I LOVE flowers. Like, obsessively love them. Roses, in particular--sensual, dangerous, beautiful. Just like the kind of pain and pleasure I crave.
And my boyfriend? He knows exactly how to feed my desires.
So when he whispered, "Be ready by nine. No panties. No questions." I knew I was in for something sinful.
But I wasn't prepared for just how far he'd take me.
When he led me into the room, my breath hitched. It wasn't just candlelight and petals. It was coils of thick rope, waiting for me. A blindfold. A gag. A crop. And roses--deep red and wickedly sharp.
"I know how much you love flowers, baby. So tonight... I'm turning you into one."
I nearly dropped to my knees right then.
But he wasn't letting me off that easy.
"Strip."
I obeyed. Slowly. Seductively. Watching his eyes darken as I bared myself to him.
Then the ropes came.
Thick hemp wrapped around my body, tight and merciless, binding my arms behind me, cinching across my chest so tightly that my breath came in shallow gasps. Each knot a claim, each pull a test of my submission.
By the time he was done, I was helpless--arms twisted behind me, legs bound apart, my skin burning where the rope bit into me. Completely exposed. Completely owned.
And then? He added the roses.
Petals brushed over my bare skin--a teasing contrast to the brutal tightness of the ropes. But then--thorns. Tiny, biting pricks of pain against my breasts, my thighs, my inner wrists. A warning. A promise.
"You look so fucking pretty like this," he murmured, pressing a single thorn against my nipple. I whimpered, my back arching as sharp pain shot through me. My pussy clenched around nothing.
Then came the blindfold.
Then the gag--a ball stuffed between my lips, forcing my mouth open, my moans muffled.
I was nothing but sensation now.
Then the first slap.
Hard. Unforgiving. Across my inner thigh.
I jerked against the bindings, a strangled moan spilling around the gag.
Then another. Harder. Meaner.
Every sharp sting sent fire rushing between my legs, every brutal smack making my body ache for him. But I wasn't in control. He was.
"Poor thing," he cooed, dragging a single rose petal along my swollen lips. "You're dripping already."
Shame and arousal tangled in my gut.
Then his mouth was on me--hot, demanding, merciless. Teeth scraping against rope-marked skin, sucking, biting, devouring.
And just when I was on the edge of breaking, when I was so desperate to be fucked that I would have begged if I could--he pushed something inside me.
Not his cock.
Not his fingers.
A rose stem.
Thorns still intact.
I screamed.
Pleasure and pain collided so violently that I saw stars, my body shaking as he twisted the stem inside me, the sharp points pressing against my most sensitive flesh.
"Take it," he growled. "Be my little thorned rose."
Tears burned beneath the blindfold. I had never been so wrecked. So used. So desperate.
Then--finally--he ripped the rose out and replaced it with his cock.
Fucking. Ruining. Owning.
By the time he finally untied me, my body was wrecked--marked with red rope burns, tiny thorn scratches, and the deep ache of being utterly destroyed.
I collapsed against him, shaking, gasping, ruined. And he kissed my forehead like he hadn't just made me his filthy, helpless plaything.
"Happy Valentine's Day, my little rose."
And I knew, with absolute certainty--I would never belong to anyone else.
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I lay against him, wrecked, ruined, trembling--my body a masterpiece of rope burns, thorn scratches, and the ache of being utterly taken.
His fingers idly traced the rope marks on my thighs, his other hand buried in my hair, tugging, pulling, reminding me that I was still his.
"You think we're done?"
My stomach dropped. My body betrayed me, clenching at his words.
"You look so beautiful when you're broken," he murmured against my ear, his breath hot, teasing.
I knew that voice. That mocking, cruel voice.
The one that meant he wasn't satisfied.
The one that meant I wasn't getting mercy tonight.
I whimpered, trying to turn away, but he grabbed my chin, forcing my gaze to his.
"Run."
My breath hitched.
"You want to be a good girl? Want to beg for my cock?" His grip tightened. "Then fucking run."
The order was clear. Obey or be punished.
Every fiber of my being screamed to obey. My legs were weak, my body already wrecked, but the second he let me go--I stumbled toward the door, my heart pounding, every inch of my skin burning from what was about to happen.
I knew he was following.
I knew he would catch me.
I knew he would make me pay for trying.
But that was the game.
I barely made it down the hall before his hand snapped around my wrist, yanking me back with brutal force.
"Did you really think you could escape me?"
He spun me, slammed me against the wall. My gasp turned into a moan as my naked skin pressed against the cold surface, my body fully exposed, fully vulnerable.
His hand was on my throat now, squeezing, claiming, denying me air.
"You stupid, stupid girl."
A rough slap landed on my ass--sharp, mean, possessive.
Another.
And another.
I shook, the pain curling into pleasure, my body arching despite the fight I pretended to put up.
"Look at you," he growled. "Acting like you don't want this. But your body tells the truth, doesn't it?"
His fingers trailed between my legs--finding me soaked, desperate, begging without words.
He laughed. Humiliating. Cruel. Knowing.
"You're so fucking wet. You're pathetic."
I whimpered, my thighs trembling as he forced them apart, pressing his knee between them.
"Tell me to stop." His voice was dark, dangerous, full of wicked temptation. "Tell me you don't want this, and I'll walk away."
But we both knew the truth.
I wasn't going to stop him.
I didn't want him to stop.
So I stayed silent.
And silence was permission.
The moment I refused to say no, he broke me.
His hand snapped into my hair, yanking my head back as he slammed into me from behind--deep, brutal, unforgiving.
I screamed, my body convulsing, helpless against his violent thrusts.
He fucked me like he hated me, like I was nothing but his to use.
His fingers dug into my hips, bruising, owning, controlling. Every thrust forced my body against the wall, my breasts crushed against the cold surface, my moans turning into ragged, incoherent sobs.
I tried to move. He forced me still.
I tried to close my legs. He shoved them apart.
I tried to breathe. His hand tightened on my throat.
"Where's that fight now?" he mocked. "You like being ruined, don't you?"
I sobbed out something between a moan and a yes.
He laughed again--so dark, so satisfied.
"Fucking say it."
"I--I like it," I gasped. Completely shattered.
"You like what?"
"Being ruined--being yours."
He groaned, slamming into me harder, his control slipping.
"Say it again."
"I'm yours. Only yours."
That was all he needed.
With a brutal growl, he dragged me back, threw me onto the bed, flipped me onto my back, and took me all over again.
Over.
And over.
And over.
By the time he was done, I was marked, dripping, trembling.
His.
Forever.
And I had never loved him more.
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I lay sprawled on the bed, gasping for air, still trembling from the force of what Evan had just done to me.
But then... we heard it.
A sharp gasp.
I turned my head sluggishly, still dazed from the night's relentless pleasure, my body too weak to move.
And then I saw her.
Leah.
My best friend.
She stood frozen in the doorway, eyes wide, lips parted in shock. Her gaze flickered from the red rope marks decorating my skin to the sweat-drenched sheets, my trembling body, Evan's dominant stance over me.
