CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
RAVEN
There are two of him.
I blink.
Once.
Twice.
And they’re still standing there—both Damien.
One of them is half-dressed, chest slick with sweat and blood, lips bitten raw from the kiss I begged for ten minutes ago.
The other is at the door, gun drawn, jaw locked, eyes wild like a man walking into his own nightmare and I don’t know which one I want to scream for.
“Get away from her!” the one in the doorway barks, stepping closer.
I flinch.
Not because of the voice.
Because of the look in his eyes.
Panic. Betrayal. Fury.
“Raven,” he says—softer now. “It’s me.”
But the one behind me?
The one I just let brand me again?
He steps up behind me, warm and solid, wrapping his arms around my middle, burying his nose in my hair like he’s home.
“He’s lying,” he whispers. “He didn’t save you. I did.”
I shake my head.
“No. You—”
“Who held you when you cried?” he murmurs. “Who touched you first? Who made you scream without shame?”
His voice is soothing.
Too calm.
The other one steps forward.
“Don’t listen to him, baby. He’s not me. He’s what I buried to protect you.”
I press my hands to my temples. The room blurs.
Both of them move the same way.
Same shoulders.
Same scar.
Same voice.
Same fucking scent.
“STOP!” I scream. “One of you—just—STOP!”
They freeze.
One breathes heavier.
The other grins.
“Ask yourself,” says the one at the door. “Which one of us fucked you like you were sacred?”
“And which one,” says the one behind me, voice curling like smoke around my ear, “fucked you like you were mine?”
My knees give out.
They both step forward to catch me.
And I let myself fall—unsure which one’s arms I’ll land in.
I land.
Warm skin. Familiar arms. Heartbeat against my cheek.
I don’t know which one it is because the other one is still here—still watching, still breathing, still smiling like he knows he’s winning.
I try to pull back, to look at the face of the one holding me, but hands press to my cheeks. Thumbs stroke beneath my eyes.
“Stay here.”
“With me.”
“I’ll never let him hurt you again.”
The voice—his voice—is gentle. Fractured. Desperate.
“You branded me,” I whisper.
One of them stiffens.
The other tilts his head.
“Because you begged me to.”
“No…”
But my thighs are still wet with his cum. My clit still pulses from the orgasm he forced from me. My chest still aches where the skin is raw with his moth-shaped mark.
“You liked it,” he whispers, lips brushing my temple. “Don’t lie to yourself now.”
The Damien near the door speaks again.
His voice is tighter. Strained.
“He used me, Raven. My face. My voice. But not my soul. That wasn’t me. That thing… it was everything I tried to kill inside myself.”
I squeeze my eyes shut.
I don’t know.
Because maybe he’s right.
But maybe he’s not.
Because when I came, I screamed Damien’s name.
And the hands that held me afterward felt like his.
And the mouth that kissed me when I was shaking whispered all the things I never told him I needed.
The hands on my face shift, tilt my head up.
And there are two of him again.
One kneeling.
One standing.
Both watching me.
Both wanting me.
“You remember who kissed you first, don’t you?”
One voice.
Then the other—
“You remember who ruined you.”
My mouth trembles.
My heart races and for the first time—I realise something worse than not knowing who’s real.
Maybe they both are.
Maybe he never split.
Maybe I did.
I don’t know who’s kissing me.
It doesn’t matter because the mouth on mine knows how to take, and the hand wrapped around my throat knows exactly how tight I like it—right before I pass out, right before I beg.
I’m lifted, carried backward, lowered onto something soft.
The bed?
The mattress?
No.
He built the altar out of me.
One Damien holds my wrists above my head, binding them in red silk I don’t remember asking for.
The other is between my legs.
Both mouths move at once.
“You trust me, don’t you?”
“You wanted this long before you knew who I really was.”
My thighs are spread.
One tongue licks up my slit.
A hand slaps the inside of my thigh, hard.
“Keep them open. I didn’t ask.”
I gasp.
One of them is whispering in my ear—“Good girl.”
The other is biting my collarbone—“Dirty slut.”
I don’t know which one I want more.
Because they both sound like Damien.
And I hate that I want both.
Two sets of fingers now—one teasing my nipples, the other circling my clit, feather-light and infuriating.
“You’re not allowed to cum.” They say it at the same time.
One presses a vibrator to my clit.
The other shoves two fingers inside me.
The overstimulation is instant—cruel.
I’m already shaking.
Already there.
“Please—”
They smirk in stereo.
“She’s going to break.”
“Not yet. She hasn’t earned it.”
One of them holds the clamp again. Tightens it.
The other lowers the vibrator.
“No,” I gasp.
“Yes,” they whisper.
Their mouths trade places.
One on my breasts.
One on my throat.
One hand slapping.
The other soothing.
I’m twisted in knots, not just of rope—but of reality.
One of them enters me.
Slow.
Cruel.
Deep.
“Mine.”
The other bites my lip. Licks my tears.
“Ours.”
My body clenches.
But the second I’m about to cum—
Everything stops.
The fingers are gone. The vibrator off. The cock halfway in… pulled out.
I scream.
“No!”
They laugh.
One kisses my inner thigh. The other stroked my cheek.
“Not yet, little moth.”
“You don’t get to cum until you stop asking who we are.”
They don’t let me breathe.
Not properly.
Not without trembling.
One hand grabs my hair, pulling it back to arch my neck for a bite.
The other trails lower—between my legs, sliding through my slick folds without mercy but every time I try to move, to grind, to chase that unbearable edge—
They stop.
“Naughty little moth,” one growls. “Did we say you could beg with your hips?”
I sob but I’m not crying.
I’m melting.
One of them leans in, licking the salt from my cheek.
“Incy wincy spider climbed between her thighs…”
My pulse screams.
The words slither down my spine like venom. Like truth. Like a promise I never meant to make.
“Down came the monster with fire in his eyes.”
The second Damien kneels again, parting my legs like a book he wrote himself.
He blows warm air against my clit.
My thighs quake.
“Please,” I gasp.
“Again,” he says.
I hesitate.
The silk tightens around my wrists.
The other leans in, whispering against my mouth:
“Say it. You’re just a little web toy, remember? Pretty legs. Pretty holes. No thoughts.”
My throat chokes on a moan.
“Please,” I whisper again. “Don’t stop.”
They don’t listen.
They start the rhyme again.
“Out came the fingers, blacker than her sin…”
Four now.
Twisting.
Stretching.
Filling.
“Tore apart her body just to crawl back in.”
I buck, crying out, but the slap that lands on my ass is so sharp I bite my own tongue.
“You don’t get to cum.”
“Not yet.”
“Not until the spider’s done playing with his doll.”
They switch places again. Or maybe they don’t. I don’t know.
One is inside me.
The other is in my mouth.
My body is full.
My mind is empty and still—they won’t let me fall.
The vibrator returns. Just light enough to make me twitch. Just cruel enough to make me clench.
They stop again. Just before the edge. I scream into the skin of whomever I’m riding.
And the rhyme returns—darker now.
“Up came the spider, whispered in her ear…Cum for us, darling—but only if you fear.”
My legs are shaking.
I’m drowning in heat but I still haven’t come.
Because they haven’t let me.
Because I don’t know which one I’m begging anymore.
Because maybe I enjoy being the web.
My throat is raw from screaming without climax.
My legs tremble from holding still while they unravel me and when they whisper the rhyme again—closer, filthier, slower—I already know something’s changed.
“Incy wincy spider, slid beneath her skin…Tore her open wider, to taste the fear within.”
One Damien kneels at my side, stroking my inner thigh like he’s petting prey.
The other’s above me, fingers tangled in the silk around my wrists, watching my chest rise and fall like he’s measuring how much more I can take.
And then I see it.
The blade.
Thin.
Silver.
Stained at the tip.
He drags it down between my breasts—not cutting.
Just cold.
Just cruel.
Just a warning.
“Blood or breath, little moth,” one of them murmurs. “You can only lose one.”
The knife circles my nipple.
I whimper.
He flicks it. Gently.
Then slices.
Just enough to let the skin break.
A drop of blood blooms. Perfect. Crimson. Sinful.
And before I can cry out—
his mouth is on it.
Sucking.
Lapping.
Groaning as if he’s tasting something sacred.
“So sweet,” he whispers. “Like ruin and obedience.”
I’m too stunned to speak.
Too soaked to think.
“She’s dripping,” the one between my legs says. “Bleed a little more, baby. Make our altar complete.”
The blade moves again—down now.
Tracing the edge of my thigh. Then between.
He slices my inner thigh. A shallow cut. Enough to sting. Enough to mark.
I cry out—and it turns him feral.
His tongue is on it instantly, licking the blood while his other hand plunges two fingers inside me again.
Faster this time.
Rougher.
The other clamps the vibrator against my clit and presses a second blade to my throat.
Not enough to break skin.
Just enough to promise it.
“One more time,” they whisper together.
“Say the rhyme.”
“I can’t—”
The blade presses deeper.
The fingers thrust harder.
“Say it.”
My voice shakes. Tears fall.
“Incy… wincy… spider…”
The one between my legs groans.
“Good girl. Now scream for your gods.”
The blade stays at my throat.
A heartbeat away from ecstasy. A breath from oblivion.
And I want both.
The one between my legs is relentless now—three fingers, soaked and curling with brutal purpose. The vibrator is back, pressed so tightly to my clit I swear I feel it in my spine but I still can’t cum because they won’t let me, because they’re turning my orgasm into worship.
The blood from my thigh smears across my stomach, forming a handprint of sin.
The one above me leans down, tongue licking it up in slow, reverent strokes.
“You were always meant to be bled for.”
The one between my legs groans.
“She clenched. Did you feel that?”
“She’s begging inside.”
“But her mouth hasn’t earned it.”
They stop everything.
I whimper. Collapse. Scream.
“Please,” I sob. “Please—I can’t—”
The blade at my throat lifts.
Replaced by lips.
A kiss.
Tender. Gentle.
And that’s what breaks me.
Even now—they still know how to make it feel like love.
“Then say it,” one of them whispers. “Say what you are.”
The pain is nothing now.
The need is everything.
I let the tears fall. Let my wrists strain against the silk. Let my blood paint the sheets like a sacrifice.
And I whisper: “Yours.”
The vibrator slams back against me.
His cock replaces the fingers.
One thrust.
Two.
Three.
And I’m there.
On the edge.
Finally.
But they still don’t let me fall.
“Wait,” the one above me growls. “Just a little longer.”
The blade returns—this time to my breast.
He carves a second moth beside the first.
Matching.
Bleeding.
Twin wings.
Twin gods.
Twin monsters.
And only then—“Cum.” I explode with a scream that isn’t human.
That isn’t broken.
That isn’t Raven.
It’s the girl who burned for her monsters and begged for more.