[Calyxa – Night 47 – His Private Chambers]

“Say it again,” Zevryn growls against my ear, cock buried so deep I feel him in my fucking throat. “Say you hate me while I split you open.”

“I hate you,” I snarl, nails raking bloody furrows down his back. “I hate you, you sick, empty—”

He thrusts harder, punishing, hips slamming into mine so hard the headboard cracks against stone. The obsidian four-poster shakes. Chains clink where my wrists are bound above my head (silver again, because the bastard loves watching me burn).

“Good,” he hisses, teeth scraping my throat. “Again.”

“I fucking despise you—”

He pulls out in one brutal yank. I’m empty for half a heartbeat (just long enough to hate how my cunt clenches around nothing) before he flips me onto my stomach and shoves my face into silk soaked with us.

“Stay,” he orders, like I’m a dog.

I bare my teeth into the mattress. “Make me.”

A dark laugh. Then cold metal kisses my spine.

I freeze.

He drags the tip of the dagger (his personal one, the one that’s tasted a thousand throats) down the groove of my spine, slow enough I feel every heartbeat.

“Tonight,” he says, voice velvet and venom, “I’m carving my name into you. Letter by letter. While I fuck you raw. And you’re going to come on every stroke, or I start over.”

I twist my head to glare at him over my shoulder. “Touch that blade to my skin and I’ll bite your cock off the next time you shove it down my throat.”

He smiles (beautiful, terrible). “Try it. I’ll gag you with your own tongue.”

The dagger presses. First cut.

Z.

Fire. White-hot, perfect agony as he slices the first letter between my shoulder blades. I scream into the sheets, back arching, cunt flooding traitorously.

“Fuck—fuck you—”

“Count,” he says, shoving two fingers into my mouth to shut me up. “Count the letters, Calyxa. Out loud.”

I bite down hard. Blood blooms (his). He only laughs and thrusts his cock back inside me in one brutal stroke, bottoming out so hard my vision sparks.

“Z,” I choke around his fingers, tasting copper.

He carves the curve deeper, slow, savoring. My entire body locks up, pleasure and pain braided so tight I can’t tell where one ends.

“Again,” he growls, pulling out and slamming back in, setting a punishing rhythm. “Louder.”

“Z!” I scream as he finishes the letter and starts the next—an E, sharp and cruel.

Every thrust drives me up the bed. Every slice of the blade makes me clench around him like I was made for this. Blood runs warm down my ribs, pooling beneath us.

“E,” I sob, tears and spit soaking the sheets. “You fucking monster—”

He leans over me, chest to my bleeding back, and licks a stripe up the fresh wound. Salt and copper and madness.

“V,” he whispers against the cut, carving the next letter while his cock drags over that spot inside me that makes me see stars.

“V—gods—stop—”

“Never,” he breathes, hips snapping harder. “You’re mine. This skin. This cunt. These screams. All of it.”

Another letter. R.

I’m babbling now, curses and pleas and his name twisted into something raw and ruined.

“R—Zevryn—please—”

“Please what?” He slows, grinding deep, letting the blade hover. “Please stop? Or please don’t?”

I can’t answer. My whole world is the burn of the blade, the stretch of his cock, the way my body is betraying me with every shuddering clench.

He finishes the R and starts the Y (long, elegant strokes that feel like eternity).

“Y,” I whimper, voice cracking. “I’ll kill you for this—”

“You’ll come for this,” he corrects, angling his hips just right. “You’ll come so hard you forget how to hate me for three fucking seconds.”

He carves the final letter—N—deep and deliberate, dragging the blade like he’s signing a masterpiece.

“N,” I sob, broken open. “Zevryn—”

“There it is,” he groans, dropping the dagger at last. Both hands grip my hips hard enough to bruise as he fucks me like he’s trying to brand me from the inside too. “My name in your mouth while my name bleeds on your back. Perfect.”

I’m close (so fucking close) the pain and pleasure colliding into something apocalyptic.

“Come,” he snarls, reaching beneath me to twist the silver ring in my clit hood. “Come with my name carved into your skin, mate. Do it.”

I shatter.

The orgasm rips through me like wildfire, violent and total. I scream his name (actually scream it) raw and wrecked and hating him more than ever. My cunt clamps down on him so hard he curses, hips stuttering.

He follows me over, coming with a guttural sound, flooding me so deep I feel it in my spine. His teeth sink into the fresh brand, licking blood and ownership in equal measure.

We collapse, trembling, his weight pinning me to the ruined sheets. His cock is still inside me, softening slowly.

After a moment, he presses an almost tender kiss to the bleeding Z.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs against my skin. “Tomorrow I’ll add the crown above it. So everyone knows who you belong to.”

I laugh (hoarse, ragged, unhinged).

“Tomorrow,” I rasp, “I’ll piss on your corpse and use your ribs as a ladder out of this shithole.”

He chuckles, low and sated, and starts to harden inside me again.

“Round two,” he says, already moving. “This time I carve my crest into your thigh while you ride me.”

I bare my teeth, still bleeding, still burning, still furious.

“Bring the dagger, prince,” I whisper. “I’ll show you exactly where I want your crest.”

He flips me over, eyes black with hunger and something that looks terrifyingly like awe.

“Fuck, I love you,” he says, and thrusts back in.

I rake my nails down his face and draw blood of my own.

“Not yet,” I snarl against his mouth. “But keep carving, baby. We’re just getting started.”