A/n: Sorry this took so long to update y'all! More is coming sooner than later this time, I promise!
CONTENT WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: blood, knifeplay, electric shock play, and sadomasochism ahead! Feel free to nope out now if you're not comfortable with it, read at your own risk!
"However I damn well please," Rey murmured, biting his lower lip with that impetuous little grin. Kylo Ren snarled at her and would have lunged on to her had she not set him firmly in place with the Force. She pulled back, teeth held fast to his lower lip, and he was certain he tasted blood. His own blood. She released his lip and licked her own. "Like wine," she mused in grim humor, sending heat through him. She stood, slowly, so that every inch of her passed within centimeters of his face, and carried her wine glass back to the little side table across the room. Kylo Ren struggled against his Force bonds while her back was briefly turned, and he felt them squeeze him, constricting him, and a new bond snaked its way up to his throat, holding tightly. He choked, writhed against it, and the bonds only tightened.
The clicking of her heels brought her back over to him, and her thumb swept away a thin trickle of blood from his chin. He watched her lap it up, almost greedily, and his nostrils flared as his face contorted further into a snarl, reddening as he struggled to breathe. Every move she made only served to fuel the growing fire in him. He watched her like a hawk, every flash of movement setting him on edge. She towered over his kneeling form, a vision in black and silver going red at the edges with lack of air flow. With a small, contemplative hum, she flicked her wrist towards him, and the bond around his throat loosened enough for him to take a gasping breath.
"I'm afraid I need you awake, passing out would ruin all my fun," she mused as she circled back to her chair.
In all his wildest imaginings, in every lust-fueled slaking rut on some whore from some cantina in some godforsaken part of the galaxy, it had always been her beneath him, clawing his back, screaming his name. His hands around her throat, her blood on his lips. He dominated. In his own private musings she was his whore, his to corrupt and destroy. She was his to do with as he so pleased, bound on the floor, forced to kneel before him. He had resolved to corrupt her, to shatter that light within her himself.
The reality of the situation turned out far different. Even in his wildest of wild dreams he never could have foreseen this. She towered over him, his black-clad, golden-eyed Empress, holding him transfixed to the floor as easily as she breathed. The little once-was nothing, dominating him? He trembled with rage and his blood boiled at the prospect. He schooled his demeanor into one of mock discipline, hoping to hide the storm brewing beneath.
His eyes followed her as she returned to her seat; her fingers curled mindlessly in the air, gathering a small crackling of dangerous Force lightning at the tips. This raw display of power exhilarated him; Force lightning was a feat to control even in miniscule quantities, and yet she sat so effortlessly, twisting the crackling blue lightning around her hands, watching it flow from fingertip to fingertip with ease. She contemplated the lightning for a long moment, letting it twist and curl around her elegant fingers with all the appearance of a viper coiling to strike.
A flash of her golden eyes warned him only seconds before her arm extended towards him and he felt the lightning arc into him, striking into him down to his very bones. He groaned inwardly against it as the electric sting chased up and down his body from head to toe, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Every inch of him was electrified, burning and sizzling with the display of her power in addition to the sheer power of the lightning itself. When the lightning stopped, leaving his body in tingling arcs, and he groaned audibly.
"Did you enjoy that, then?" She smirked, and Kylo Ren thought of snapping at her, but realized risking her displeasure would be a far worse fate than what lay ahead of him for the evening.
"Yes, Empress," he gritted out, almost convincingly, because at least part of him had enjoyed her torture, his body was keen to let him know. And as the pain left his nerves it was replaced by the pleasant hum of healing, of his body assessing the damage and seeking to repair what had been visited upon him. It left a tingling of its own, one that made him wish she would inflict more upon him. She smiled sharply when that thought reached her as well. One booted foot came up to rest on the arm of the chair behind him; her knee almost parallel to his face. He took a calculated risk and rested his forehead against her knee, giving it a slight nuzzle, and she growled.
"Good boy," she murmured, letting the skirt of her gown fall to the side. He followed the line of her leg as far up as he could see and noticed for the first time the band of a knife holster around her upper thigh, revealed by the displacement of her skirt. He followed her every movement as she reached for the knife and withdrew it from its sheath. It was a wicked little thing, glinting in the light of the room, with a fine, curved black blade and a keen edge. She lowered her leg and leaned forward again, pressing the tip of the knife to the base of his throat. He swallowed involuntarily, feeling the bite of the knife into his flesh as he did. Blood beaded where the tip had broken the skin, and she eyed it hungrily.
Slowly, ever so slowly, she dragged the wicked blade down his chest, slicing through the black tunic he wore down to the skin below. Little beads of blood welled up where the knife bit into his flesh, and he hissed at her. She continued to drag the blade downwards, slicing the remaining fabric of the tunic, the tip of the blade passing dangerously close to key points one would not want a blade so close. When the fabric was cut through, she flicked the ruined tunic from his shoulders, leaving it to pool over his bent legs and the marble floor. A thin, perfectly straight little red line was forming as prickles of blood gathered along the knife's trail from collarbone to groin. Rey leaned back in her seat to admire her handiwork, twisting the knife between her long, elegant fingers. Her eyes traced his well-muscled torso, one she had seen only briefly before through their Force bond. She followed the angry red line down his chest to the waistband of his low-slung trousers. He should have had the good sense not to cock an eyebrow at her, but did it anyway, almost defiantly. She bit her lower lip with a dark smirk that sent a new shockwave to his core and a particularly interested jolt to his nether regions.
"Interested, Empress?" He dared to ask, arrogance writ large on his features. She cocked an eyebrow at him in return. The knife flashed in her hand.
"Impetuous of you to ask, Ren," she purred, twirling the blade in a delicate, fluid motion before returning the point to his chest, letting him feel it bite his skin as she traced a wide arc from the top of the line to the midpoint, then downward, angling toward his hip. Kylo Ren hissed against the pain and dared a glance down to his torso, where she had traced out an elegant capital letter R on his chest. For Rey. He growled darkly as the blood welled from the fresh lines she'd cut; small beads forming along the lines standing out ruby red against his pale skin. She leaned back in her chair to admire her handiwork, crossing her legs so that one elegantly booted foot rested next to his face. She hooked the toe of her boot under his chin and forced his head up to look at her. The point of her heel came to rest against his throat, and he swallowed hard against it. "Just in case you forget to whom you belong," She twirled that knife again. A shudder went through him at her words. Hers. He was utterly, irretrievably hers; heart, mind, body, and soul.
"You, Empress," he growled, and she smiled a wicked little smile.
"Good." The knife in her hand vanished, and she again leaned towards him, pressing a viciously soft kiss to his lips that drew him further in to her. Her hands drifted to his shoulders, steadying her as she kissed him, and her inexperience meant nothing in the face of her unshakeable self-assuredness. His tongue boldly traced the seam of her lips and she parted for him, sighing, and he felt his bonds loosening as her concentration slipped. Sensing his opportunity, Kylo Ren surged forward, grabbing Rey's wrists and pinning them together in one large hand, pushing her backward into the chair and leaning over her. Something akin to fear and surprise flickered in her golden gaze as he smirked down at her, a knee coming to rest between her thighs to support himself over her. His hand closed around her throat, and he growled.
"Oh, how the tables have turned," he crooned.