Chapter 24 #2
I can see him weighing that option too. “Hmm. We could get one for that. Maybe even a pair,” he muses, clearly tempted, but then his eyes darken and he leans toward me. “But that’s not where this one goes,” he punctuates each word like it’d burn itself into my brain.
“Oh no,” I snap back.
“Oh yes,” he counters with the look in his eyes that lets me know there’s no way out of this.
Still, I have to give it my best shot. “Set,” I warn, making it clear this isn’t something to joke about.
Still, he seems in the mood for jokes. “That’s what I planned to have engraved. But I think my initials look better. Don’t you?”
“I’m not wearing that. If that’s what you’re implying.”
“I don’t remember asking. If that’s what you’re implying,” he uses that tone again—the one that leaves no room for bargaining. The one that built the ruthless businessman everybody fears.
But right now, I’m more afraid of what he’s planning to do to me than of who he really is.
“So you’re punishing me, is that it?” I ask, trying to sound pissed. Okay, maybe not just trying. I am pissed.
“It’s not a punishment, as you’ll realize in a couple of weeks—maybe sooner.
It’s me marking you as mine. It’s me claiming the very last drop of you.
And to be honest, you brought this on yourself by running away.
My name will be there as a permanent reminder that no other man will ever claim that place. ”
“I can give you a Sharpie. They’re pretty much permanent,” I say, with a hint of desperation in my voice, which seems to amuse him, but not enough to raise a full smile on his lips.
That lets me know he’s not going to back down from this.
So I need to up my game. “I’m not doing this. And that’s final.”
“Yes, you are. But you can have a drink first. Calm your nerves.” He rises from the couch and walks to the bar, pouring me a glass of whiskey. Like that’s ever worked. I’ve tried that trick before, and they don’t make enough whiskey to fix what’s going on inside me right now.
I know there’s no real way out of this because once he sets his mind on something, he never lets it go.
And to be honest, the idea kind of intrigues me.
It’s not like anyone else is ever going there again.
Because I don’t want anyone else to go there.
Set’s doing an amazing job, so it’s safe to say no one would ever compare to him.
Still, I’m terrified of the pain. I mean, getting that thing doesn’t exactly scream easy or comfortable in any way. I understand he wants a sign of allegiance after running away, but this is absurd.
My flight-or-fight instinct kicks in, and I choose flight, rising from the couch to bolt.
I only get to take two steps before Set is in front of me. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To the bedroom,” I answer dryly, still holding my stance, and intimidating my way out of this.
“I prefer we do this here. The light’s better. And this isn’t something I want to get wrong,” he says, his words clipped as if he’s already losing his patience.
“You want to do it yourself? Are you even qualified?” I ask, but then another question pops into my mind. “Have you done it before?” A ripple of revulsion takes hold of my mind. Is this his thing—branding people?
“You’re asking hell a lot of questions, but I know you won’t stop until I answer you.
So, yes, I’ll be the one doing it because I can’t stand the thought of anyone else getting their hands on you.
And yes, I know how to do it safely. And no, I’ve never done it to anyone else before,” his voice softens, like this means something to him.
Well, it better—because I’m the one who has to walk around with that between my legs.
Still, I won’t agree to it. And it’s not the mark itself that bothers me.
I secretly think that’s kind of hot—even if I just came to terms with the idea that I really am his.
Truth is, I’m terrified of what this means in all senses of the way—pain-wise and commitment-wise.
This is big, and the aggravation in his tone makes me that much more aware of it.
At this point, I’m starting to think I woud’ve preferred the engagement ring.
“How did we get from what just happened on the couch to this?” I ask, still trying to process how I managed to lose every piece of myself in just a single night.
“I’d say they're related. It’s time to stop fighting everything that’s between us.
And this is an important step in that process.
I need to know where your mind is, so I can trust you again.
” There’s a heavy silence between us. His words hit differently than I expected—like they’re carving out a hollow space inside of me.
As if I’m guilty of doing something terribly wrong, and somehow it’s my duty to fix it.
That still doesn’t mean I’m going down without a fight.
I can’t start a relationship by making a compromise that easily.
Been there. Done that. Never going on that road again.
“Just so you know, I don’t agree with this.
” I cross my arms, giving him a look sharp enough to cut through steel.
“I know there’s nothing I can do to stop you.
But I hope you realize you’re making me take a step back from whatever this is between us. ”
“We both know that’s not happening. It’s too late for that,” he says, so convinced it makes me want to prove him wrong just out of spite.
“Watch me,” I dare him.
Not that it fazes him. “Drink this, it will be easier,” he offers me the whiskey glass, and I’m seriously considering throwing it across the room, but I know I’ll need it.
I knock it back in one go, then hand him the empty glass, making sure he sees how my nostrils flare at him like I’m some kind of steaming dragon about to breathe fire. I’m pretty sure I only amuse him, yet I hold my ground.
But then I think of something that might actually hurt him, maybe even more than a weapon ever could. “I hope you know that if you are going through with this, it's you not getting sex ever again,” I say, hoping it lands as hard as intended.
“Actually, it’s only for a week... maybe two,” he says, that smug I know better look in his eyes. “Depends on how it heals. Plus, we can improvise.”
“You didn’t seem to understand what I was saying,” I mutter, my voice low. “You’re not touching me after this,” I threaten again. Maybe that’ll get some sense into him.
“Not touching me after this?” he scoffs.
“The same way you didn’t ride me less than an hour ago?
Or is it the same way you haven’t touched yourself while I watched?
” The bastard preens on having control of me.
Well, if he thinks his magic cock can put a spell on me, he’s got another thing coming.
“Now, stop fighting this. Sit on the couch, and open those pretty legs for me,” he gestures, as if I’m a dumb kid who can’t follow simple instructions.
The problem is I don’t want to follow them.
But that doesn’t matter—he hauls me by the hand to the couch, plants me on the edge, and stares down my pussy like it’s some prize. Psycho.
“Don’t move,” he warns, disappearing into the bathroom. A few seconds later, he returns, with disinfectant, some cotton, and... is that some kind of needle?
I instantly panic at the sight, not because I’m afraid of pain or needles in general. But a needle going in there? Yeah, I’m afraid of that.
Let me correct that—I’m fucking, terrified.
“You’re not putting that through me,” I utter, trying to get up from the couch.
“I promise it won’t hurt more than a regular piercing. A quick sting, then done.”
“If you know what you’re doing, which you obviously don’t.” I counter.
“I know exactly what I’m doing. Trust me, I’d never hurt you.”
“You’re planning to do it right now,” I bite back.
“Only to bring you pleasure. Don’t fight me on this. You know you won’t win.”
“I hope you know we’ll be back straight to ground zero if you go through with this.”
“There’s no going back after tonight—and you know it.
So stop fighting it and give me what’s already mine.
” He reaches for one of my ankles, and I instinctively fight it.
I actually want to kick him in the head for what he’s about to do to me.
But he catches me before I turn full karate on him, pinning my foot to the couch.
“Behave, and I’ll be gentle, I promise. But if you don’t behave… ”
“What? You’ll torture me to death?” I mock, defiance burning in my gaze.
“No. I’ll just get you another piercing. See how many you can take. How many places can I mark as mine.” I shiver at his words because I know he’s not bluffing. He’s just waiting for an excuse to cover me in his marks.
My resistance eases, and I don’t fight him as his hands trail up my legs until they reach my thighs, pushing my legs open. Now I’m really starting to panic.
My head falls back. I don’t want to watch this. But still, I don’t fight the thought of wearing his jewelry—not even a little. For some reason, I found that kind of commitment intriguing.
But then I feel something cold against my folds, and I nearly jump out of my skin.
Set seems ready for this, and before I can flinch, his hand presses me down, and his voice turns warm and reassuring.
“It’s only disinfectant. I need to clean the area first. Breathe.
It’s all in your head. It won’t hurt nearly as bad as you think . ”
I really want to believe him, but I have an internal defense system that can’t stand the thought of that needle coming near me. His fingers gently glide across my sensitive skin, and suddenly, I’m melting. Just like that, every other thought vanishes—along with any last scrap of resistance.
I close my eyes again, hoping to get through this fast and pretty much pain-free.
But I feel him shift on the couch, and I feel forced to look at what he’s doing.
He’s opening the damn box, the piece of jewelry gleaming under the chandelier’s light.
“It will look amazing.” He chants as if he’s getting ready to create a work of art.
When all I can feel is panic. And the more I think about it, the more I stiffen.
“Relax,” he says, unwrapping the sterile needle like this is some damn spa treatment.
“How the fuck am I supposed to relax while you’re about to stab me with that?” I could rip his head off just watching him approach me with that.
“Don’t curse. I need to stay focused,” he grunts, showing for the first time a sign of frustration.
Okay, I don’t want him tense while he’s doing this. But I can’t help myself either, especially as I feel his hand brushing against my pussy again, preparing to put in the piercing.
I can’t tell if I’m breathing too fast or not at all, but the curses pour out of me anyway as he’s putting pressure against my skin, assessing the spot he needs to pierce.
Then comes the sting—barely there at first, then almost vicious the very next second.
“Oh, just wait ‘til I pierce your cock. See how that fucking feels.”
“Well, I’m already pierced. But if you want to take another shot at it, be my guest,” he answers, maddeningly relaxed as I feel another sting. Strangely, it doesn’t hurt as bad as I expected. Which means he probably hasn’t really started yet.
Then it hits—a sharp, stabbing pain like I stepped on a needle.
“Oh, I could kill you right now,” I growl through clenched teeth as I start threatening him again.
But before I go on, I see him putting the needle away, then he leans over me to kiss me.
There’s a rush of pain flaring through me, but he’s doing a pretty damn good job of stealing it away, especially since one of his hands slipped inside my robe and is now toying with my breasts.
Every time his tongue pulses against mine, the pain fades a little more. “So, so sexy when you’re mad,” he whispers, dark and smug, just waiting for me to take my best shot while I try to process what the hell just happened.
There’s only a dull ache now and a strange warmth—like the flesh is pulsing to readjust the change. But it’s only been a second, he can’t be done already.
“You don’t get to kiss me after torturing me,” I spit back, shoving him off. Surprisingly, it works, and he backs down, giving me just enough space so I can get up from the couch.
The sudden movement quickly reflects to my core, and yeah, I probably should’ve sat back down. But the pain only makes me put distance between me and Set. And I do the only thing I can think—I grab Eight-Ball and storm off toward the bedroom.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he calls out, slight amusement in his tone.
And I don’t wait to strike back. “To bed. Alone.” I stalk past his bedroom and head straight for mine.
If I’m hurting, he should be, too.