Chapter 1 #3
She lowers her mouth to the mess—her mess. Her tongue drags across the floor, slow, trembling, her whole body shuddering as she licks herself clean. I push harder on the back of her head. “Sloppier.”
Her breath hitches. She drags her tongue wider, wetter, louder. Her moan splits through the silence. She hates this. She loves this. She doesn’t know where one ends and the other begins anymore. I grip her hair tighter. Force her to sit back on her heels when I’ve decided she’s done.
Her lips are glistening with her own taste. Her cheeks are streaked with tears. Her thighs are shaking so hard she can barely keep them open. I crouch in front of her, my hand still buried in her hair, my thumb dragging across her swollen bottom lip.
“You’ll remember this,” I whisper. “You’ll taste me when you swallow. You’ll feel me when you walk. You’ll ache every time you breathe.”
Her eyes are begging now. Not for release. For more. I tilt her head. I want her to beg for something else. “Say it.”
Her breath is so shallow now. Her lips part. The words fall like she’s giving up something holy. “Please cage me.”
I smile. Because that’s what she’s really begging for. Not to be fucked. Not to be free. To be caged. Owned. Kept. I slide my hand over her throat. My grip tightens. Her pulse kicks hard against my palm. “Good girl.”
The buzzer crackles from the surveillance room. My blood chills. I pull her with me as I move, dragging her to her feet, making her stumble to keep up. I’m not letting her go. Not now. Not when she’s dripping and desperate and raw.
The front monitor blinks. Static again. The same fucking glitch. I switch to the backup feed. It cuts in just in time to catch it. Another package. Left at the door. Smaller this time. Tighter. The second stalker is still here. He’s still watching. He’s still playing.
I grab Raven’s chin, force her eyes to the screen. “You see that?” I whisper. She nods, her breath catching. “He’s not taking you.” I press my lips to her temple, my voice a razor edge. “You’re already taken.”
Her knees buckle. I drag her closer. And I open the door.
The hallway is silent. Not just quiet—dead.
Like the air forgot how to carry sound. The package sits on the doormat like it belongs there.
Like it’s been waiting for me. Like he knew I’d open the door first. I don’t touch it yet.
I watch it. The way Raven watches me. The way she’s gripping my shirt now like I might disappear if she lets go.
“Stay behind me,” I say, without turning. I hear her breath catch. I feel her nod against my back.
Good girl.
I crouch, check the seams, the corners, the tape. No wires. No mechanical pressure points. Just a simple, perfect box, wrapped in the same white cloth, the same red ribbon. Deliberate. Designed for me. Not her. Me. I lift it slowly. Bring it inside. Bolt the door. Twice.
I set the box on the table. Raven stays pressed to me like she’s not sure if I’ll let her stand on her own. I don’t. I curl my arm around her waist. Keep her tight against me as I untie the ribbon.
Inside the box, there’s no note this time. Just a smaller object, wrapped in black silk. I pull it free. Unwrap it slow. The silk falls away like it’s never belonged there.
It’s a Polaroid. A fresh one. Glossy. Undisturbed. And it’s of me. Sleeping. The angle’s close. The frame is tight. The detail is sharp enough to see the faint scar on my jaw. Raven’s breath rattles against my ribs. “When was that?” she whispers.
I don’t answer. Because I don’t know. The timestamp’s been scratched out.
The surface of the photo gouged with deliberate, sharp strokes.
The number’s gone. I flip the photo over.
There’s writing. Not a full sentence this time.
Just a string of words, scrawled fast, pressed hard enough to dent the paper.
Do you taste her when you sleep?
My stomach sinks. My grip on Raven tightens. I run my thumb over the words like I might burn them off the page. This isn’t just a threat. It’s a message. It’s a promise. It’s a reminder that I’m not the only one leaving marks. That I’m not the only one who’s tasted her.
I feel Raven’s heartbeat thudding against me. Fast. Wild. Frightened. I tilt her head down, my lips grazing the curve of her ear. “Say it,” I murmur, my voice low, dangerous.
Her throat bobs. “Say who you belong to.”
Her voice is a cracked whisper. “You.”
“Louder.”
“You.”
I grip her chin, pull her head back, make her meet my eyes. “Say it properly.”
“I belong to you.”
Her body’s still trembling. Not from the cold. From the knowing. The knowing that someone else has been here.
Someone else has been watching. Someone else has been close enough to touch.
Close enough to taste. But he didn’t take her. He left her. For me. And that’s the mistake he’s going to fucking choke on.
I pull her closer, press my mouth to hers, hard, brutal, claiming. “You’re mine,” I growl against her lips. “And I don’t fucking share.”
Her whimper melts into my mouth. Her hands claw at my chest like she’s trying to bury herself inside me.
I drag her toward the surveillance room, our bodies still locked together. The feeds flicker, the static glitch twisting across the top corner again, taunting me.
I’ll find him. I’ll carve him out of the walls. I’ll bleed his name from his throat. I’ll make him watch while I ruin her all over again.
But first—I need to cage her tighter. I need to lock her down. I need to remind her exactly who she belongs to. Again. And again. And again. Because the other one might be watching. But I’m the one who makes her beg. And he’ll never touch her the way I do.
I shove her back against the console, her spine hitting the cold metal with a thud that vibrates through the hardware.
I don’t give her a second to breathe. I hike her legs up, hooking them over my hips, pinning her against the flickering wall of monitors.
My hand goes to her throat, my thumb finding that delicate spot where her pulse is a frantic, trapped bird.
“You see that screen, little spider?” I hiss, forcing her to look at the static-riddled feed where the glitch is dancing. “He wants to see you. He wants to know what you look like when you’re being broken.”
I slide my free hand down, diving back into her pussy. She’s even wetter than before, a hot, slick mess that drips over my knuckles. She cries out, her head thumping back against the screens.
“I’m going to give him a show,” I growl, my teeth grazing the sensitive cord of her neck. “I’m going to make you scream so loud he hears it through the cameras. I’m going to make you cum so hard your knees won’t work for a week.”
I pull her hair, dragging her face toward mine. “And every time you feel yourself shatter, you’re going to remember that he can only watch. He can only dream of the way you taste. But I’m the one who owns it. I’m the one who’s inside you.”
I unbuckle my belt, the leather snap sounding like a gunshot in the small room.
“Beg for the cage, Raven. Beg for me to lock you away where no one else can ever lay eyes on you.”
“Please,” she sobs, her fingers digging into my shoulders. “Please, Damien… cage me. Lock me up. Make me yours. Only yours.”
I grin, a dark, lethal thing. I’m going to ruin her right here, in the cold glow of the monitors, while the ghost in the machine watches his prize become a wreck in my hands.
“Good girl.”
I hike her hips higher, pinning her against the wall of monitors until the screens flicker and distort beneath her weight.
The cold glass of the surveillance feed is a sharp contrast to the fever-heat of her skin.
She’s a mess of salt, wax, and desperation, her breath coming in ragged, broken hitches that fog the glass behind her head.
I reach down and guide myself to her lips.
“Open,” I command, the word vibrating against her mouth.
She doesn’t hesitate. She’s too far gone, too broken by the wait.
She parts her lips, her tongue trembling as it meets me.
I push deep, watching her eyes roll back, her throat working as she takes me, gagging slightly on the sheer size of me.
I grip her hair, tilting her head at an angle that forces her to look at the very screen where the static glitch is most violent.
“Look at him,” I growl, my thumb dragging across her cheek, smearing her tears. “I want him to see your eyes while you’re tasting me. I want him to see how well you take what belongs to me.”
She chokes out a muffled whimper, her hands fumbling to grip my thighs for leverage. I don’t give her any. I pull her head back, dragging her mouth away from my cock just long enough to see the silver string of spit connecting us in the dim, blue light of the room.
I don’t wait another second. I flip her around, slamming her chest-first against the console.
Her hands fly out to brace herself against the keyboards, keys clicking uselessly, monitors flashing error messages as she’s crushed against the tech.
I hike her ass up, her spine arching into a perfect, agonising curve.
I line myself up at her entrance, feeling the heavy, soaking heat of her. She’s so tight she’s shaking, her inner thighs slick with the evidence of how badly I’ve ruined her already.
“Tell him,” I whisper into her ear, my hands gripping her hips so hard I know I’m leaving permanent marks. “Tell the ghost watching us who is about to stretch you open.”
“Damien,” she sobs, her forehead pressed against a monitor showing the empty hallway. “Damien… please… only you. It’s only ever been you.”
I drive into her in one brutal, uncompromising thrust.
The air leaves her lungs in a shattered scream. Her fingers claw at the desk, sending a mouse skittering to the floor. I don’t give her time to adjust. I pull back nearly all the way and slam into her again, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing like a crack of thunder in the small room.
I’m not being gentle. I’m being possessive. I’m fucking her with the rage of a man who knows someone is trying to steal his shadow.
“Say it!” I roar, my pace turning frantic, punishing.
“I’m yours!” she screams, her voice cracking, her body rocking violently with every shove. “I’m yours—break me—please—Damien—I’m yours!”
I reach around, my fingers finding her clit, grinding into the swollen, sensitive nerve while I continue to fuck her from behind. The combination is too much. She starts to convulse, her internal muscles clamping around me like a vice.
“Don’t you dare cum,” I hiss, biting the back of her neck, tasting the copper of blood on my tongue. “Hold it. Hold it for the camera, Raven. I want him to see you suffer for it.”
She’s wailing now, a raw, primal sound of pure sensory overload.
Her legs are giving out, only held up by the strength of my grip on her waist. I see the glitch on the screen intensify—the static turning into a frenzied crawl of white noise—as if the observer on the other side is losing his mind watching me claim every part of her.
I feel my own end coming, a dark, heavy pressure behind my ribs. I pick up the pace, my thrusts becoming shallow and lightning-fast, bottoming out against her until she’s nothing but a sobbing, vibrating wreck beneath me.
“Now,” I growl. “Cum for me now.”
She shatters.
A long, high-pitched keening sound spills from her throat as she collapses forward onto the console.
I follow her down, burying myself as deep as I can go, my own release hitting me with the force of a physical blow.
I groan into her shoulder, my heart hammering against her spine, marking the monitors with the sweat and heat of our combined collapse.
The room falls into a heavy, ringing silence, broken only by our laboured breathing and the hum of the cooling fans.
I stay inside her, unwilling to let go, unwilling to give the watcher even a second of her back. I look up at the main monitor. The static is gone. The screen is black.
He saw. He saw everything.
I pull Raven back against my chest, her body limp and unresponsive, her skin cooling in the air. I wrap my arms around her, a human cage, and whisper into the dark.
“Now… we get the locks.”