The hesitation is there, and he doesn’t move. He will soon learn it’s way moreentertainingwhen he follows my orders. I lean in, dragging the cold steel of the blade across his chest without making any cuts. Yet. Azrael should understand the weight of what is coming if he doesn’t listen.
That seems to be an obvious enough sign, as a second later his arms reach up toward the headboard. The cuffs click around his wrists, locking him into place—one side, then the other, metal biting into skin as I fasten him to the frame of the bed.
Finally, in full control of his body, I can start my game, “Now let’s make some art.”
CHAPTER 23
VICTORIA
The edge of the blade slides along his skin, down the center of his chest, right between the mirrored snakes, pressing hard enough to make the skin split and draw a thin line of red blood, bright against the dark ink.
I shift my position, intentionally brushing my folds against his hardened cock, and that earns another grunt. Nothing is more satisfying than seeing a man want me so deeply, and I can get used to seeing my Professor like this. I move until my mouth is hovering over the cut and—despite that stupid inner voice that likes to judge me for my peculiar taste—I lick the blood from his chest, tasting him like he tasted me.
I’m past morality now, past guilt, and definitely past listening to my brain overthinking about Azrael. All I want to do is claim him the way he once claimed me. Mark for mark. Scar for scar.
The second cut follows the curve of his ribs, slicing just above his hip, making him hiss through clenched teeth as his cock jerks against my back.
“Pain kink,” I scoff, laughing it off. If anyone understands this type of pleasure, it’s me.
“Victoria kink,” he corrects. “You should see the look on your face when you use that blade. I’d let you cut me open a thousand times just to see your face lighting up like this.”
Oh my God. Is it possible for this man to be even more…irresistible? If he keeps talking like this, I have no chance of resisting him ever again.
“Who are you and where is my Professor that tortured me two weeks ago?”
“He finally realized that being dumb around you was the biggest mistake of his life.”
Finally, something we can both agree on, but it sure took him a while. And if we don’t want that to happen again, there is one thing I think will refresh his memory. I move the tip across his skin for the cut that needs more precision than my previous sketches. I hold the tip of the blade and carve into his arm, letter by letter.
T. O. R. Y.
I mark him for what he’d done, for the bruises left on me, for the night spent bound and broken. I mark him because he is mine, and I need him to remember this every time he looks at his body—mybody—from now on.
With the final piece of art done, I shift back, looking at the painting I’ve created. His chest is the perfect canvas, covered in ink and blood, and me, the artist.
“You like marking me?” he says, his tone almost amused.
“What can I say, I always put my name on my toys.” I give a casual shrug, as if this is the most normal thing in the world.
“Now that you are done, uncuff me.”
It’s clear he’s not asking. He’s simply demanding that I do what he wants, regardless of whether I want to or not. And while listening to a man goes against everything I stand for, it’s pretty clear my own rules do not stand a chance against him.
I let the blade fall on the nightstand and move to the headboard, unhurried, undoing one cuff at a time. The second his wrists come loose, his hand shoots out—fingers wrapping around my throat, squeezing just enough to make my breath catch. The other follows just as fast, on my lower back. I barely have time to blink before he reverses us, switching our positions like I weigh nothing. My back hits the mattress, his weight pressing into me, and when his eyes meet mine, there is no control left in them—just the raw, feral hunger of a man who has finally caught his prey.
The look in his eyes is so appealing, so complex, I almost forget his hand is choking me. The only thing that makes me remember is the way my body is gasping for air the moment he removes it and steps toward my drawer.
“Let’s see what you have in here.” He says more to himself than to me, rifling through my things. “Interesting collection. Porn as a side gig?”
“Like the idea of me sucking random guys off for a living?”
The shift in the air is instant. The light mood changes, and Azrael looks almost monstrous.
“How many?”
“How manywhat?” I ask shyly.
“How many before?”