Page 23 of Mine

“’Cause that’s where the L is.” He assured me.

ALONG with my entire back and shoulders being covered in a heavy black tribal tattoo, another design had been added above the cross: a ribbon that looked like it was laid over my skin. It spilled over my left shoulder, thickening and thinning down over my left pectoral and branching out, becoming roots over my heart where the Old English L was, entwined with roses and thorns. That was Landry, a rose with horrible, deadly, wicked, sharp thorns. He had nearly fainted when he saw it; he had needed it there, so ready to mark me himself if I had not asked Manuel to do it for me.

I never told anyone about waking in the night to him standing over me with a knife. It was small, one of my switchblades, chosen for carving, not stabbing, but still sharp, still able to kill me. He was breathing hard, stroking himself and looking at me with glazed eyes.

“Whatcha doin’, babe?” I asked him, voice calm, swallowing down my fear, reaching for him.

He didn’t even see me, intent on my chest, tugging and pulling on his hard, heavy cock, his breath catching, his body trembling.

I waited and he let go. His seeping dick twitched as he bent toward me, his slick left hand went down on my sternum, the other holding the knife like a scalpel.

“What’re you gonna do?” I asked, reaching for him, my fingers closing around his hard, wet length.

“Carve my name in your skin so everyone knows you’re mine.”

I squeezed and he hissed out his pleasure, head back, eyes closed, his intent to cut me forgotten as he moaned my name. Rolling out of bed, I went to my knees and took his cock down the back of my throat fast and hard, sucking violently so he could feel it even through the haze of whatever had come over him.

He palmed the back of my head, as there was no hair to grab hold of, and tried to push his way in even deeper. When I brushed his hand off and pulled back, he whimpered loudly.

“Are you awake?” I asked, licking from the base of his long, beautiful cock to the tip and back again, too turned on to worry about the fact that he still had a switchblade in his right hand. I fondled his heavy balls, loving the feel of them. “Baby?”

There was only gibberish coming from him, only sounds, no words, as I licked the glistening head before stretching my lips around it, taking the length of his thick, leaking erection back into my mouth.

“Trev,” he managed to get out as I sucked and nibbled and stroked, my cheeks hollowed out with the force, my tongue creating swirling pressure. “Gonna come… swallow it all… drink me.”

I moaned and he exploded in my mouth, hot semen hitting the back of my throat as I swallowed frantically, gulping, hearing him yell, one of his hands digging painfully into my shoulder as he fucked my mouth.

Knowing that he loved to see his spunk on my skin, I shoved him off me. He froze, standing there, letting cum spurt from the flared head as he shuddered through his climax. I watched and waited, and when he was done, still frozen, I watched thick wet semen slide back down his shaft to his balls. I saw some of it drip to the floor, and some of it was on me, on my collarbone, cooling on my skin. Only then, when he was shuddering with aftershocks, did his eyes flutter as he suddenly saw me.

“Trev?”

I squinted at him as I stood up, the two inches of height I had on him still enough to make his head tip back.

“Oh shit,” he gasped, realizing he had a knife in his hand, letting it drop open to the floor.

“Jesus, Landry,” I griped, jumping back. “You never drop an open knife.”

“What the fuck?”

I picked up the weapon, retracted the blade, and placed it on the nightstand.

“Trevan?”

“Were you sleepwalking?” I asked gently, turning back to him, putting my hands on his face. I knew he did that sometimes, having had entire conversations with him when he was not awake.

“No, I….” He shivered and moved closer to me, his hands sliding over my hips. “Your dick is hard.”

Of course it was. I had just given my boyfriend a blowjob. “Never mind, what were you doing?”

“I fell asleep on the couch,” he said, fingers sliding around my painfully hard erection, “and I had a dream that you… this is like velvet in my hand.”

I couldn’t help pushing in and out of his fist; it felt too good.

“I was thinking that if I just put my name on you, marked you… branded you… that no one would ever be confused about who you belonged to.”

Instantly, I had understood.

We had been at a party earlier in the night. There was a girl who had asked me to dance and she was cute and funny. She had a snake tattoo on her upper arm, and I told her how much I liked it. She wanted to know if I had any tats, and when I said I did, she wanted to see. It was just conversation to me, forgettable. I had obliged her interest because it meant nothing, but it had meant something to Landry. It had, in fact, meant a great deal to Landry.