Chapter 8
RAVEN
Idon’t fucking remember.
But my body does.
The trauma is a physical map, a geography of pain etched into the marrow of my bones.
My ribs still ache with a phantom pressure where he held me too tight in the dark of that chapel.
My throat still burns where his hands caged me, a ghost-grip that never quite released its hold.
My skin still hums where the chain slices in, the cold iron a familiar tether to a reality I’ve been running from for a decade.
I don’t remember the dates or the prayers or the exact shape of the fear, but the cells in my body are screaming that they’ve lived this before.
I don’t remember. I don’t remember.
But when he looks at me like that—with eyes that see every hidden, broken thing I’ve tried to bury—when he touches me like that, with a possessiveness that feels like home and a cage all at once—when his breath cracks against my lips like he’s stitching me back into something I’m supposed to already be—
Fuck, I want to stay.
I want to stay in the cage. I want to stay in the chain. I want to stay in his fucking lap until the world outside is nothing but static, until I can’t remember what it feels like to be anywhere else. Even if I don’t remember why. Even if the reason is a nightmare.
His thumb drags under my lip, pressing just hard enough to bruise, a dark, tactile signature. It’s the same pressure he used when we were small, a silent command to keep the secrets. It reminds me I promised him.
I promised to stay. I promised not to forget. I promised to keep him, even though I don’t remember making that promise.
His breath breaks against my temple, a humid, desperate sound. “You’ll stay this time.”
I nod, the movement frantic and sure. “I’ll stay.”
“You won’t fucking leave me again.” His voice is sharp, cracked, the sound of glass breaking under a heavy weight.
“I won’t leave.”
“You won’t forget me.” His grip on the chain bruises my ankle, metal biting into skin, anchoring me to his history.
“I won’t forget you.”
Even if I already did. Even if I don’t know what I forgot.
Even if I don’t know what the fuck is real anymore in this room of monitors and ghosts.
Because I want to stay. I want him to keep me.
I want him to lock me down until I can’t think, until the memory of the “Quiet Place” is the only truth I have left.
“Say it again.”
“I won’t forget you.”
“Fucking louder.”
“I won’t forget you.”
His thumb presses harder under my lip, claiming the words as they leave my mouth. “You won’t fucking leave me.”
“I won’t fucking leave you.”
His pulse slams under his skin, a frantic rhythm against my spine.
His breath shakes against mine, matching the uneven staccato of my heart.
His lips drag across my jaw, down the column of my throat, over the scar on my ribs like it’s his fucking rosary—a holy, broken thing he needs to worship to stay sane.
“You promised you’d keep me.”
“I’ll keep you.”
“You promised you’d stay quiet.”
“I’ll stay quiet.”
“You promised you’d stay with me in the quiet place.”
“I’ll stay with you in the quiet place.”
His breath stutters, his grip dragging the chain tighter, winding the cold links until they cut me deeper, drawing a thin line of fire across my skin. “You’re mine.”
I don’t hesitate. There is no room for hesitation when you’re drowning. “I’m yours.”
His teeth scrape my pulse, sharp and filthy, leaving a mark that says Property of the Dark. “You’ve always been mine.”
I nod, dizzy, desperate, fucking starving for him. “I’ve always been yours.” Even if I don’t remember why. Even if I don’t know when the contract was signed in blood and silence.
His mouth crashes to mine, savage and claiming, locking me down with every sharp drag of his teeth, with every filthy pull of his tongue, with every broken promise that stitches itself back into me whether I want it or not.
His hands fist in my hair, pulling my head back so I’m forced to face the intensity of his obsession.
“You’ll beg me to keep you.”
“Keep me.”
His voice fractures. “Fucking beg.”
“Please.” I grind against the chain, against his lap, against the brutal ache he’s carved into me. “Please, Damien.”
“Please what?”
“Please keep me.”
His grip bruises. His teeth bite. His fucking laugh breaks like it’s the only thing keeping him alive, a jagged, hollow sound. “You’re already mine.”
His mouth drags over my throat, over my pulse, down to the scar that burns under his palm. “You’ll stay in the quiet place with me.”
“I’ll stay.”
“Say it again.”
“I’ll fucking stay.”
His breath splits, a ragged sound. “You won’t forget me this time.”
I shake my head, desperate, starving, losing my fucking mind to the sensory overload of him. “I won’t forget you.”
His tongue drags over the scar like it’s his mark, like he’s tasting the very trauma that binds us. “You won’t leave me again.”
I press myself harder into him, trying to fuse our skin together. “I’ll never fucking leave you.”
And I mean it. Even if I don’t know why. Even if I don’t know what the quiet place is. Even if I don’t know what I forgot. Because I want to stay. Because I want to be his. Because I think I always was, even when I was miles away, even when I was living a life that didn’t belong to me.
His hands slam into my waist, dragging me harder into his lap like he’s done waiting, like he’s done begging for crumbs of a memory I can’t find. His grip bruises. His breath hits the side of my throat, sharp and filthy.
“You’re mine.” His voice tears through me. “You’re not fucking leaving.”
“I’m not leaving.” The words rip out of me fast, frantic, because I need him to know. Because I need him to fucking ruin me for anyone else.
His fingers claw into my thighs, dragging them wider over him, grinding me against the brutal ache he’s already forced into my body. His mouth crashes to mine, no rhythm, no fucking patience, just sharp, broken teeth and desperate pulls of my lip like he’s claiming it over and over.
“You’ve been begging me to keep you, huh?” His tongue drags across the bite he just left, tasting the iron on my lip. “You’ve been begging me to fuck you like you’re mine.”
“Yes,” I pant, clawing at his shirt, desperate to get closer, to pull him deeper, to feel him fucking tear me apart so I can see what’s inside.
His breath hits my ear, hot and sharp. “Tell me what you need.”
“You.” My voice is already gone, already raw. “I need you to fuck me. I need you to fucking own me.”
His laugh cracks against my skin, the sound of someone who’s been waiting an eternity for this confession. “You’re not walking when I’m done with you.”
“Good,” I breathe, rocking my hips against him. “I don’t want to fucking walk. I just want you to wreck me.”
His hands grip the back of my neck, dragging me into another brutal kiss, his tongue filthy, his bite sharper. “You’ll fucking beg me to stop.”
“Don’t stop.” The words punch out of me too fast. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
He tears at the chain, pulling it taut, using the iron to snap my hips harder into his lap. “You like that?” His voice drops to a low growl. “You like being locked to me while I ruin you?”
“Yes—yes—fuck—please—”
His palm slides over my pussy, rough and unforgiving, pressing against the slick heat he’s already fucking claimed. “You’re soaked for me,” he breathes. “Fucking dripping for me.”
I choke on a gasp, rocking into him, grinding against the brutal pressure of his hand.
“That’s it,” he growls. “Fuck yourself on my hand. Show me how bad you need it.”
I roll my hips harder, chasing the sharp edge, panting his name like it’s the only thing I’ve ever known. The room, the monitors, the past—it all disappears into the friction of his skin.
“You’re going to cum on my fingers before I even fuck you,” he spits against my throat. “You’re going to beg me to fill you while I’ve still got you locked in this chain.”
“Please—fuck—Damien—please—”
He pulls the chain tighter, the bite of the metal burning where it slices against the raw skin of my ankle. “You want to cum?”
“Yes—please—please—”
“You don’t fucking get to until I tell you.”
I cry out, grinding harder, desperate for the release he’s holding just out of reach. “You’ll stay on edge for me,” he breathes, dragging his fingers rough over my clit, pressing until I’m trembling, shaking, clawing at his arms. “You’ll stay right there until I say so.”
“Please—Damien—please—let me—”
“You’ll fucking beg me for it.”
I sob into his neck, panting, desperate, fucking wrecked. “Please—please let me cum—please—I need you—please—”
His mouth drags across my throat, his teeth biting down just hard enough to leave a mark he can find in the dark. “You’ll beg louder.”
“Please—please—fuck—please let me cum—please—”
He groans low, dragging me harder into him. “You’ll fucking scream for me when I let you.”
“Yes—please—”
“You’ll scream so loud they’ll know who you belong to.”
I sob, grinding faster, chasing it. His hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back, his mouth crashing to mine. “Cum for me.”
I shatter. Fucking explode.
The chain rattles against the floor as I grind through every brutal pulse, my whole body locked to his, my screams swallowed by his tongue. He doesn’t stop. His fingers keep working me through it, forcing my body to stay open for him, to stay on edge, to keep fucking breaking.
“You’re mine,” he growls against my mouth. “You’ll beg me again.”
“Please—fuck—please—”
“You’ll take everything I give you.”
“Yes—fuck—yes—”
“You’ll let me use you until you forget your own name.”
“Please—”
His breath cracks against my throat. “You don’t get to cum next time until I’m inside you.”
“Please—yes—fuck—yes—”
He drags me into another filthy kiss, his breath breaking, his grip locking me tighter. And I don’t want him to be done with me. I want the ruin.
His hand stays wrapped in my hair, holding me still like he’s just getting started. His breath cuts sharp against my jaw. “You think I’m going to let you breathe without me now?”