Hook #2
My smile cuts wrong, teeth bared, the kind that belongs on a predator who’s already feasting.
“Oh, I’ll do it, little star.”
I tighten my hold on her wrists, my hook glinting in the dim firelight as it drags slow down the length of her arm. Not cutting—yet. Just grazing, reminding her what sharpness feels like when it’s this close. Her breath catches, eyes locked on the curved steel tracing her skin.
“You think glass hurts?” I murmur, voice curling like smoke. “Glass shatters. Steel carves.”
I press the hooked edge against her nightgown, catching the delicate lace at her collarbone. A small tug, and the fabric tears with a sound that makes her flinch. I do it again, slower this time, slicing down until her chest is bared to the cold air, to me, to the red blink of the camera.
Her lips part on a gasp she tries to swallow. My hook pauses just above her ribs, pressing hard enough to leave a shallow line, not deep enough to bleed—yet. My other hand holds her pinned, fingers bruising her wrists into the wood of the headboard.
“You wanted ink and blood?” I growl, dragging the tip down the valley of her chest. “Here’s the pen.”
She jerks under me, a sound breaking from her throat—half fear, half something darker. I press my knee harder between her thighs, forcing them wider. She’s trembling, but not resisting. Not really. Her body arches into the pressure even as her eyes spit hate at me.
Good girl.
I hook the hem of her nightgown and rip it up, tearing it in strips until the thin lace is nothing but ruins tangled around her hips. She gasps as cold air bites her skin, as steel traces the edge of her stomach, curving down, lower, lower.
Her thighs twitch, squeeze, tremble.
“Still think you’re not mine?” I whisper, hooking the thin fabric of her underwear, tugging until the elastic snaps. The hook scrapes her hip, leaving a thin welt, a mark she’ll feel every time she moves.
Her hips buck against me, a strangled sound ripping from her throat.
“That’s it,” I murmur, pressing the blunt curve of the hook just above where she aches.
Not cutting, not yet—just threatening, taunting, making her pulse hammer so fast I can feel it through the steel.
“Bleed for me without the cut. Scream for me without the wound. You belong to me whether you want to or not.”
Her back arches. Her wrists twist uselessly against my grip. Her breath comes in ragged gasps, her body betraying her with every shiver.
I drag the hook lower, between her thighs, pressing the cold steel against her heat through nothing but the smear of blood and ruin. Her cry is sharp, strangled, desperate.
“Say it,” I demand, voice like gravel. “Say who you belong to.”
Her teeth bare. “Fuck you.”
I laugh, low and guttural, pressing the hook harder against her until she shudders, torn between terror and want. My hand leaves her wrists only long enough to grab a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back so her throat strains, exposed.
“Good girl,” I snarl into her ear. “We’ll carve it into you instead.”
I press steel against her skin again, not cutting—but promising. And then I push my body against hers, grinding her down into the shards of glass and ink until there’s nowhere left for her to go.
Her scream splits the silence wide open.
And I drink it in.
Her scream rips through the room, jagged and raw, and it only makes me harder. I fist her hair tighter, yank her head back until her throat arches like an offering, every ragged breath dragging across her exposed skin.
“You break mirrors, little star,” I snarl against her ear, the hook gliding down between her thighs again, cold steel sliding against soft flesh. “But I’ll break you.”
Her body jerks under me, a sob caught in her chest. I press harder, the blunt curve of the hook dragging slow circles against her clit until she shudders, trembling, tears brimming in her eyes. Not cutting—yet. Just torment. Just a reminder that even pleasure is sharp when it’s mine.
“Stop,” she chokes, but her hips betray her—tilting, grinding against the cold steel like her body doesn’t understand her mouth.
“Say it again,” I growl, grinding the hook harder, faster. “Beg me to stop while you fuck yourself on my blade.”
She shakes her head, tears streaking down her cheeks, but her thighs clamp around me, desperate, filthy. Her wrists strain against my grip until they bruise. Her pulse slams against my fingers where I choke her throat.
I release her wrists and use my free hand to drag her hips wider, nails biting, forcing her to spread open under me. Blood smears across her thighs from the glass embedded in the sheets, painting her like war.
The hook slides lower. Cold. Merciless. I trace the edge against her wet cunt, teasing, circling, threatening to split her open. Her scream catches in her throat, torn between terror and want.
“Please—” she gasps, voice shredded.
I bare my teeth, cruel and hungry. “Please what?”
Her lips tremble. No answer.
I drag the hook slow and deliberate, parting her folds with steel. Her entire body jerks, a sob tearing free, her hips bucking against me in a betrayal she’ll never forgive herself for.
“God, look at you,” I snarl, grinding the blunt curve against her clit until her cries turn high and broken. “You’re bleeding, you’re crying, and still your body begs for me. Say it. Say you’re mine.”
Her nails claw the sheets. Her eyes squeeze shut. Her lips part.
“Never,” she whispers.
My laugh is dark, guttural, brutal.
“Then I’ll fuck the truth into you.”
I press harder, rubbing the hook mercilessly against her, dragging her closer and closer to the edge she swore she wouldn’t fall from.
My other hand clamps around her throat, squeezing just enough to make her see stars.
Her screams turn to gasps, her body thrashing helplessly under mine, but her hips grind against the steel like a sinner begging for hell.
“Say it,” I demand again, voice sharp as a blade. “Say my name or I’ll carve it into your skin.”
Her sob shudders through her chest. Her thighs quake. Her body betrays her again, spasming, desperate, aching.
“Hook,” she chokes, barely audible, voice breaking on it.
The sound detonates inside me. I slam her down into the bloodied sheets, hook grinding her clit in brutal circles as her cry splits the silence wide open, her orgasm tearing through her like a confession.
I hold her there, trembling, ruined, sobbing under me, steel still pressed to her cunt, my hand around her throat, blood staining every inch of her body.
“Good girl,” I snarl, panting against her ear. “Lesson learned.”
Her tears mix with sweat and blood, her body limp and shaking, but her eyes—fuck, her eyes—still burn with fire.
Perfect.
I’m not done teaching.
Her body jerks beneath me, every tremor an aftershock of what I forced out of her. Her breath comes shallow, ragged, chest rising and falling in frantic rhythm, the sound torn from her throat like a prayer she never meant to give me.
I don’t let her rest.
Not yet.
The hook lingers between her thighs, sliding slow, deliberate, cruel, rubbing her raw until her hips twitch in overstimulated spasms. She whimpers—soft, strangled, trying to turn away—but my hand tightens around her throat, keeping her pinned, forcing her to ride the edge of pain and pleasure all over again.
“You thought smashing glass made you free?” I growl, dragging the steel up, slick with her ruin, until it rests against the soft curve of her stomach.
I press just hard enough to dimple the skin, not enough to pierce.
“Freedom doesn’t exist for you. Not in paper.
Not in blood. Not in screams. Only in me. ”
Her eyes flicker open, glazed with tears, but still burning. That defiance hasn’t died—it never dies. It just makes me harder.
“Fuck you,” she whispers, voice shredded.
I laugh—dark, guttural, sharp as the steel tracing her skin. “Already did.”
The hook catches on her breast, snagging her nipple, tugging sharp enough to make her cry out. I lean down and bite the other, teeth sinking until she gasps, until she arches into the pain she swore she’d never crave. Blood beads where my teeth break skin. I lick it clean, slow, savouring.
Mine.
Every inch of her, mine.
I release her throat just long enough to drag my hand down, fingers bruising into her hips as I shove her legs wider, forcing her open again. She tries to clamp them shut, but the hook curves inside her thigh, pressing, threatening, making her obey.
Her body betrays her. Always. The slick heat between her thighs glistens in the dim firelight, wet against steel, staining me with her surrender no matter how her mouth spits curses.
“You hate me?” I whisper, pressing the hook against her cunt again, harder this time. She shudders violently, another sob cracking her chest. “Good. Hate me with everything you have. Hate me until it burns your lungs. Because hate binds tighter than love ever could.”
I slide the steel against her clit, brutal, merciless, making her scream again, her body writhing beneath me as tears streak her cheeks. Her hips buck without her permission, grinding against the metal like she was born to take it.
“That’s it,” I snarl, grinding harder, forcing her to the edge again. “Scream my name. Say who owns you.”
Her nails rake down my arms, breaking skin, blood smearing the papers scattered across the bed. Her back arches, body taut as a bowstring, and she breaks—screaming my name so loud it rattles through the walls, a sound halfway between agony and ecstasy.
I hold her there through it, pressing steel harder, forcing her to cum again, and again, until her voice gives out and her body collapses limp beneath me, soaked in sweat, blood, and ruin.
Her eyes flutter shut. Her chest heaves. Her lips tremble with words she doesn’t dare speak.
I drag the hook up, smeared with her desire, and press it to her mouth.
“Open.”
She hesitates. Defiance flickers in her eyes. But then—slow, trembling—she parts her lips.
Good girl.