CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN #2
The overload is instant.
“You don’t cum until I hear it.”
“I love her—she’s mine—she’s you—she’s me—fuck—I don’t know!”
I’m twitching. Desperate. My body is a live wire—writhing, ruined, unsatisfied.
He removes the clamps—quick, sharp.
My nipples ache.
He twists one hard between his fingers.
“Again.”
“I love her. I love me. I’m yours.”
He smiles.
“You finally sound like someone worth breaking.”
And then he plunges inside me again, slamming me forward into the mirror.
Not to hurt me.
To make me watch.
Every brutal stroke.
Every filthy moan.
Every time my reflection begs without my mouth.
I don’t blink.
I don’t run.
Because I love her now.
The ruined girl with wax scars and blood-streaked thighs.
The one who got what she wanted.
The one who begged for her monster and got both.
Me.
I’m shaking.
Held against the mirror, face pressed to the glass, arms bound in silk and bruises, wax hardening in red streaks across my spine.
My reflection is a contradiction.
Eyes wild.
Mouth slack.
Body perfect in its destruction.
And still—He won’t let me cum.
His cock drives into me again—slow now. Cruel. Measured.
My body clenches around him involuntarily, sucking him in deeper, wetter, needier than I ever thought possible.
“You’re right there again, aren’t you?”
His breath hits my ear. His hand slides up my chest, wrapping around my throat—not squeezing.
Just holding.
Like he owns the air I haven’t earned.
“So close. So fucking close. But it’s not enough.”
The vibrator buzzes against my clit. Just enough to make my toes curl, to make my knees buckle.
But he’s not letting me go.
Not until I give him everything.
“Say it,” he growls, dragging his teeth down my neck. “Who are you?”
My throat closes.
“I—I don’t—”
He stops.
Pulls out.
Again.
“Wrong answer.”
I sob.
“Please—”
Another slap to my ass, sending a fresh line of pain through wax-coated skin.
Another thrust—just the tip, barely in.
Another withdrawal.
“Say it.”
I shake my head.
Tears drip from my chin onto the glass below.
“I can’t. I don’t know who I am anymore.”
And that’s when he smiles.
That wicked, slow, all-knowing smile that tells me I’ve finally said the right thing.
“Good. Now we start.”
He shoves back inside, all the way to the base, hard enough that my body jerks against the mirror with a desperate cry.
He doesn’t stop.
He doesn’t ease up.
He fucks me like I’ve just been born.
Like this is who I am now.
Like Raven died the moment I said yes to the second brand.
“Say goodbye to her,” he whispers, hand fisting in my hair.
He turns my head until I’m eye-to-eye with my reflection.
The blood.
The wax.
The bruise at my throat.
The smile that’s almost forming.
“Say it.”
I choke on it.
But I say it.
“Goodbye, Raven.”
He thrusts harder.
Deeper.
His fingers dig into my hips.
The vibrator is relentless now—circling, pulsing, building.
“And who are you now?”
I cry.
I laugh.
I break.
“Yours.”
The orgasm coils deep inside me, vicious and alive.
My legs tremble. My mouth opens. My fingers twitch in their bindings.
He fucks me harder—deeper—perfect.
The vibrator grinds into my clit as if it was designed to destroy me.
And for one glorious second—
I think he’s going to give it to me.
I feel it coming.
The quake.
The light.
The end.
And then—
He stops.
Everything.
The vibrator clicks off.
His cock slides out.
The absence is so sharp I scream.
“No!”
My body is shaking so violently I nearly collapse.
Tears streak my face. My thighs are soaked. My cunt is clenching around nothing.
Damien kneels behind me, breath steady. Controlled.
Like he planned this all along.
“Not yet.”
His hands roam my body again, gentler now—touching every bruise, every welt, every cut.
Like he’s proud.
Like I’m art.
“You gave me your name,” he says softly. “You gave me your body. Your mind. But that’s not the part that belongs to me.”
I whimper.
“What more could I possibly—”
His fingers trail down my spine.
Over the wax.
Over the brands.
“Say it.”
I blink. Shake. Collapsing forward slightly, my cheek presses against the mirror. Tears, spit, and blood smeared my reflection.
“Say what?”
He pulls my hair until I’m upright again.
His lips at my ear.
Voice like a god whispering damnation:
“Give me your soul.”
The words don’t echo. They root.
Burrow into me like the bite of the brand, the slap of his hand, the weight of his cock—realer than all of it.
I don’t answer right away because I’m not sure I have anything left to give.
My wrists burn from the silk. My thighs ache from the trembling. My clit pulses with the ache of a dozen denied orgasms. I still taste like ghosts in my throat.
He kneels behind me—still hard, still ready, still not letting me cum but not because he wants to punish because he’s waiting.
My voice is barely more than a breath.
“Take it.”
He doesn’t move.
Doesn’t breathe.
The air between us thickens, saturated with blood and wax and sweat and the final thing he’s been waiting for.
“Say it right.”
I close my eyes.
See the girl I was.
The one who was stalked.
The one who fought back.
The one who fell for a monster with two faces and begged to be broken by both.
And then—I kill her.
Right there.
I open my mouth.
“Take my soul, Damien.”
He groans.
Low. Animal. Relieved.
“Good girl.”
He grabs the vibrator, turns it on high, and presses it hard against my clit.
His cock slams into me in one brutal, perfect thrust—deeper than before, no more teasing, no more withholding.
He fucks me like he’s sealing the pact.
Like he’s claiming every cell I have left.
Like my soul is pouring out of me and into his hands, and he’s pushing it back into my body as something new.
Something his.
My scream is guttural.
I clench around him so hard I feel the rip—tiny, beautiful, sharp.
This is what it feels like to die for someone.
He growls against my ear as I break:
“Now you can cum.”
And I do.
So hard I nearly black out.
So long I sob through it.
So deep it feels like my body isn’t mine anymore.
Because it isn’t.
It’s his.
And so is everything else.