Page 62 of Devour

I run my hand along her ribs and then cup her breast, brushing my thumb over her nipple. She sighs and arches into me. I pinch her nipple, making her cry out. “I’ll make sure you never forget what king you serve, little heathen.”

I lick away the tears on her cheek. I love when she cries, but only when I’m the one who pushes her. I know what my girl can take and what she needs to make it better. These tears make me want to rip the walls down. “Lie down,” I whisper, forcing my voice to remain even, kissing her temple.

She does as she’s told, and I climb from the bed. I go to the closet and grab what I borrowed from Crew. I’ve always planned to do this to her, and now is the time.

Her eyes drop to the case in my hand. “What are you doing?”

“What you asked me to do.” I set the case on the nightstand and open it. I pull out the tattoo gun and plug it in. I grab the ink and gloves and lay out everything that I’m going to need.

“Axl.” She pushes up on her elbows, glaring at me. Then she climbs up on her knees. “You can’t be fucking serious.”

There’s that attitude of hers. My girl must have forgotten who the fuck I am. I told her to lie down, and I meant that shit. If she wants to remember who owns her, it’s about to be really fucking clear. I leave everything where it is and pull rope from the drawer of the nightstand.

“Fucking lie down on your back, Saylor.”

“Why? Are you pissed because I had a dream about someone who wasn’t you, and now you need to make me pay for something that isn’t my fucking fault?”

I grab her throat and pin her back against the mattress, straddling her, and positioning my face right in front of hers as I restrict her air. “Because I told you to do something, and you know what happens when you make me tell you twice. You wanted to be reminded of who owns you, little heathen. This is it.”

She holds my stare as her eyes go wide. Her chest rises quickly, and then she lets go of my wrist. Her hands fall to her sides.

“Now are you ready to be my good girl?”

“Yes,” she manages while struggling to get air.

I kiss her forehead. “Then don’t fucking move.”

I let go of her throat and grab her left wrist, tying it to the headboard. Then her right. I pull the knots tight enough that if she struggles against them, they’re going to hurt.

Her chest is rising and falling, and her arms are stretched above her head. She looks like an offering just for me. Once I’m done with what I have planned, I’ll worship at my personal altar between her fucking thighs.

I climb from the bed and stand beside it to watch her. Tears in the corners of her eyes, nipples hard, thighs clenched together—she’s fucking perfect. She’s pissed at me, horny as fuck since I didn’t let her get off earlier, and scared of the pain from what I’m about to do. All three of those things make my dick throb.

I sit on the edge of the bed next to her and press my hand flat against her chest, right over her heart. She’s breathing so hard, it makes me want to pinch her nose while I fuck her wet cunt.

Soon, little heathen.

“Right here.” I trace my fingers over her skin. “That’s where my name is going, little heathen. So every time you breathe, every beat of your fucking heart, you know that you belong to me. And everyone else will know too.”

“You’re an asshole.”

I laugh because there’s no conviction in her words. If she wants to pretend to fight me over branding her, I’ll let her. It’s not going to change anything. I trace my fingers down her body and slide them into the thong I made her wear earlier to catch my cum. She’s soaked, just like I knew she would be.

“You don’t seem to mind being mine.” I drag my fingers across her clit, making her moan. But I have every intention of making her pay for that fucking attitude. “Beg me, Saylor. Beg me to brand you. To permanently mark your perfect skin.”

She pulls against the ropes, and her hips grind up into my hand. “Fuck you.”

I pull my fingers out of her, and she whimpers at the loss. “Wrong answer.” I suck the wetness from my fingers, because I can’t let that honey go to waste, and then I pick up the tattoo gun. “Try again.”

Her chest heaves, and her thighs press together where my hand just was. She stares at the ceiling for a second and then looks at me. Her jaw is tight, but her eyes are begging even if her mouth is struggling to say the words. That’s just her pride holding her back.

“Please.”

There’s my girl. “Please what, baby?”

“Please brand me, Axl.” Her voice cracks, and it goes straight to my cock. “Make me yours.”

“You’re already mine, little heathen.” I pull the gloves onto my hands and then use an alcohol pad to clean the skin where the tattoo will go. I dip the needle and turn the gun on. The buzz fills the room, and she flinches at the sound. I press my free hand flat against her stomach, holding her down.