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“Fucking beautiful,” he whispers, and my core tightens. My pussy twitches and I look at myself again. Trapped. My control is stripped, and I have nothing to protect me from the incoming storm.
He comes to me and places his hands on my thighs, squeezing until my breath hitches in slight pain. He moves to my waist, squeezing, fingers digging into my flesh and by the time his palms slide over my ribs it feels like fire spreading over my skin. His hands cover my breasts, sinking into my flesh, creating this delicious pressure inside my chest, before he pinches my nipples between his fingers until I internally scream in pain… my mouth open, yet no sounds form.
His brows twitch ever so slightly, and he does not soothe the hurt… no… he leaves my nipples aching as one hand slides over my chest, grabbing my throat, constricting the airflow, while the other settles at the back of my head, fisting my hair.
“You’re awfully quiet, little siren. It doesn’t suit you.” He grins for a split second, showing me a devious side of him that I have failed to see before.
Turning his attention to the wall that holds the few instruments he owns, he picks the smaller wooden paddle and my skin instantly explodes in goosebumps. He comes back way too fast and with no warning whatsoever, he hits the inside of my left thigh with the paddle. The sound was louder than the hit, yet I instinctively wince. He repeats the action on my right thigh and this time my pussy twitches along with the flesh of my leg.
Shit.
The paddle hits me again in the same spots and it burns this time, the shock traveling through my body faster than before, the pain barely, just barely, reaching my mind.
I wince, and he growls.
He hits me again on my hips and the pain is different, my pussy does not respond, but my mind does—I feel a crack.
He moves higher, smacking the paddle against the flesh of my breast, below the armpit and I wince, my breath hitching, a strange pain filling my mind. Each slapping sound, each burning sensation, each slither of pain builds up and before I can stop it, the pain splits in two—one grips my pussy until it drips down my thighs, and the other grips my mind, splitting it open.
Pain!
It floods me with the force of a raging storm. This is what I craved—pain, chaos, and destruction—and when that paddle hits the soft, damp flesh of my pussy… I scream. I snap my mouth shut since my screams are what he wants yet holding them in hurts me.
He slaps the paddle on my pussy harder, and it instantly tightens in pain, yet when I relax it… the pleasure releases, dripping down my thighs and tears fill my eyes as a muffled scream threatens to escape my closed lips.
There is a strange burn against my wrists and ankles from the struggle, a soft burn that feels like hot velvet against my skin and I revel in it. I want to run, I need to, far away from him because he knows I cannot take this. He knows I do not want to give him what he needs, yet he also knows it hurts me not to… because it is what I crave as well.
He grabs my throat in his hand, gripping tightly to the point that I can barely breathe in.
“Look at me!” his tone low, threatening.
I’m sinking into his eyes, stripped of self-control. I cannot grab onto anything to bring myself to the surface, but when the paddle hits my pussy one more time, I’m suddenly flying out of the abyss, and when I hit the surface, I scream. Pain, pleasure, desire, anger—it all seeps out of the raw sound ravaging my constricted throat. His warm hand suddenly covers my pussy, soothing the hurt as one finger glides between my drenched folds, spreading my wetness on my pulsing clit, and I shiver as moans that I cannot stop escape from my lips.
He is giving me everything I craved when I thought I found it with Adrien. He is forcing me to release my goddamn mind and soul and revel in chaos. The chaos I crave, the chaos I need for my soul to thrive.
I stop myself, yet again refusing to give him anymore of what he wants and denying myself what I need. There is a fierce battle happening inside of me, because if I release my mind and soul, he will catch them and control them. He can control my body, but my mind is mine and my soul, I only just pieced it back together—I cannot entrust to another again.
He grunts and lets go of me. I’m startled and surprised, but then I see him lean down and when he stands in front of me again, he holds the big knife I dropped on the floor. I watch his eyes shine with victory as fear seeps from my pores. Yet some of that fear melts to intrigue because one thing I know for sure—he will not kill me.
He brings the knife to my throat, touching my skin ever so slightly with the cold blade.
“You will have to be very, very still for me, little siren.”
I look into his eyes, seeking something, anything, some sort of reassurance, and I am not even sure how I see it, but I do. My muscles instantly relax.
The corner of his lip twitches slightly and the blade moves, around my throat, the tip barely scraping the skin, up until it reaches my earlobe and I urge the shivers away as the blade leaves a cold trail of excitement behind it.
It travels down my throat, tracing my clavicles until it reaches the hollow point between them. Then it goes down, between my breasts, and I cannot help but close my eyes. I do not want to see anything, I want to feel, I want to revel in the excitement. He scrapes the flesh under my breast and moves up, around it, and the sensations are electric. Lust melded with fear and the loss of control, my breath hitches and before I can stop myself, I shiver and the blade nicks my breast. The faintest, softest moan escapes my lips, my eyes open lazily and his are fixed on me… dark, deep, and raw. And then… he carves.
This… this is it.
I squeeze my eyes shut when rough fingers press suddenly on my already sensitive clit and a stinging cold sensation mars the skin that covers my ribs just under my breast. My breath hitches, his is steady, and even though I don’t see him, the heat of his gaze warms the coldness the tip of the knife leaves behind. The pressure on my clit increases as the tip of the blade carves unknown patterns on my skin, releasing an invisible pressure that lives under it and even though he puts an unerasable mark on me, I feel… free.
With more pressure on my clit… more stinging on my flesh… lust floods my body and crimson floods my vision… the same shade as the one trickling down my ribs right now. He carves me slowly, the blade moving in the same rhythm as his fingers on my clit—one drawing pain, the other pushing pleasure. I should care about what he is imprinting on my skin, but I do not. Amongst the painful scars that mar my flesh, this one feels beautiful.
I hear him exhale as he pulls the blade away, and the sting feels like it belongs. His tongue replaces the blade, but I do not open my eyes. He lingers a little longer than is probably necessary, tasting the sweetness of my blood as the blade comes between my breasts again and I moan low in my throat.
The danger posed by this knife is pure ecstasy and I cannot stop myself from sinking into the sensations. The blade travels down until it reaches my mound and when he takes it away, suddenly I freeze, and my eyes dart open.
