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The rough edges of the cube poked my clit uncomfortably, as if someone was rubbing it with a burning knife. I shut my eyes and tried to banish the image of it, but it tore through my senses.

He put the ice down and grabbed the fork from the tray. My chest went hollow. No, no, no, no, not that, please. He flicked open a lighter from his pocket, running the flame back and forth under the metal.

The fork turned orange at the tips. The burning reek hit my nose. It was madness.

He didn’t warn me. He just pressed the heated fork straight to my clit. The burn was instant, all-consuming. My body arched off the mattress and my scream cut the air open. It was blinding. It was every nerve in my body shattering, melting under the heat. Pain, pure, white, no room for anything else.

He shoved his cock inside me at the exact moment the burn hit. The double shock made my vision black out at the edges. The pain and the fullness slammed together, an atom bomb detonating in the center of my chest, my belly, my cunt.

I bucked, tried to get away, but he pinned me down, one hand bruising my waist, the other keeping the hot metal grinding into my most sensitive flesh.

I fell into the pain. I lost myself, blurred into it. All I could do was breathe through the scream, unable to fight, unable to run. There was no escape.

He moaned, like my agony was the most beautiful music. “There it is, bluebird. You see? The dark loves you. The pain is love. This is what you were made for.”

He moved the fork, just a little, just enough to sear a different patch. My clit throbbed, numb and screaming all at once. He let off the pressure for a moment. I trembled, shocked by the air against the wound.

Then he dragged the fork down on my pelvis. He cut a tiny mark. I sobbed and twisted, but he just fucked me harder, faster, merciless.

“Oh fuck yes, bluebird, that’s it, take it, take it, don’t you dare pass out on me.”

He pressed his thumb to the bleeding cut and added pressure. It was torture, too much sensation, the pain was so intense it went straight to my brain, then down my spine, then back to my cunt, over and over again.

I felt the blood mixing with my own wetness. I felt the nerves screaming, begging for mercy. I felt the pleasure coming up from underneath.

I was sobbing. I was clawing at the sheets. He kept fucking me. Hard. Barely human. Blacked out in the eyes.

“You want to cum for me, bluebird? You want to break for me?” His thumb mashed down on my clit. “Cum, right now. I want to see you lose yourself in it.”

He wasn’t going to stop.

I shook, spasmed, black dots rolling across my vision, the pain and pleasure mingling into a single, impossible wave. I couldn’t fight it, I was trained to break, I was made for this. My body betrayed me. The orgasm ripped through me. It wasn’t pleasurable, it was filled with pain and a stinging, burning sensation. It was the opposite of comfortable. His thumb pressed into the cut while he rubbed my clit, wringing the orgasm out of me.

I couldn’t even stop shaking. His thumb stayed pressed on the cut, grinding the pain right into the heart of me. I cried, I actually cried, snot running and breath hitching, my face shoved into the mattress just so he wouldn’t see it.

But it didn’t matter. It never mattered. Nothing mattered except what Malakar wanted.

My thighs were shaking so bad I thought they’d break off completely. I didn’t even care. Nothing felt real except the burn between my legs and the way I was leaking blood onto the sheets, into his hands, into him.

I didn’t want this. I didn’t want him. Except my body couldn’t stop wanting exactly what he gave me. I broke apart for him.

He groaned and slammed his hips hard, so hard my head cracked the wall. It made the world flicker. Then he was coming inside of me. He didn’t move for a long time. Just held me there.

Then he pulled out. The mess dripped out of me, thick and red-black. I thought I’d be sick. But I didn’t dare throw up. I just lay there, cheek pressed to the pillow, staring at the wall.

“You see, bluebird? This is what keeps you here. You bleed, and you cry, and you shudder, and you break for me, every fucking time. I told you, nobody else gets to have you. Only me.”

I started to argue, but the words caught. I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to stop talking, or keep going, or just let me disappear for a while.

Malakar’s face softened, in a way that was wrong. He stopped being angry. The cold, violent part of him melted and something else came through.

He ducked his head and kissed the wound. His mouth was hot and soft, tonguing the broken skin.

I tried not to react. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. My hips jerked anyway when his tongue dragged over the cut, over and over.

“There, there,” he whispered, words shot through with gentleness, but it only made my skin itch. “I’ll make it better. I don’t know what came over me. I really don’t. Fuck, one second I was standing there, then I was gone. I didn’t know, Starla, I didn’t know.”

I kept my mouth shut, because that’s what good girls did.