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The edge of the scalpel has not been lodged in my hand, so when it hits her skin, it's cool. She whimpers. I'm quick this time, savouring the quick parting of skin with each skim of the blade.
"Fuck," she hisses. "Aeron—"
"Stay still." I hold her in place with one hand, working quickly with another. A small heart takes shape at the top of her buttock, its red lines already weeping loose beads of crimson. Her asshole works over my cock with every new cut, trembling and pulling despite her lack of movement, and when I'm done, I bend to kiss the flesh surrounding her new two-inch would.
"It's beautiful." I blow softly over the shallow bleed of it, pushing blood out into pale scarlet feathers.
She just wails again, and there's a resigned despair to her tone, as if she couldn't pull away from me if she tried. Something keeps her here. Makes her stay.
"I'm going to fuck you now," I whisper, my empty hands firm on her ass cheeks, splaying them for my viewing pleasure. "I'm going to fuck you and you're going to take it all, aren't you, sweetheart?"
Her blond head bobs in a silent nod.
Then I begin to move, and it is the end of all silences.
A wound is like a forbidden woman. You can't fuck a wound, but you can agitate it, provoke it. Get it sopping in its own juices, watch it grow bigger in its own mess. It's the most exquisite thing to watch Leo's heart pull open while I thrust into her ass. Rivulets of blood sink down between her buttocks to coat my cock.
My orgasm doesn't build as much as it rockets. More forceplay than foreplay, a pleasure I can barely contain. Fine hairs stand up on my body, the back of my neck, along my forearms. She finds rhythm in her protests, a desperate and disbelieving fuck, fuck, fuck punching holes in the air. When I come, it lasts longer than I can remember—this endless stream of heavy pulses, working along the tendons of my inner thighs to rush through my cock in bursts of electric ache. She's dripping when I withdraw—it fucking bubbles out of her—and as soon as I'm out, she sags down, every breath a sharp gasp.
I collapse beside her on the pillows. The whole bed shakes.
A minute elapses before we speak.
"I'm fine, by the way," she says finally, peering at me from beneath her mussed-up hair.
"No you're not. You're bleeding."
"I can barely feel it." She goes to feel her buttock, but I yank her hand up instead and kiss her fingers with sloppy disgrace.
"It's the adrenaline. You'll come down in a little while."
"I feel drunk," she says quietly.
I grin. Suck her pretty, painted thumb with its perfect pink nail. "You are, a little."
"It's more than that though. The champagne wore off. I..." She runs her thumb along the inside of my bottom lip, feeling for the remains of stitches. "It's like a chemical thing."
"You were afraid."
"Yeah."
"You didn't know how far I'd go."
"It's called edgeplay. I Googled it." She says this as if she ought to be ashamed, but hasn't fallen off that particular precipice.
Jesus, the things people would find if they checked our collective internet histories. SilentWitn3ss would be the least of our worries.
"I don't give a fuck what it's called. I just want us to stay there."
She begins to chuckle, and then puts on a voice full of mock foreboding. "On the...edge?"
"Fuck off." I lean over, find her mouth. Tangle my fingers in her honey hair while I kiss her. "I should clean you up."
She eases away, heading up. "One sec. I just want to....ahh." She winces, slowing her retreat.
"Careful how you get up there, sweetheart." Oh, she'll be sore inside.
Echoes to remember me by.
Gingerly, she steps toward her full length mirror, where she turns in the spill of corridor light to inspect her new embellishment. The heart weeps down her left buttock, already clotted and sticky.
She braves a single touch, squeaking in discomfort. "Oh my god."
"It suits you."
"A heart, though...?" She glances over at me, black button eyes shining alight. "What next, a Hello Kitty?"
I snort. "You want another?"
"Do you think it will scar?"
"I doubt it. It's not deep." I'm saving that for later. We both seem to realise this at once, and take a long moment to wallow in it. Leo peers over her shoulder at her reflection, her mouth open in awe, and I watch her, my hand on my half-hard cock.
"Why?" she says suddenly, a new cadence to her voice.
"Why what?"
"Why...cut me?" She stalks back over with more confidence, more vigour, and you have to give it to her—five minutes after her first full anal fuck, that's no mean feat. She's probably still dripping. "It's not like every guy does that."
"Come here." I sit up and hold my hand out, beckoning her between my spread legs.
She obeys, smoky blond hair pouring around her flushed face. I watch her brow drip as I draw her fingers down my inner thigh. In this light, she'll barely see the old scars, but she'll feel the rough rise of oddly knitted skin.
I've never done this with another woman, or even wanted to. But I want Leo to know parts of me that nobody else does so that she can own them.
She sucks a breath in. "Aeron," she whispers.
"What? I had to practise on someone."
"You say that like it's completely fucking normal."
"They don't hurt."
"That doesn't answer my question." She presses her warm palm to my skin. "These don't feel...recent."
"I haven't done it in a very long time."
She looks up sharply. "You cut a lot of girls?"
"No, Doctor Reeves." I can't resist a little laugh. "You're the second."
"What about boys...?"
"No boys. Leo." I tug her hand away. "I don't have a reason. I just want what I want, and I love that I want it. But I have to be careful. When you show somebody how you look inside...it's the ultimate honesty, don't you think?"
"I think I'm good with lies," she murmurs.
I take a fistful of hair and pull her in for a kiss. Lazy tongues. "I'm sure you are."
"The thighs thing, though. Why there?"
I nip the tip of her nose. "We're very curious tonight, aren't we?"
"I want to understand you."
"You're cute."
She rolls her eyes. "That's like your classic evasion phrase."
"I like thighs because they're closer to other things. They're an edge, maybe. There. Happy?"
She chews her lip, studying me. "You ever cut the other things?"
"No."
Rachel never told her, then.
"Good. Because there are some places I can't go."
"Point taken." I run a fingertip down her hot cheek. "Thing about edges though...eventually, they wear away."
Leo ignores this. There's an air of finality, of surrender; she knows she can't win.
"It's starting to sting," she says eventually, her eyes low.
"Then lie down, baby." I press a kiss to her throat. Her shoulder. "I'll take care of you."
Later, when she's patched up and sleeping, I lie awake fiddling with my cell. I go through Facebook, squinting at the blazing screen in the dark, Liking all the fundraiser photos. There are comments on the amount of money I donated—considerable—and I avoid these in order to seem humble.
Leo breathes softly beside me, her warmth spreading under the covers to balm my cool skin. It pleases me that she's become curious; it's a sign of acceptance. I told her straight—I am what I am—and she still hasn't walked away. Of course that low, grating suspicion never quite leaves my belly; I know she could play me false. But this girl, if she's still playing...she's one hell of an actress.
The way she moaned and cried while I fucked her; that wasn't drama. You can't perform real fear.
My eyelids are heavy when my phone vibrates with a message from Harvey.
We got M, it reads.
My pulse leaps.
"Fuck, yes," I hiss, so loud that Leo stirs briefly.
That'll teach the bastard. God, if there's anything I love almost as much as an orgasm, it's admissible evidence. Adrenaline roars to life now, flooding my veins with sour possibilities. What will I do with it? I don't have to do anything, and it will just sit there all pretty on my hard drive, waiting for the moment when he pisses me off enough to—
