood still on my tongue, everything is exactly as it should be.
But the night isn’t over. My knot holds us fast, a physical manifestation of the bond between us, and I have no intention of letting this moment end.
I shift slightly and adjust my weight to relieve some of the pressure on her smaller frame, but I don't withdraw. Not yet. I want to stay buried inside her for as long as possible, to feel her body wrapped around mine, to be surrounded by her scent.
“Does it hurt?” I ask, my voice softer now, the harsh edge replaced by something that feels dangerously close to tenderness.
She shakes her head. A small smile dances on her lips. “No. It feels…right.”
“Right,” I repeat, the word tasting strange on my tongue.
Right is not a word I'm accustomed to associating with myself. But with her, like this, it feels…accurate.
I reach for the knife again, and her eyes widen slightly, a flicker of apprehension in their depths.
“Relax,” I murmur, stroking her cheek with my thumb. “I'm not going to hurt you. Not much.”
I flip the knife over and offer her the handle. “Your turn.”
She looks at me, confused. “My turn?”
“I want you to mark me,” I explain. “I want to carry your mark, just as you carry mine. I want to bleed for you, Brylee.”
Her hand trembles as she takes the knife, her fingers closing around the hilt.
She's hesitant at first, unsure of herself, but then she seems to find her resolve.
She presses the tip against my chest, right over my heart.
The pain is sharp, exquisite, a perfect counterpoint to the pleasure still thrumming through my veins.
She draws a small, simple line, just enough to break the skin.
A single bead of blood wells up, dark and vivid against my flesh.
I watch, mesmerized, as she leans forward, her tongue darting out to taste me.
The sensation is electric, a jolt of pure, unencumbered pleasure that shoots straight to my groin, causing my already-swollen knot to pulse inside her.
“Again,” I command, my voice thick with desire.