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Summary
He leaned back, arms tightly bound behind him, sucking in his teeth as the shard of glass razed another line across his tensed, sweat-slick stomach. It bled immediately. His fifth cut. Two more to go.
Gloved fingers fisted into his hair and yanked him against his knee. Inho’s eyes squeezed shut, forehead bowed to the bone. He was so hard.
“What are you?”
Inho gasped, blood falling from his lips. “Yours.”
“Mine to what?”
“To use. Always.”