Stone
"Stone," he said as one of his fingers carved its way down my back. The way he shaped his voice around my name it sounded like a brand, a mark of infallible damnation that I'd never erase from my soul even if I repented from now until Armageddon.
I hated the way I sounded coming out of his mouth. The Prince of Lies did him no justice. He took everything I was, the man I'd fought to keep even the smallest shred of for fifteen years, and erased him in a single syllable whispered at the back of my neck.
He started meandering shapes with his razor sharp nail on my skin, saying my name over and over again in a low incantation as he traced it in fire down my spine. No language known to man, strange contortions that I might have admired if they weren't marks of his possession over me.
I hated the way I felt seared into my own flesh. He had me in every possible way—more than Ros ever had I could admit on the nights when he left me alone to torture myself as he inevitably knew I would—and here he was, fucking labeling me like a stray dog that he'd summon back home if I wandered off.
The other tattoos disappeared. This one, I knew, my body knew—this one would follow me wherever I went. He ran over it again and again until it bled onto my sheets, until the whispers echoed in my head without a sound from him. Even if I escaped Hell, I would never escape him.
I hated how well he knew me, how he always stayed. But most of all, I hated the way he felt inside me—like he wasn't even there at all.