My hand slides down her stomach and into her pants. She’s soaked.
My fingers glide through her slick folds, circling her clit before pushing two thick fingers inside her. She gasps, hips rocking against my hand, riding my fingers like she can’t get enough.
Her hand finds my cock through my pants, stroking me hard and perfect, thumb brushing over the head.
“Fuck, Sophia,” I rasp, thrusting my fingers deeper, curling them against that spot that makes her tremble.
She strokes me faster, squeezing just right, and I’m so hard it hurts. I need her. I need to be inside her. Lose myself in her.
I grab her thighs, lift her, and she wraps her legs around my waist like she was made for this. I pin her against the wall, grinding my cock against her through our clothes, kissing her like I’ll die if I stop.
Her hands are in my hair, pulling, her moans filling my mouth as she rocks against me, chasing friction, chasingme.
Then something shifts.
Her nails feel longer. Sharper. Dragging down my neck with just a little too much pressure.
Her kiss deepens, but it’s different now—hungrier in the wrong way. Possessive. Cruel.
I try to pull back, but she chases my mouth, biting my lower lip hard enough to sting.
“Such a good boy,” she murmurs against my lips, voice sliding from Sophia’s sweet rasp into something darker, smoother, colder. “Look how hard you get for me. Even after everything.”
My blood runs cold.
Jesus, no. Not again.
I snarl, shoving her back against the wall. But her legs stay locked around me, thighs squeezing like she knows I won’t really fight her. Not yet.
Her eyes flicker. Green bleeding into dark brown. Honey hair darkening at the roots. That cruel smile I’ve hated for years curves her lips.
“Still so easy to break,” she purrs, voice now fully hers.
Hate detonates inside my chest like a bomb. Rage bursting through the seams.
“Get the fuck away from me!”
I rip my hand free, and the karambit is there—cold, familiar,real—and in one fluid, violent motion I drag the blade from her navel straight up to her sternum.
It’s not a decision I make. It’s a fucking reflex, stabbing the blade into her hard, deep. The steel sinks in, and for the first time in my entire goddamn life, it feelsright.
I feel every inch of it. The way her skin parts so easily under the edge. The resistance of muscle, then the satisfyinggiveas I lean in harder, snarling with years of pent-up rage, years of her voice in my head, her control wrapped around my throat like a leash.
I saw the blade upward with everything I have, teeth bared, a guttural sound tearing out of me that isn’t human.
This is for every night she made me paint my face. For every time she whispered my name like she owned it. For every time she made me choose between those I loved and my own fucking soul.
Blood surges hot over my hand, soaking my chest, but I don’t care. Iwantit. I want to drown in it.
I twist the blade deliberately as I drag it higher, feeling it catch on bone, feeling her body jerk and convulse againstmine, and a dark, vicious wave of satisfaction crashes through me so strong it makes me dizzy.
Finally.
Her eyes widen. That cruel, perfect mouth opens in a shocked gasp that turns into a wet, gurgling rattle. Her legs twitch around my waist, still locked like she thinks she can keep me even now.
I hold her there, pinned to the wall, watching the light drain from her eyes, and I feel something inside my chestbreak open—years of shame, of helplessness, of being her fucking weapon finally cracking apart.
“You don’t own me anymore,” I growl against her dying mouth, voice shaking with pure, feral relief. “You never fucking did.”
