**TW** Fire, ice, and spice

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**Trigger warning** Reason: Knife Play

 

He chased me down, caught me, and threw me to the bed. My wrists and ankles bound in the under-bed restraints, naked, trembling, and his. He leaned down, lips brushing my ear, and whispered the word that branded me forever: mine.

His teeth dragged ice across my body, teasing every inch until I was gasping and arching for him. Wax dripped fire, ice froze my clit, and the contrast had me whimpering, trembling, begging for more.

Then came the blade. Sharp, deliberate, claiming my neck, my breasts, my stomach, down to my thighs. “You’re going to fuck the knife, little mouse,” he growled. And I did—squirting, shaking, unraveling as his possessive words burned deeper than steel ever could.

He made me pout, then beg, until I admitted the truth: I crave him more than air. His scent makes me feral. His hunger ruins me. His dominance makes me weak.

He devoured me, I devoured him back, until his cock fucked every last thought out of me. Hard, ruthless, obsessive.

No one else could touch me like this. No one else could break me like this. No one else could own me like this.

And to anyone who thinks they can?
Try.
You’ll fail. He already destroyed me—and rebuilt me as his.