Chapter 2
RAVEN
Istill taste him on my tongue. I can feel him under my fingernails. Pressed into the cracks of my skin. Etched between the spaces in my ribs. Damien gets inside me in ways I can’t wash off. Ways I don’t want to.
But it’s not just him anymore. It never was.
The walls hum like they’re breathing. Like someone’s standing just behind them, watching me through the plaster, waiting for the next time Damien’s not looking. Waiting for when I’m alone. Except I’m not alone. I’m never alone. The lock clicks. Twice.
His rules bite the back of my throat like a prayer I don’t know how to stop saying.
Stay where I tell you to stay. Speak when I tell you to speak. Walk when I tell you to walk.
It should choke me. It should make me claw at the door, pound my fists against the walls, scream for space. But I don’t. I don’t want space. I want him. I want the cage.
The sound of Damien’s boots scuffing the floor pulls me out of my skin, drags my pulse into my ears. He’s pacing again. Tracking something I can’t see. I stand in the doorway of the surveillance room, my shoulder pressed to the frame like it’s the only thing holding me up.
The Polaroid sits on the desk. Face down. But I can still feel it looking at me. Do you taste her when you sleep?
I wrap my arms around myself. Tight. Too tight. I shouldn’t wonder if he does. But I do. I shouldn’t wonder if I want him to. But I do.
Damien snaps his head toward me like he’s heard my thoughts scratch across the walls.
“Come here,” he says, sharp, precise.
I walk to him. He grips my wrist, pulls me onto his lap, tucks me against him like I fit there—like I was built for this place.
“You feel safe?” he asks, his breath warm against my temple.
I nod. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just holds me there, his hand splayed across my ribs like he’s counting my heartbeats.
“They’re still watching,” I whisper.
He hums low in his throat, the sound rumbled through my back. “They can watch.” His voice is a slow cut. “They can watch you beg. They can watch you cum. They can watch me break you over and over again.”
My breath stumbles.
“They can watch,” he says, “but they’ll never have you.”
His grip tightens. His pulse is a war drum under my palm. “You want them to watch?” he murmurs. “Want to show them how good you beg for me? How pretty you look when you cry?”
I shake my head. Too fast. But I’m already pressing my thighs together. His laugh cuts through me, dark and sharp.
“You do. You want them to see what they’ll never fucking touch.”
His teeth scrape my shoulder. His hand drags between my thighs, pressing through the thin fabric like he knows I’m soaked already.
“You want them to see how fucking owned you are.”
I whimper. I can’t hide it. His fingers curl under the waistband of my shorts, dragging them down to my knees, slow and cruel.
“You want them to know,” he whispers, “that you’ll never run. That you’ll always come back to me. That you’d starve for me. That you’d beg me to cage you again.”
Tears burn the backs of my eyes. Because he’s right. I want that. I want him to keep me so tight I can’t breathe without him. I want to forget how to exist outside of his hands.
His touch drags through me, slow and possessive. “You’ll stay,” he breathes.
I nod, gasping as his fingers slide deeper, curling inside me. “I’ll stay,” I choke out.
“Louder.”
“I’ll stay.”
“You’ll cum when I tell you to.”
“Yes.”
“You won’t cum without me.”
“Yes.”
“You’ll beg for me.”
“Yes.”
“You’ll thank me for caging you.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, my voice cracking.
His thumb circles my clit, sharp and deliberate. “Again.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For caging me,” I sob, tears slipping down my cheeks, my body shaking in his grip.
“That’s my good girl.”
His hand grips my throat, squeezing just enough to make the edges of my vision blur. “I’m going to make you cum so hard you forget your own name.” His breath ghosts over my ear. “But you’ll never forget mine.”
His pace quickens. The air thickens. The weight of him, the scent of him, the bite of his words—all of it wraps around me like another lock, another chain, another silk-thread noose I’d gladly sink into.
Because there’s nowhere else I want to be.
Not when his hands are on me. Not when his voice is carving me hollow. Not when I’m already his.
The second stalker can watch. He can leave his notes. He can send his gifts. But he’ll never taste me like Damien does. He’ll never break me the way Damien can. And I’ll make sure he knows it.
His grip on my throat tightens until my pulse hammers against his palm, my breaths fracturing into sharp, pitiful gasps. I can’t get enough air. I don’t want to. I want to drown here. I want to sink inside this pressure. Inside him. Inside the cage.
His fingers curl inside me, his thumb dragging tight, perfect circles over my clit—fast, relentless, cruel.
I’m already teetering, already climbing, already begging with my body even though I know better.
I know he won’t let me fall. Not until he’s dragged me to the edge and carved his name into my bones.
My nails claw at his arm, at his thigh, at anything I can grip. He bites my shoulder—hard. His tongue drags over the bruise blooming there.
“You’re close,” he growls against my skin.
I nod frantically. Tears spill, my breath hitching, my hips grinding desperately against his hand.
“You’re not cumming yet.”
I whimper. The pressure coils tighter, sharper, hotter—right there.
“You’ll hold it.” His teeth scrape my jaw. “You’ll suffer for me.”
“Damien—” I sob.
He pulls his hand away. A sharp, broken scream punches out of me. He slaps my pussy—three hard, perfect strikes that make me jolt, make my body clamp around nothing, make me sob for the friction he just stole.
“Shh.” He drags his wet fingers up, smearing my slick across my lips. “Open.”
I part my mouth. I taste myself on his fingers as he pushes them deep, pressing down on my tongue until I gag. His grin cuts against my cheek.
“You taste that, little spider?” His thumb presses my chin up, forcing me to swallow. “That’s mine.”
I choke on the mess he’s making of me. His hand slides down, gripping the back of my neck as he shoves me forward, bending me over the desk, the cold wood biting into my ribs.
“You’re going to count for me now.”
I feel him step away—just enough to hear him rummage through the drawer. The soft clink of metal. The sharp flick of a lighter. I turn my head just enough to see the candle. Not the smooth taper from before. This one’s jagged. A dark, brutal shape with a wick that burns low and angry.
“You know how this works.” His hand smooths over my lower back. “You’ll hold still. You’ll take it.”
I bite my lip. I nod. He grips the back of my neck harder.
“Say it.”
“I’ll hold still. I’ll take it.”
“Good girl.”
The first drop of wax falls, sharp and hot, just above the swell of my ass. I cry out, my fists clenching against the desk.
“One,” I gasp.
Another drop. Higher. Between my shoulder blades. “Two.”
The next drips over the curve of my spine, scorching my skin in a trail of fire. “Three.”
The tears fall faster. The ache between my legs sharpens until I’m grinding into the desk, chasing friction I’m not allowed to have.
“Don’t you dare cum,” he growls. “I’ll ruin you if you do.”
Another drop. This one lower. Right over the curve of my ass, dangerously close to where I need him. “Four,” I sob.
He hums low in his throat, pleased. The wax drips faster now—five, six, seven—each one another choke of sound, another tremble in my thighs.
When I hit ten, his hand slides between my legs again but he doesn’t touch where I need him. He trails his fingers along my inner thigh, dragging the wetness down to my knees, painting me in the mess he made.
“You’re so fucking wet for me,” he breathes. His tongue drags over the shell of my ear. “You want to cum so bad, don’t you, little spider?”
“Yes,” I sob, desperate, my body trembling, my clit throbbing, the ache unbearable.
His fingers trace just around it—never pressing, never giving me enough. “You’ll cum when I tell you,” he growls. “Or you won’t cum at all.”
I nod frantically, tears streaking my cheeks, my voice breaking on every ragged breath.
“Say it.”
“I’ll cum when you say—” I gasp. “Please, Damien, please—”
He presses his thumb to my clit. Finally. Finally.
“Hold it.”
I scream, my body shattering on the edge, my muscles locking, the pressure unbearable.
“Don’t you dare cum.”
His other hand grips my throat, choking off what little breath I have left. “Beg me, little spider. Beg me to let you fall.”
“Please—please—Damien—please—let me—please—”
The words collapse under the weight of the sobs, the agony, the fire burning across my skin. He drags it out. He holds me there. Teetering. Breaking.
“Tell me why I should let you.”
“Because—because I’m yours—I’ll never leave—I’ll stay—I’ll stay—”
He snaps the clamp over my clit—cold metal, sharp pressure. I scream. His thumb circles the trapped bud, grinding into the clamp until I’m thrashing, tears streaming, my whole body locking.
“Please—I can’t—I can’t—”
His lips brush my temple. His voice is a promise, a lock, a shackle. “Cum for me, little spider.”
I cum so hard my vision whites out, my body convulsing, my sobs breaking into sharp, shattered moans. He doesn’t stop. He drags me through it, holds me there, milks every tremor from me until I’m nothing but a soaked, ruined mess against the desk.
His lips graze my ear. “Say thank you.”
I gasp it, my voice barely there. “Thank you.”
His grip stays tight. His body stays pressed to mine. “Say it louder.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For caging me.”
His smile cuts across my skin like a brand. “Good girl.”
I know I’ll never stop begging to be his. Even if someone else is watching. Even if someone else is waiting. Even if someone else wants to take me back. Because I’ve already been taken. And I don’t want to be free.