Darian's back slammed into the mattress—air ripped from his lungs before a word could form.
Nikolai was already on him.
One hand pinned Darian's wrists with a bruising grip. The other tore at his shirt—no patience for fabric or hesitation. Buttons popped and fabric screamed as it shredded away. Darian's skin bled under the scrape of nails and cloth.
Nikolai's eyes were cold fire, bright and unfathomable.
Darian's gut twisted. His cock ached and throbbed beneath the weight of something dark and filthy he didn't want to admit.
He should have fought harder. He didn't.
Nikolai's fingers found his throat—not to choke, but to claim, to mark. His thumb stroked the pulse.
"Still alive," Nikolai breathed. "Still dripping. You're my mess, my beautiful wreck. The way your dick leaks like a sinner begging to be ruined… I'll drown in it."
The sound of fabric ripping was a savage hymn—clothes falling away like skin, leaving Darian exposed and trembling.
No tenderness here. Only possession. A fevered hunger beneath that angel's face.
Darian's heart hammered. His wrists burned where Nikolai held him, just enough to sting but never break.
His teeth grazed Nikolai's skin—not a kiss. A warning.
A strangled moan escaped him.
This wasn't desire. It was obsession. Worship painted with scars and shame.
He hated himself for wanting it. Loved it more than he dared.
Nikolai's lips brushed Darian's ear, cold breath laced with poison and promise.
"You'll scream for me someday, Darian. Not because you want mercy… but because your soul will break under my hands, and you'll thank me for every fracture."
His voice dropped to a growl, twisted sweet and cruel.
"You'll try to hide from this madness. Lie to yourself, pretend I'm your nightmare."
But I'm the only truth you'll ever crave."
Nikolai whispered again, each word a shard of broken promise:
"I'll ruin you. Tear you apart. And when you beg, I'll dance on your ashes, because you're mine… and I'll never let you go."
The memory blurred and twisted — Darian's breath had hitched, heart pounding like it would shatter his ribs. The sharp sting of nails on skin, the cruel whisper of threats coated in silk.
And then—
The present slammed back in with the sharpness of steel biting bone.
The bed beneath him bled deep crimson, the scent of blood mixing with sweat and musk, thick and choking. Leather cuffs bit into his wrists and ankles, forcing him wide, every muscle raw and trembling, trapped in this cage of torment.
Nikolai's fingers ghosted over Darian's jaw, slow, reverent—like a priest about to unmask a relic. The blindfold slipped free, and the world returned in shades of red and shadow.
The gag came next. Wet leather peeled from his lips with a soft, obscene sound. Drool clung to his chin, a glistening string of helplessness. He gasped, throat raw, jaw aching, mouth finally his again—and still, he said nothing.
Because Nikolai was watching him.
He climbed onto the bed, settling over Darian's chest with cold, inhuman grace. His hand slid into Darian's hair, twisting just enough to make the roots scream.
"Open."
It wasn't a request.
Darian obeyed.
Nikolai's cock—thick, heavy, veined with heat—pressed against his lips, smearing precum across his tongue before forcing its way past his teeth. It wasn't gentle. It wasn't steady.
It was ruthless.
Thrust after thrust slammed into his throat, brutal and deep, cutting off breath and thought alike. Darian gagged around it, choked—his vision already blurring at the edges as his body bucked beneath the weight of it all. Tears spilled from his eyes. Not from sadness.
From sheer overload.
Each thrust was a demand. A punishment. A sermon.
Nikolai fucked his throat like it was just another hole meant to be broken in.
Darian's member pulsed, weeping, utterly betrayed by the pleasure spiked through the suffocation. His body was on fire. Needing. Nearing—
Too close.
Too fast.
Nikolai felt it.
Felt the tremble ripple through Darian's thighs. Felt the desperate twitch of his cock. And he stopped.
Ripped out of him with a wet, gasping sound. Darian coughed violently, air slamming back into his lungs. The taste of Nikolai still burned on his tongue, bitter and dark.
A sharp slap cracked across his face.
The room tilted.
"You were going to cum before me," Nikolai growled, voice no longer silk but steel drawn across bone. "How selfish."
Darian whimpered—half in apology, half in pure, delirious want.
And then pain bloomed low and fast.
Nikolai's cold hand wrapped around his member—tight, punishing—and squeezed.
Not to stroke.
To choke.
The blood trapped. The pulse stopped. A fresh agony.
"You'll learn control," Nikolai hissed, eyes glowing "Or I'll take it from you."
Darian's whole body arched, lips parted in a silent cry.
Nikolai shifted back, rising to his full height as he undressed—peeling away the final layers with an unhurried grace that made Darian's chest tighten. The silk shirt fell from his shoulders revealing a body —lean, pale.
Darian watched, throat raw, lungs still working to remember how to breathe.
Nikolai looked at him—devoured him—with that unblinking hunger.
Then his voice dropped, low and quiet, a blade dipped in honey.
"Would you like to be watched?"
The question hit Darian like cold water.
"What?" he croaked, his voice hoarse and wrecked.
But Nikolai wasn't looking for clarity. He was watching Darian's face—studying the confusion, the flush in his cheeks, the way his swollen lips stayed parted in the aftermath of being used.
Gorgeous in ruin.
His lips were red, bitten raw and glistening, the corners wet with spit and leftover lust. His jaw, normally locked in confident arrogance, trembled ever so slightly as if resenting its own weakness.
Tears stained the sharp lines of his face, turning hard features into something soft, blurred, human.
Nikolai leaned down, almost reverent. His fingers brushed Darian's cheek, catching a fresh tear.
"You're beautiful like this, mine" he whispered.
Darian grit his teeth, breath hitching. "I'm not—"
"Not what?" Nikolai cut in, voice edged with amusement. "Not mine?"
That silence… said everything.
Darian hated how hard he was. How much his body betrayed the contempt, the rage, the ache to be ruined again. This wasn't who he was. Or maybe it was—some secret part of him that always wanted to be undone, but only by someone strong enough to take it from him.
Someone like Nikolai.
And still, Darian tried to hold the reins. Even as his lips trembled, he looked up through heavy lashes and said, "If someone's watching, they better understand I don't break easy."
Nikolai grinned—slow, dark, thrilled.
"That's why I chose you."
———
Nikolai's hand slid between Darian's thighs, forcing them apart with deliberate control. He spit into his palm, slick and crude, before dragging it between the cleft of Darian's ass—slow at first, spreading the moisture, pressing his fingers in just enough to make Darian tense.
"Relax," he murmured, low and almost mocking. "You'll take it better if you stop fighting."
One finger worked in, then another, scissoring roughly, stretching him with no patience for gentleness. Nikolai's breath ghosted over Darian's neck as he leaned in, his voice a rasp: "You'll remember this every time you try to sit down."
His free hand wrenched Darian's hips into position—rough, practiced. The slick sound of skin against skin followed, primal and raw.
"You don't want it over," Nikolai growled. "You want it to ruin you."
And with that, he choked the words out of Darian—just long enough to steal breath and resistance—before finally claiming him.
The bed groaned instantly under the impact. A sharp slam. Then another. Rhythmic. Punishing.
Each thrust rattled through the mattress, the frame shrieking in protest. Skin met skin with brutal finality. Darian gasped, bucked, arched—no longer able to separate pain from pleasure, degradation from delirium.
He wanted to say stop.
He wanted to say more.
But all he could do was feel.
Moans tangled in the air, followed by grunts and curses—the slap of bodies crashing together, a storm with no end in sight.
And then—
A voice. Distant. Alarmed.
"What the—?"
The door had swung open.
Darian's eyes fluttered open, barely registering the blur of movement before they locked onto a figure standing stunned in the doorway.
Milo.
His mouth was open, no sound coming out. Just wide-eyed disbelief as he took in the scene: Darian bound, trembling, flushed with sweat and shame. Nikolai over him, a vision of violent ecstasy.
Darian's heart seized. His body still writhed, still trapped in the aftermath of pleasure and punishment—but his soul folded in on itself.
Their eyes met.
And Darian broke.
Ashamed. Exposed. Powerless.
For a moment, he wished Nikolai would choke him again—just to stop him from feeling it.
The silence that followed wasn't silent at all.
It was the sound of everything unraveling.
Nikolai's breath was ragged as he yanked the chains free from the headboard, the iron clattering like thunder. Darian barely had time to catch his breath before he was manhandled into a new position—arms twisted behind him, face shoved forward, Nikolai's hand gripping his jaw like a vice.
"Eyes open," Nikolai hissed. "Look at him."
Darian blinked—body aching, mind reeling—until his gaze found Milo standing frozen in the doorway,then he knew Nikolai had summoned him someway.His mouth hung open, face ghost-pale. He didn't speak. He couldn't. His role was clear: servant, witness, pawn.
Darian's stomach twisted, humiliation flaring—hot, sharp—but underneath it, a deeper ache pulsed. Shame coiled like smoke in his lungs, but it wasn't enough to smother the need burning in him. The intensity. The exposure. Being seen.
"You like him, don't you?" Nikolai snarled into his ear, grinding the words between his teeth. "Tell me, Darian. Say it."
Darian clenched his jaw, but a moan betrayed him—low, rough, desperate.
"Say it."
Nikolai's grip tightened, tilting his face toward Milo. "Look him in the eye while I ruin you. Let him see what you are."
"You're disgusting," Nikolai spat. "My filthy little prince with a god complex, melting under my hands like you were made for this."
Darian's breath hitched. His body moved without consent from his pride—arched, trembling, eager. His voice cracked as he gasped for air, for control, for dignity that slipped further from his grasp with every passing second.
And Milo… Milo hadn't moved. His eyes wide. His lips parted. He looked like a man caught between the urge to run and the need to understand.
Darian moaned again—sharper, louder, as if the sound had been torn from somewhere buried.
"Look at you," Nikolai growled. "Getting off on this. Because he's watching. Because you want him to see how easily I've broken you."
Darian's fingers curled into fists. He wanted to say it wasn't true. That it was just the power play. Just the heat of the moment.
But it wasn't.
Something inside him wanted Milo to see. Not to dominate—no, never that—but to witness. To know the raw, unfiltered version of him that Nikolai could summon with just a look and a grip and a single vicious word.
Nikolai pushed his face harder toward Milo. "Do you like him, Darian?" His voice was mocking, cruel, velvet wrapped in razors.
"Do you want him to see how beautiful you look when you break?"
Darian moaned again—louder, this time, and this time he wasn't sure if he hated himself for it or craved more.
And Milo… still didn't look away.
Nikolai leaned in close, his breath hot against Darian's skin. His fingers unfastened the black cord around his neck, slipping the serpent pendant free. The metal was cold and slick with sweat from Nikolai's chest. Darian felt it before he saw it—pressed just below his throat, where his heartbeat stuttered beneath slick skin.
"For you," Nikolai murmured, voice so low it could've been mistaken for affection.
The chain settled against Darian's collarbones as Nikolai fastened it behind his neck. Then came the heat—Nikolai's mouth at his throat, tongue dragging along the sweat, lips curling into a grin that Darian felt more than saw.
The moment was almost surreal. Intimate in the most twisted way. Possessive. Ritualistic.
His body betrayed him first—leaning back, arching, welcoming the weight and warmth and brutal rhythm behind him.
Darian tilted his head, catching Nikolai's mouth in a kiss—messy, desperate, all teeth and need. It wasn't gentle. It wasn't soft. But it was real.
What the fuck am I doing?
Nikolai's eyes sharpened, gleaming with something feral as he caught Milo staring.
Not at him.
At Darian.
And Darian, naked and gasping beneath him, smiled.
That smile set something loose in Nikolai's chest—a noise that could've been a laugh, or the beginning of a snarl. Slowly, he leaned forward, palm still heavy on Darian's flushed cheek, the other curled around his throat as the snake pendant swayed between them.
"Interesting," he whispered, voice coated in venomous calm. "You smile for him now?"
Darian tried to shake his head, but Nikolai's grip made movement a suggestion, not a right.
"Milo," he said, voice suddenly sweet again, turning his head just enough to look at the stunned servant standing inches from the bed.
Milo flinched as if struck.
Nikolai's smile widened. "Come here."
Milo didn't move at first. But he obeyed eventually.His boots scraped softly over the floor as he approached the bed—his gaze locked, helplessly, to Darian's glistening skin. The flush on his cheeks was obvious. So was the bulge he was trying—and failing—not to acknowledge.
Nikolai tilted his head at him. "You see this, don't you?" he murmured into Darian's ear, too soft for Milo to hear. "You like that he's watching."
Darian clenched his teeth but didn't deny it.
Nikolai turned to Milo, eyes calm, voice silken. "Would you like a taste?"
Milo's mouth parted. He said nothing.
The silence stretched.
Then: "I—don't know what you mean."
"Oh, I think you do." Nikolai's voice never rose. But his eyes? They said everything. They were cold. Final.
He didn't wait for another answer. He slid a hand down Darian's back with reverent slowness, but his gaze was fixed solely on Milo—as if daring him to keep watching. Daring him to want something that was already his.
"You wanted to see?" he murmured. "Then see."
Darian gasped, twisting to look at Milo—and the moment their eyes met, he felt his gut drop. Milo's lips were parted. His chest was rising fast.
Darian moaned softly, the name slipping from his lips before he could stop it. "Milo…"
Milo's breath hitched, eyes widening, transfixed by the way Darian looked at him — flushed, trembling, tears in his lashes, lips parted. Lust flared in Milo's expression, and it didn't go unnoticed.
Nikolai's movements slowed, agonizingly slow, like deliberate punishment. Darian gasped as he was left hanging, nerves on fire. He collapsed forward onto the sheets, breath catching.
He reached out blindly — and found Milo's hand.
Before Milo could react, Darian took it, brought it to his lips, and sucked on his fingers. Desperate. Needy. His glassy eyes stayed locked on Milo's, and a soft, broken sound escaped him, something between a whimper and a plea.
Nikolai froze.
Then, slowly, his head tilted forward — and the entire room changed.
The air thickened. His aura twisted dark. The room seemed to shrink, suffocated under his presence. That sweet mask he wore — charming, seductive — cracked.
Milo flinched, trying to pull his hand back. But Darian whimpered again, unwilling to let go.
Nikolai smiled.With a guttural moan he came and Darian followed closely behind.
Darian collapsed against the sheets, every nerve frayed, his body trembling as the last shudders of release left him boneless and barely breathing. His vision blurred, mouth parted as he gasped for air, chest rising and falling in frantic rhythm. Behind him, Nikolai hadn't moved—still buried deep, hands gripping Darian's hips with possessive strength. He only pulled back once his breathing steadied, the heat between them fading.
Darian's legs gave out. He crumpled against the bed, too spent to care. But then he saw it—Milo.
He tried to call Milo's name, lips shaping the word softly. Milo took a step forward—but Nikolai's eyes snapped to him like a trap snapping shut.
What followed was blisteringly fast. One moment, Milo was standing. The next, his feet left the ground—his throat caged in Nikolai's hand.
Darian barely had time to sit up before Nikolai yanked Milo forward with brutal, inhuman strength, tearing the gauze from his neck. The wound underneath glistened with old blood. Nikolai's mask cracked. His elegance disappeared like a lie in fire.
No words. Just a snarl—and then his mouth latched onto Milo's throat.
Milo gasped. A broken, wet cry escaped him, but Nikolai didn't stop. His grip tightened. The room pulsed with sound—struggling limbs, a gurgled heartbeat, the animal rhythm of feeding. It was carnage disguised as affection.
"No!" Darian rasped, forcing himself upright, pain exploding through his ribs. "Nikolai—stop!"
But Nikolai was gone.
What stood in his place was something feral, his back arched, fingers digging into Milo's shoulders hard enough to bruise through bone. Blood streaked down his chin, staining Milo's collar in deep reds. The room twisted into silence as Milo's body slackened in his arms.
He let Milo drop like he'd never mattered.
Blood dripped steadily onto the floor, the only sound left in the world. Nikolai just stood there. Pale. Still. His once-pristine shirt soaked in crimson, a mockery of refinement.
Then—his eyes welled with tears.
Glistening. Shiny. Wet.
He looked up at Darian, lips smeared with blood, his mouth trembling as if he were the one who'd just been hurt. "You… said his name," he whispered. His voice cracked like a child's. "You looked at him."
Darian staggered backward, heel hitting the bedframe. Every part of him screamed to run, but Nikolai was between him and the door. And Milo—Milo was a crumpled mess at his feet.
Nikolai took a slow step forward, trembling like he was on the verge of crying.
"Did I do something wrong?" he asked, voice soft, like he didn't understand his own violence.
Something in Darian broke. The spell—whatever cruel charm had once drawn him to this thing—shattered.
He looked at the torn body on the floor.
Then at the tears in those inhuman eyes.
And finally, at the blood on his hands, his mouth, his soul.
He didn't scream. He didn't cry.
But he finally understood.