Chapter 12
DAMIEN
Idrive her harder against the wall, the sound of her breath catching in my ear, my palms sliding over her ribs, memorising the tremor in her body the way I used to count cracks in the chapel ceiling. Every inch of her pressed against me is a confession, a pulse, a promise.
Her nails drag down the plaster, leaving pale scratches. She doesn’t push me away. She arches back into me, needing, chasing, like she’s just as ruined as I am.
I bury my face in the curve of her neck, teeth grazing skin, words coming out low and viciously soft.
“You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” I growl. “I’ve been waiting years to touch you without a wall between us, and now you’re going to feel everything I ever held back.”
She gasps, fingers curling into fists, and that sound is a fuse inside my skull. My hands slide lower, spanning her hips, keeping her exactly where I want her. I move against her in a rhythm that’s merciless and slow, grinding, making her feel every inch of my control without a single space to run.
“I’m still counting,” I whisper. “Counting every breath you take, every tremor, every sound. You think I’m going to stop? I’m never going to stop.”
Her head tips back. My lips brush the shell of her ear, my voice nothing but a rasp.
“You want to know why I came back? This is why. Because no one else will ever touch you like this, no one else will ever know the things I know, no one else will ever crawl inside you the way I already have. You’re not just mine, Raven — you’re my proof that I survived.”
She moans, a sound that’s half-plea, half-promise. My grip tightens, my body trembling against hers, a breath away from losing every ounce of control I have left. I drag my mouth across her jaw, filthy words spilling out like prayers I’ve been holding for a decade.
“I’m going to keep you here until you remember everything. Until you remember me. Until you understand why you can’t run. Until you feel me every time you close your eyes.”
Her fingers reach back, sliding up into my hair, tugging, a small act of rebellion that makes my pulse go ragged. She turns her head just enough to look at me over her shoulder, eyes dark and wet, voice broken but steady.
“Then make me remember.”
And something inside me snaps.
I press her harder to the wall, my breath hot against her neck, my words a snarl and a vow.
“I will.”
Her fingers slide into my hair first.
Not gentle. Not hesitant.
A tug like a leash, like she’s daring the monster to snap — and fuck, I do.
I spin her, lift her, pin her hard to the edge of the table — mouth on her throat, teeth dragging down like I’m marking territory I’ve already bled for. Her gasp is air I haven’t breathed in ten years.
I drag my hands up under her thighs, spread her open without asking.
Because she wants to be ruined.
And I never fucking forgot how.
“You don’t get to touch me first,” I growl against her lips, biting the corner. “You don’t get to pretend you’re in control now. Not after the way you left me.”
Her eyes flash wide — confused, guilty, fucking perfect.
She doesn’t remember the worst parts yet.
But I do.
And tonight, I’m going to etch it into her bones.
“You begged me to let you go,” I whisper, dragging my fingers down her stomach, slow and deliberate. “You cried and screamed and still fucking watched me through the crack in the door after. You always watched, Raven.”
Her breath stutters.
She’s not sure if I’m talking about now or then. Good.
I slide two fingers down and press them against her, just enough to make her twitch.
Soaked. Shaking. So fucking mine.
“No one’s going to save you from me,” I say low and brutal. “You think I forgot what it sounded like when you came for the first time because of me? You think I don’t hear it every night?”
Her breath catches like she remembers something — a flicker, a flash — but it’s gone before she can speak.
I don’t let her.
I drag my mouth down her chest, teeth grazing, tongue unforgiving. One hand grips her throat—not choking, just there. Claimed. The other presses harder between her legs, slow circles, edge play written in the rhythm.
“You think this is about fucking?” I mutter against her skin. “It’s not. It’s about memory. It’s about taking back every goddamn thing the priest tried to rip out of me. It’s about making sure you never forget who made you cum like this first.”
She moans, a sound torn from somewhere raw.
I slide my fingers deeper — slow, knuckle-deep, angled just right.
“Say my name,” I order.
She shudders, half a cry, half a curse.
“Say it like you used to.”
“Damien…”
“That’s not how you said it back then.”
I curl my fingers.
“Try again.”
Her back’s still pinned to the wall.
But she’s not fighting anymore.
She’s wrecked for me—just the way I like her. Legs trembling around my waist, mouth parted like she’s trying to form a sentence but forgot the alphabet. Hair stuck to her throat, the scent of her sweat and need soaked into my skin.
And still—I want more.
More than her moans.
More than her nails digging into my shoulders.
More than the way her body yields when I take and take and take.
I want the part of her that even she’s forgotten.
The piece the priest tried to steal.
The piece I bled for.
“Open wider,” I whisper, voice rough. “Don’t make me say it again.”
She does.
Good fucking girl.
I hook one arm under her knee and hike her higher, my other hand moving between us, not to tease—but to torment. I press two fingers where she’s soaked, then slide them up her stomach, leaving a trail of heat until I press them to her lips.
“Taste how sweet you are when you beg.”
She licks them without question.
And I fucking groan.
Not because it’s hot—though it is. God, it is.
But because she doesn’t even realise what she’s doing to me. Doesn’t realise how much I’ve starved for this—for her. For the sound she makes when I slam into her, deep and brutal, my name torn from her mouth like a scream she tried to swallow.
“You know why I came back for you?” I growl against her jaw. “Because I was never gone. I’ve been in your walls, in your fucking dreams, in your veins. I watched every man who ever looked at you. I marked them. I made sure they stayed away. You were mine before you even knew what the word meant.”
She whimpers—and it’s the prettiest fucking sound I’ve ever heard.
“Say it,” I demand. “Say whose you are.”
Her lips tremble. “Yours.”
“Again.”
“Yours.”
“Again—louder.”
“YOURS.”
I slam her back against the wall so hard the picture frame nearby tilts.
And I smile.
Because finally—finally—she’s saying the thing I always knew was true.
I move faster now, harder, rougher, dragging cries from her throat that sound like prayers and punishments all at once. My teeth scrape her shoulder.
My fingers dig into her ass. And when her body locks up, trembling around me, I don’t stop.
I press my forehead to hers, panting.
“You don’t cum unless I say so.”
“Please—”
“You want to finish?” I rasp. “Then tell me something no one else knows. Tell me a secret. Tell me a sin.”
She whimpers again, shaking, her voice cracking as she sobs out the words—
“I used to dream about you before I ever met you. I think—I think some part of me knew.”
Fuck.
I nearly lose it.
Not because it’s sweet.
Because it’s real.
Because some part of her always knew I was coming for her.
That I’d rip down every door between us.
That I’d burn the fucking world to lay her down in ash and call it holy.
I grab her throat, not to choke—but to hold. Just hold. Just feel her pulse hammering against my palm like a war drum.
I kiss her like I’m sealing a vow.
Then I bury myself so deep inside her there’s no part of her I haven’t claimed.
“You’re not just mine, Raven,” I whisper into her skin, “You’re made for me.”
And when she cums, it’s with my name on her lips—and my obsession carved into every broken breath she takes.
She’s trembling in my hands when it happens — that sound I’ve been chasing for years. Her voice breaks on my name like a secret snapping in half, her body arching, eyes unfocused, mouth parted, completely lost.
I don’t stop moving. Not yet.
I drag it out — slow, deep, merciless — until the tremors become little shakes, until she’s gasping and clawing at my shoulders and her head tips back like she’s trying to remember how to breathe.
“Look at me,” I order, my voice a low rasp.
Her eyes flutter open. Dark. Glassy. Waiting.
“This is what you wanted,” I whisper. “This is what you came back to. Not a hero. Not a saviour. Me.”
I ease my grip on her throat, stroke my thumb along the spot where her pulse is frantic. My forehead rests against hers, our breath mingling, bodies still locked together, hearts pounding out of rhythm.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur, and it’s half a promise, half a threat. “Nobody else touches you. Nobody else even thinks about it. You’re safe here. Even when you’re not.”
She swallows hard. Her fingers, still trembling, slide up into my hair again, not pulling this time but holding. Like she’s testing whether the monster she’s been warned about will let himself be held.
And for a heartbeat, I let her.
For a heartbeat, it feels like the boy behind the wall is alive and she’s humming again and we’re both still salvageable.
Then the monitor in the corner flickers.
Once. Twice.
Then goes black.
Her nails dig into my scalp. She’s looking over my shoulder now, eyes wide, lips parted, like she’s seen a ghost.
“What is that?” she whispers.
I turn my head. The static clears. A new feed appears on the screen.
The chapel.
Same angle as before.
But now, instead of empty pews, a single figure stands in the aisle. Hood up. Head down. Both hands clasping something small and white.
I go still.
It’s not a recording.
It’s live.
“Damien…” Raven’s voice cracks. “That’s—”
I cut her off with a low growl. “Stay here.”
I set her down gently, my hands sliding off her skin, the loss of her warmth like a blade in my chest. I grab my shirt, my gun, the black knife hidden under the table. My movements are calm, deliberate, but my head is a roar.
I glance back at her one more time. She’s still against the wall, hair messy, lips swollen, eyes huge. She looks like sin and salvation at once. She looks like everything I’ve been trying not to break.
“You’re not coming with me,” I tell her. “Not this time.”
Her jaw sets. “You can’t leave me—”
“I can. And I will.” My voice drops, dark. “If he’s in that chapel, this ends tonight.”
She takes a shaky step toward me. “What if it’s a trap?”
I smile without humour. “Then it’s the last one he ever sets.”
Her hand lifts, almost like she’s going to reach for me again, but she stops herself.
“I don’t even know who you are,” she whispers.
I sling the strap of the gun over my shoulder. “You will.”
And then I’m moving, out of the room, down the hall, every nerve in my body on fire, every step a countdown to whatever waits for me in the place where this all began.