-⋆｡˚୨ 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒇𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 ୧˚｡⋆-
0:42 ⸻ ♡ ⸻ 3:08 now playing : sin city *
𝕯𝖊𝖘𝖎𝖗𝖊 builds me a ɍøŧŧɇn church to 𝖑𝖆𝖞 𝖉𝖔𝖜𝖓 in.
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When his words seared against her ear, she felt herself unravel.
My slut. My kitten.
The names cut deep.
Instead of humiliation, however, they filled her with a sharp need.
He tied her hands together and Yuna tested her restraints once, twice.
The knot was unyielding, just like him.
Her wrists burned faintly where the ribbon pressed into her skin, each tug a reminder that she wasn't free and that she didn't want to be. Every shift of her hands only proved the truth: Darius owned her in this moment, body and soul.
The slow torment that followed was worse than any harshness he'd shown before. The feather-light kisses, the deliberate hesitation, each touch was a cruel promise of something more, only to be stolen away again. It was unbearable. Her chest rose and fell in uneven waves, her body begging him without words. Every nerve was alive, every inch of her skin desperate for more of him and still he withheld.
Tears pricked her lashes again, though not from pain this time, but from the sheer maddening ache of being toyed with.
She realized that Darius knew exactly what he was doing.
He was teaching her something she had never let herself learn before: that submission wasn't just about enduring his strength, but also about enduring his restraint.
"Please." The word slipped from her lips before she could catch it. Her voice cracked, small and raw. Her shame collided with her need and her need won.
For years, she had sworn she would never let herself come apart like this in front of him, not Darius, not the one man who could undo her so completely, for Yuna had learned early that trust could be weaponized.
The first time, she was only fourteen, a naive girl under the watch of someone who was supposed to protect her. He touched her inappropriately, leaving jagged fractures she didn't yet know how to name. Two years later, the same man returned. By then, she had learned to keep her reactions in check, to stay in control, but even her careful composure couldn't protect her. That second time, he violated her fully, leaving scars so deep that no bravado could ever hide them.
Since then, intimacy had been a battlefield. She learned to cope by overindulging, by weaponizing desire before it could be used against her. She told herself that if she stayed in control, set the pace, chose the touch, wore the mask of a temptress, maybe no one, especially not Darius, would glimpse the brokenness she carried like a brand. He was the one person she could never allow to see that truth. If he did, she'd feared he would look at her differently, with pity or revulsion instead of the fierce love she still craved.
But now, bound and trembling under his unrelenting patience, she had nowhere to hide.
The ribbon cut into her wrists just enough to remind her of her helplessness and every slow kiss, every deliberate withholding of what she thought she wanted peeled back the layers she had spent years constructing. For the first time with him, she wasn't in control; she couldn't be.
And the dam inside her gave way.
The fear of being seen for what she truly was warred violently with the desperate need to be known. Fully, without disguise.
Her tears weren't just from the overstimulation of his tormenting play but from the terrifying realization that she was letting him see her like this—stripped down, fragile. The broken girl she had buried was clawing her way to the surface, trembling under the weight of her childhood sweetheart. Instead of recoiling, instead of pushing him away like she used to whenever she felt this close to shattering, Yuna found herself clinging harder.
Because maybe, just maybe, if he could see her like this and still want her, still keep her, then she wasn't beyond redemption after all.
"Yours, Dare," she whined, her voice wet and hoarse, reminding him. "I'm yours. So please..."
Her chest heaved as if she had been holding her breath for years and now it came tearing out of her in ragged sobs she couldn't control. More hot tears spilled down her temples, soaking into the fabric beneath her. Yuna shook her head against the armrest, as if denial could patch over what had already shattered.
Eventually, her whines turned into whimpers, her pleas into broken gasps.
She was past shame. Past fear.
There was only need, raw and feral, clawing at her until her voice cracked again.
"Please let me feel it." She licked her lips, paused, then— "All of it."
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