His expression is neutral, but the fire in his eyes gives him away. “And you want that?” he asks.
I’m suddenly self-conscious of the way the words poured from my mouth so easily, my brain conveying what I’ve held in the darkest corners of my mind for so long. The words are filthy, and I blush as I realize there’s no taking them back—there’s no undoing the sheer depravity of what I just shared. “I didn’t say that.”
But the correction comes too fast. Too thin.
His fingers close around my chin—steady—holding my gaze exactly where he wants it. “You don’t say things like that unless they’re real.” He pauses. “I know the difference.”
My breath catches.
His thumb drags slowly across my lip. “You want to give up control. But only to someone you trust.” A beat. “And you want to not know for sure. And you want to be degraded, humiliated, fucked so hard you feel my cock in your pussy and ass for days. To be tied up so tight your body aches in memory of the ropes that bound you so fully you were rendered completely at my mercy. Exactly where you want to be.”
The way he says it isn’t a guess. It’s recognition. Maybe a spot of admiration.
He wraps his hand around my throat. Slow. Intentional.
I try to speak. “I just?—”
“Stop changing yourself to fit what you think I want. To fit what you think everyone wants.”
I look down, his words stinging unexpectedly.
“I already know what you want.” He increases the pressure on my throat. I’m struggling to breathe now, the corners of my eyes watering as he constricts my life source.
“I know there’s more you want. That you’re too scared to say. That you think you’ll be judged for.” He pauses, and grabs my hand between both of his. “But Ivy, my darling poison, please know this—I want you to be uninhibited, free, the most authentic version ofyourself. I would do anything you asked. Within reason. I’d tie you tighter than you think you could handle. I’d make you beg before I ever let you come. And you would never forget who did it to you.”
I swallow, my breath ragged. My pulse thrums at the heady combination of his willingness and his desire.
“I’d consume you. Own you fully. That’s what I want. To make you weep at the combination of self-hatred I’ll make you feel, while also ravishing you in a way that makes your hollow soul feel full—to make you feel like the most beautiful and cherished being that’s ever walked this earth. Fill you with my cum until it seeps from your holes. Force you to take every inch of me until you are in tears, until you are bleeding and sore. Make you never forget that I own you. You wouldn’t want to.”
He pauses again.
“And then treat you with a tenderness like you’ve never known, but always craved. Always been missing. Make you feel the love that you deserve, finally and completely. That makes you never question that you deserve everything you want from the world and everything in it.”
He lets go of my throat, and using the same hand he picks up one of mine and brings it to his mouth, kissing it gently. I tingle at his touch.
It’s a dichotomy of savagery and tenderness that leaves my head spinning.
He gently places my hand back down and leans closer. “You’re going to keep telling me everything, my little poison. You don’t keep things from me. You won’t.” Certain and demanding, every word landing heavier than the last. “Every thought. Every impulse. Every fucked up curiosity you haven’t said out loud yet.” His grip tightens slightly. “The more I know,” he murmurs, “the better I can take care of you.” The words settle deep. Controlled. Precise. “Better than anyone else ever has. I will fuck you until the end of this earth and beyond. I will give you pleasure and pain that you’ve never felt before, and that you never will again.”
His words make me tingle. Is it really possible that he’d do what I described—and more? Would I even be able to handle something so intense? So depraved?
Could my psyche handle the degradation and humiliation of someone using me and discarding me like that? Making me feel filthy and nasty and fucked up more than I already do?
This time, as sick and depraved as my fantasy was, and that his response was—his willingness to take me to the edge of sanity and back—I’m not afraid.
Instead, I’m excited.
Turned on.
Horny as all hell.
I thought there was something wrong with him, but clearly he’s not the problem. There’s something just as—or even more—sick, more wrong, with me. Two dark souls tethered together—whether we meant to be or not. Ready to engage in acts darker than most would ever dare think about.
So I speak, the words flowing freely as fantasy after fantasy pours from the darkest parts of my mind. How I want to be chased through the woods at night. How I want to visit sex clubs and just watch—at least at first. To visit the debauchery I’ve heard about in the clandestine neighborhood of the Anything Goes. To have a lasting souvenir of him and us branded on my body for eternity while I squeal in terror and pain and pleasure. How I want to dress up and be degraded and humiliated in ways that, in front of him, no longer make me feel embarrassed to say.
I’m giving him a depraved menu to pull from, and from the look in his eyes I know he’s treating everything I share as an invitation. Filing each little detail away to retrieve when he’s so inclined.
I clench my thighs together as my clit threatens to pulse me into an orgasm just from the thought of what he might do to me one day when I least expect it.