“Is this really why you came here?” I smoothed my tongue over the scratch. Your pulse pounded against it, and finally, I could taste your fear. It wasn’t just fear, though. It was this intense arousal that mixed with it, creating a heady scent that made my vision blur.
All you did was lay there, arms outstretched, letting me explore you. Cut you. Use you in any way I wanted.
Finally, I moved back, gripping your legs and wrapping them tightly around my waist. You locked your ankles behind my back, holding me in place as I dropped forward again. I rocked into you, grinding the bulge under my jeans against your center. You moaned again—God, I loved the sounds you made.
The tip of my blade glinted and shone with your blood as I smeared it along your soft skin. You turned your head one way, then the other, never looking at me. Eyes always closed. Mouth shut as if it could block the sounds your body was desperate to make.
I undid my jeans, opening them enough for my aching cock to come free. You peered between our bodies, taking in my size, then your eyes shot to me. I grinned then, watching your pupilsdilate with anticipation. You were excited for this. You wanted this.
I’d never cared about hearing those words before, but you were different. So I leaned forward, the edge of the knife pressing against your throat, and whispered, “Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me.”
You were silent. Your chest heaved, and your heartbeat was so loud I could hear it.
Thump, thump.
Thump, thump.
Thump, thump.
“I want this,” you said at last, your voice a shaky rasp. “I wantyou.”
I didn’t waste another second—I slammed into you. You screamed as I groaned. It had to be painful for you, the suddenness of my cock inside you, but I didn’t care. The pain made you tighten around me, made you dig your claws into my shoulders and hold on.
“You came here looking for me,” I said. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head. “You wanted me to do this. You want me to kill you.” Your mouth fell open on a silent moan, only a breath escaping. “Is that what you want?”
“I—I’ve always wanted to fuck a killer,” you admitted breathlessly.
I leaned back, gripping your waist with one hand, the other still holding the point of my blade against your throat. I watched as your pussy stretched around my cock, watched as I fucked into you over and over and over, until your thighs were trembling.
“Is it all you’ve hoped it would be?” I asked. Sweat gathered along my forehead, and dripped onto your naked body.
“Stab me,” you said. I faulted for only a moment before I dragged my blade down your stomach. This time, it was deeperthan the others, but not so deep I’d kill you. Just enough for more blood to spill out.
You screamed, but it wasn’t in pain. Not entirely. Your pussy rippled around me, like you were enjoying it. So I cut you again. And again.
All over your torso, slash marks marred your perfect flesh. Red seeped from each wound and soaked into the sheets under you.
“Can I cut you?” you breathed.
I paused. No one had ever done that before. I’d never even cut myself when I was masturbating. But the thought of giving you my blade, letting you have control of whether I lived or died, made my cock impossibly harder.
So I handed it to you.
You held it to my throat first, right against my Adam’s apple. I gripped your hips with both hands now, anchoring you against the mattress as I fucked into you deeper. Harder.
And then I felt it.
A small knick against my skin.
I felt the warmth ooze from the cut, felt the blood trickle down my bare chest. You dragged your fingers along the trail, and I watched as you brought it to your lips. You moaned at the flavor—myflavor—and cut me again.
You let the blood stream out, and with each slice, I felt my release barreling closer.
“Are you going to kill me when we’re done?” you asked. I could lie to you, but what was the point?
“Yes,” I said. “I have to. You understand, don’t you?”
You cut me again, this time sitting up, pressing your mouth directly to the wound. You suckled gently on it, drinking me down, just like I did you.
