Page 285 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer

He groans like I stabbed him.

“Not yet,” I murmur, licking my lips. “I want you perfect when I mark you.”

His eyes darken into pools of desire.

And I smile because he knows I mean it.

His gaze follow me as I move toward the fire, every step slow, deliberate, lit by orange flicker and shadow.

The iron glows red in the flames, the metal stamped with a letter small and perfect.

A “P”.

I grip the handle, steadying my breath as I lift it out, the heat radiating toward my skin like a challenge.

When I turn around, Declan is exactly as I left him—sprawled in the cracked leather chair, cock standing thick and flushed, every line of his body drawn tight with restraint. Waiting. Wanting.

I walk to him, naked except for my certainty.

“You’re sure?” I ask. The iron doesn’t tremble in my grip now.

His voice is low. Steady and unshakable. “Brand me.”

He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t flinch.

I climb onto him slowly, straddling his lap, my slick heat sliding over the length of him. He groans through clenched teeth, eyes burning into mine, hands fisting the arms of the chair like he’s one second from losing it.

I reach between us and guide him to my entrance. He’s hot. Heavy. Barely held back.

And then I sink down onto him in one slow, perfect motion.

The stretch is blinding. The feeling—too much, too good. He fills me completely—body and soul.

At the same moment, I press the iron to his chest.

The hiss of scorched skin cuts through the air.

His breath punches out hard. Eyes squeezed shut. Sweat beads at his temple—but he doesn’t move an inch.

Doesn’t stop me.

His hands clamp onto my hips like anchors, pulling me tighter against him, burying himself as deep as I can take.

“Poppy,” he gasps—like it’s a prayer, a curse, a thank-you.

The P sears into his flesh, just beside the inked cranes above his heart. It’s red and angry, raw and permanent.

And mine.

I toss the iron to the floor. I don’t care where it lands.

All I care about is him.

Our mouths crash together—hungry, uncoordinated, gasping. We drink each other like lifelines. I bite his lower lipand he groans into my mouth. His hands are wild now—gripping my ass, sliding up my spine, tangling in my hair like he’s afraid I’ll vanish.

But I’m not going anywhere.

I start to move, rocking my hips against him. Slow. Deep. Deliberate. Every thrust drags his piercing against that sensitive bundle of nerves, and stars detonate behind my eyes.

---