Page 10 of Save Me
I glance at Harry, and then my eyes shoot to Thayer and linger.
“Thayer and I fucked last night,” I blurt out.
Quen blinks but then frowns. “Okay. What does that have to do with anything?”
“This.” I undo the button on my shirt and show them the raw carving on my skin.
Quen hisses and turns to Thayer, his face furious. “You marked her?”
“Like you wouldn’t have given half the chance,” Thayer says without a shit to give. “You weren’t there, you don’t know how it went down. It was dark, dirty, depraved. She wanted me to possess her, and now I do.”
My heart thumps as we fall into a standoff.
There’s a raw edge to Thayer’s words, a possessiveness that should scare me but instead sends a thrill down my spine because it’s exactly how I feel about him. About all of them. This is the darkness I’ve been flirting with, the power play I’m stepping into willingly.
Quentin’s grip tightens on me, and he looks down into my eyes. “Did you want this?” His voice is low, dangerous.
I nod, meeting his gaze. “Yes.”
A muscle ticks in Quentin’s jaw and Harry leans against the wall, his expression is unreadable but his eyes intense.
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” Quentin says, voice tight.
“Isn’t that what we do here?” I counter with a defiance that feels both reckless and true. “Play games with high stakes?”
Callum moves in closer. “Marking you binds you to us even more. To this life.” His voice is a warning.
“I know.” My voice is steady even as everything inside me whirls chaotically.
Thayer steps forward, unrepentant. “She is mine. If you want her the same way, do what I did. Take her, claim her, possess her.”
Quentin doesn’t need telling twice. He draws his blade, and my breath hitches. He places his hand on my chest and shoves me gently back against the window. He slides the blade into my shirt, gliding it all the way down so the buttons pop off in all directions.
He takes my bra, pulling the fabric up and he slices it away from me, his gaze never leaving mine.
The cold blade skims my skin, and I’m caught between a gasp and a moan. Quentin’s eyes are dark, filled with need—a desperate clawing hunger for ownership and surrender.
“Tell me you want this,” Quentin demands, his voice rough.
“I want it,” I breathe out, the admission as sharp as the knife he wields. The bra falls away, and I stand bare before them, exposed in more ways than one.
Quentin doesn’t mark me—not yet. Instead, his mouth crashes down on mine, his kiss branding me with a ferocity that makes clear his intentions. His grip is iron. I’m clay in his hands – malleable and desperate to be shaped by his will.
He pushes me back, the knife close to my skin again as he carves his initials above Thayer’s in a quick motion that stings and leaves me breathless.
“Mine,” he growls.
“Yours,” I pant.
Quentin hands the knife to Callum, who steps in front of me when Quen moves aside. He presses the tip to my skin underneath Thayer’s mark and etches ‘CW’ into my skin.
I whimper when he steps back, handing the knife to Harry, who gives me a wicked smile. “Feeling a bit left out, sugar.”
“Our time will come,” I murmur. “Claim me now, and the rest will follow.”
He holds the knife to my skin and carves his initials into me before he leans forward and swipes his tongue over the cuts. I gasp at the hedonistic action and then moan into his mouth when he presses his lips to mine, forcing me to taste my own blood on his tongue. As first kisses go, it’s one that will go down in the books as erotic as fuck, and it makes my pussy twitch with need so raw, so primal, that I feel like I might combust. Harry’s touch is sin itself, promising the kind of pleasure that blurs lines and breaks down walls.
I’m marked now, owned by these men in a way that the outside world can’t understand. Their initials etched into my flesh are a silent declaration of their claim over me—a claim I’ve accepted and crave.
