CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
RAVEN
Imoan louder this time, not because I want to but because I know he’s watching.
Not him.
The other one.
The real one.
Damien.
Wherever he is—whatever camera he’s hacked—I want him to see it.
See me on my back.
Naked.
Panting.
Arching for a man who wears his face like a stolen goddamn crown but not because I’m broken because I’m stalling.
N’s tongue drags up my inner thigh, slow and reverent, like I’m a prayer and he’s the church that built itself around my suffering, slow wet kisses lick the inside of my knee.
“You were made for me, little moth.” I moan again, softer. Like I believe it. “You taste like you missed me.”
His fingers spread me open, and his mouth finds the centre of me—and I let my head fall back against the mattress. Let my mouth fall open. Let my thighs shake but in my fist, curled beneath the pillow?
A shard of a broken camera lens, wrapped in cloth.
Hidden when I first fell.
Waiting.
His tongue circles my clit with maddening precision—just like Damien. Because he’s watched the footage. Memorised the angle. The rhythm. The sound I make when it’s too much but he doesn’t know what I’m doing now.
Clenching. Loosening. Timing my breaths.
Building myself closer and closer—
To the edge.
To the kill because when I cum for him, I’m going to slit his throat with a smile.
His tongue drags up my slit again—slow and deliberate, like he’s tasting ownership.
I whimper, hips twitching, but he presses his forearm hard across my pelvis, pinning me down like prey. His tongue flicks over my clit with infuriating precision—teasing. Never giving.
“No,” he growls against me. “You don’t get to cum yet.”
His voice is identical to Damien’s, but there’s something else now. Something rotten in the tone, like sweetness left in the dark too long.
He licks me again—flat tongue, slow drag—and then bites the inside of my thigh. Hard.
“You’re going to wait,” he says calmly. “Because good girls suffer first.”
I cry out, and he grins like it feeds him.
I think he likes me ruined.
No. I know he does.
He flips me fast—hands on my hips, dragging me up until my knees dig into the mattress, my face pressed into the sheets that still smell like wax and iron.
Something cold touches the curve of my spine.
I jerk. “What is that—”
He shushes me.
“Mine.”
A sharp hiss. A click. Then—
Agony.
White-hot pain bursts across the top of my ass cheek.
I scream. Arch. Shake.
The smell of scorched flesh.
I twist and look over my shoulder. He’s holding a branding iron. Small. Hand-forged.
In the shape of a moth.
I sob once. But not from fear.
Because I feel it—the raw, searing truth:
This is mine now.
This is a moment no one else gets.
“You’re branded,” he says softly. “So you never forget who you crawled back to.”
He reaches under me again, two fingers thrusting deep, spreading me until I squirm, slick and desperate.
But still—he denies me.
Pulls out. Slaps my ass. Grabs my jaw and shoves two spit-slick fingers between my lips.
“Taste how close you are.” I suck them instinctively, and he laughs. “Pathetic little mouth. No control at all.”
His hand slides back between my thighs.
He touches everywhere but where I need it.
Then—click.
I hear metal.
Chains? A latch?
No.
A clamp.
He pinches my clit lightly between his fingers—then fastens the clamp in place. Tight.
My legs shake.
I scream into the sheets.
“You don’t cum,” he repeats. “Not until I tell you. Not until your body knows who owns it.”
He mounts me again.
Pushes inside slowly.
Too slowly.
Stretching me. Filling me.
But still holding the clamp’s leash—tightening it slightly with each thrust.
“You’re going to cum so hard for me,” he whispers. “You’re going to cry when I finally let you. And then I’m going to make you cum again. And again. Until your pussy forgets anyone else was ever inside it.”
I sob, but I can’t stop pushing back against him.
I want it.
I want it so fucking bad.
But I can’t. Not yet.
Because he won’t let me.
And I think…
I think that’s what makes it unbearable.
What makes it perfect.
Each thrust unmakes me.
Not to please. Not to tease.
To own.
His hand fists in my hair, dragging my head up until my spine bows.
I can’t see him. I can only feel him—behind me, around me, inside me—his cock thick and hard and buried to the base, rocking in slow, devastating strokes.
The clamp tightens with every movement.
A tug on the chain.
A little whimper.
Then another thrust.
I choke on my moan, biting my lip hard enough to taste blood.
He leans in—mouth right at my ear, voice almost sweet.
“Your cunt’s trying to cum, little moth.”
“Please…” I whisper, not even sure what I’m begging for anymore.
The pain?
The relief?
The permission?
His hand slides down the curve of my back, nails dragging over my skin until he reaches my ass. He spreads me wider, drives in harder—deeper than he should be able to.
“You like the pain, don’t you?” he growls.
“Yes…”
He stops.
I shatter.
“You’ll only cum when I say you can.”
His hand wraps around the clamp’s leash. He tugs it. Hard.
I scream.
My body trembles, hovering on the edge of an orgasm that I lose every time I get close.
And he knows.
He feels it in the way I clench.
The way I gasp.
The way I need.
“That’s it, little moth,” he purrs. “Tease that little clit on the edge of madness. Let your body beg before your mouth does.”
He reaches for something.
A vibrator.
He doesn’t remove the clamp. He just presses the bullet against it.
The vibration hits through the metal—sharp. Direct. Devastating.
I thrash.
“No—”
“Yes,” he growls, slamming into me so hard the mattress jerks beneath my knees. “Take it. You’re my fucktoy now. My marked, leaking little moth.”
I sob. I writhe. My arms give out, and I collapse onto the sheets, shaking.
He grips my hips tighter.
“Not yet.”
He removes the clamp.
But the vibrator stays.
Direct contact now.
Raw. Swollen. Nerve-deep pain turned to pleasure.
And he doesn’t stop thrusting.
“I want you to cum crying.”
My scream rips from my throat.
My vision goes white.
Every nerve detonates.
But still—he fucks me.
Rides me through it.
“Good girl.”
“That’s it.”
“Again.”
And I do.
I can’t stop.
Because I’m his now.
Because maybe I always was.
I was supposed to escape.
That was the plan.
Seduce him.
Soften him.
Make him believe I wanted it.
Then run.
But now?
I don’t know where the performance ends.
His cock slams into me again, unforgiving, ruthless. The vibrator’s still pressed to my clit, and I’m still sobbing through orgasms that won’t stop.
My legs don’t work. My throat’s raw from screaming. My body is his.
But my mind?
It’s a war-zone.
His voice curls around my ear, hot and gentle.
“You were always meant for this.”
I shudder.
I don’t know if he’s lying.
I don’t know whether I care.
I was supposed to fake it—moan at the right times, writhe the way Damien trained me to.
But now?
My moans aren’t lies.
My begging isn’t scripted.
My body is betraying me, and I’m letting it.
“You like it,” he growls. “You like not knowing if it’s me or him.”
“I—” I don’t answer.
I don’t know because I feel like I’m falling between two jagged cliffs and I’m reaching for either just to feel anchored. Just to feel owned.
He pulls out suddenly and flips me onto my back.
I gasp—my thighs slick, clit swollen, nerves fried—but I still arch for him.
Like a fucking offering.
He grabs the vibrator, presses it to my entrance, sliding it up and down my folds while he stares at me.
Not with lust.
With worship.
With devotion that looks like madness.
“You’re not Damien,” I whisper, eyes wide, chest heaving.
He smiles. “No, baby.” He thrusts two fingers in, then withdraws. Slow. Cruel. “I’m the part of him you wanted more of. The part that would’ve broken you sooner. Deeper. Harder. The part he hid.”
He leans down, and when his tongue touches me again, I cry out—not from fear. Not from pain.
From the terror of how much I want him to keep going because Damien is the shadow I ran to.
But this?
This is the flame I want to burn in.
And for a heartbeat—I stopped thinking about escape.
His tongue moves as if it knows every ruined nerve in me.
And maybe it does because I’m not sure anymore if he’s learned my body from watching…Or if I’ve always belonged to him.
He sucks my clit, slow and obscene, while his fingers slide inside again—two, then three, curling just right, like he’s not trying to bring me to orgasm—
He’s trying to destroy it.
“Say it,” he murmurs, licking a stripe from hole to clit. “Say who you want it from.”
I try to speak but nothing comes out because I don’t fucking know anymore.
Damien?
He chased me. Branded me. Broke me with love.
But this?
This is something darker. Something worse.
“Say it,” he growls again, and he adds a fourth finger.
I scream.
Not from pain.
From how close I am.
I try to lift my hips. He slams my thighs down and clamps the vibrator back in place. Full intensity. Directly on my clit.
“Say. It.”
“You,” I gasp.
He freezes.
“What did you say?”
I sob, arching.
“You—please— I want—fuck—I want you.”
His eyes flash. His lips curve and then he fucking ruins me.
He thrusts inside in one brutal motion, and my pussy clenches so hard it’s almost painful. He doesn’t slow down. Doesn’t pause. He fucks me like I just gave him the only truth he’s ever needed.
“Mine.” He slams into me again. “Say it. Beg for it. Tell me who owns this filthy little body.”
I grab the headboard, screaming as he pounds into me, cock thick, ridged, brutal.
“You do,” I cry out. “Fuck—please—don’t stop—”
He pulls out.
My eyes go wide.
No.
He grips my face in one hand, dragging my mouth to his, biting down until I taste blood.
“You don’t cum yet. You don’t cum until I mark you again.”
He stands.
Goes to the drawer.
Pulls out something small. Heavy.
The branding iron.
Still hot.
Still his symbol.
He kneels over me, straddling my waist, cock resting against my belly, and holds the brand just above my skin. “Say it first. Say what you are.” I’m shaking, tears blur my vision but I say it.
“Yours.”
He smiles.
“Good girl.”
He holds the branding tool so close that I can feel the heat radiating across my skin, I can’t stop the tremors that crawl through my body.
His fingers slide up my neck stroking my lips and pressing until I open my mouth sucking in his thumb.
“Good girl. My perfect fucking girl.” He looks soft for a second like there is something human inside him that I could fall into and then he slams that branding tool right over my heart and all I can hear are my screams and smell the scent of burnt flesh where he branded me.
He lowers his body on top of mine, teasing my pussy with his cock, sliding up and down my soaked entrance until the tears fall down my face in frustration. “Please.” I beg. “Please…I can’t.”
He teases the thick head of his cock against my pussy the wet sounds causing me to clench around nothing. “Do you feel how wet you are?” I nod. “I want to drown in your fucking pussy. I want to wear your cum on my skin like it belongs to me.” I cry.
He strokes my hair and slides his cock inside of my dripping pussy inch by agonising inch.
“Fuck.” I cry out. He’s so fucking deep I can feel every inch of him, he doesn’t go slow.
He thrusts so fucking hard I can almost feel him in my belly.
The screams rip from my body. “Oh god. Oh god.” I scream.
“You want to meet God?” he rasps against my throat, his voice wrecked with lust. “Open your eyes. You’re already under him.
” He thrusts harder, slow and punishing, until her gasp breaks into a moan.
“You think He could make you feel this way?” His mouth drags up my neck, teeth grazing my pulse.
“You think He could make you scream like that?” He laughs, low and sinful, the sound vibrating against my skin.
“No,” he breathes, hand wrapping around my jaw, forcing me to look at him.
“He didn’t give you heaven.” His thumb presses into my tongue,“I did.”
A pause, dark eyes burning into mine. “And I’ll take it back the second you forget who you’re praying to.”
I’m breathless, I can’t speak. Every throb and thrust of his cock brings me closer to you edge. “Cum for me, Raven. Soak my fucking cock. Let me drown in your pussy.”
The pleasure hits me in waves and the scream that pours out of my mouth echoes, it tears from my throat in waves, my body shudders and I finally soak his cock with my desire.
My body won’t stop twitching. I’m a trembling mess beneath him—branded, soaked, dripping down my thighs, marked inside and out. I have bruises on my lips from screaming. My nipples swelled from his teeth.
I should hate this.
I should hate him.
But I don’t.
I’m still gasping when he sinks down beside me and pulls me into his lap, like I’m breakable now, like I’m something sacred that survived the fire.
His fingers ghost over my breast, tracing the raw brand there.
The moth.
His mark.
“You belong to me now, little moth.”
I don’t fight it.
I lay my head against his chest, heart still pounding like I’m prey—but I know now I’m not.
I’m not prey anymore.
I’m something else.
His.
He strokes my hair, humming that awful little whistle.
And then…
He speaks in Damien’s voice.
Perfect.
Identical.
“You’re safe now, baby. I’m here. Just like you begged.”
I jolt.
Pull back.
Look up.
He’s smiling.
And in his hand—A Polaroid.
Fresh.
Still developing.
It’s of me.
Straddling him. Screaming.
Branded.
Destroyed.
“I sent it to him fifteen minutes ago.”
My heart stops.
“He’s coming.”
He grins.
“But you won’t run to him, will you?”
I start to speak—
But he presses a finger to my lips.
“Because here’s the thing, Raven…”
He leans close.
His voice drops to a whisper.
“There was never a second stalker. We were always the same.”