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“Shh.” She places a finger over my mouth as she keeps riding me slow and deep, pussy fluttering around cock. She hovers the knife over my left ribcage. “Every time you fucking breathe, I want you to remember who you belong to.” She presses the tip down, pushing it into my skin. Sharp pain blooms as she carves—shaky but deliberate lines while she fucks herself on me. I hiss through my teeth, the mix of stinging pain and blinding pleasure driving me feral. Blood wells up, dripping down my side as she etches her initials: T.T. Each stroke of the blade syncs with a thrust, her walls squeezing me like a vice.
Holy fuck.
The pain heightens every sensation. Her bouncing tits, flushed drunk expression, and those possessive looks on her face push me straight into pure euphoria.
She’s marking me. Claiming me like I’m her property. I’ve never wanted anything more.
“Fuck, Tatum…that’s it. Carve your initials into me while you ride my cock. You’re mine, and I’m yours.” I snap my hips up harder, causing the blade to go deeper in some places versus others. “No one else gets this. No one else gets to feel how tight and wet you get when you own me.” Once she’s finished, she drops the knife, leans down, and licks the fresh cuts. The wet heat of her tongue on the raw skin makes me groan loudly and my dick twitches inside her. Grabbing her by the hair, I yank her into a messy, desperate kiss, tasting the copper tang of my blood as she starts to ride me faster, chasing her orgasm.
“Come on my cock, baby. Squeeze every fucking inch of my cock while you come for me.” She shatters hard, walls clamping down around me as she cries out. I follow right after, burying myself deep and spilling inside her with a rough groan of her name, the fresh carving on my ribs throbbing in time with my release. We collapse together, breathing hard. I wrap my arms around her, the sting on my side a perfect, painful reminder.
“You’re crazy,” I murmur, kissing her temple. “But you’re my crazy, Spitfire.”
She’s already drifting off, alcohol and exhaustion pulling her under. I hold her close, the party still faintly rumbling outside. Knowing that this—whatever the hell this is—is far from over.
TATUM
Iwake slowly, head pounding from the leftover tequila, body deliciously sore in all the wrong places. Warm arms are wrapped around me as I turn to find Corbin’s heavy, possessive hold, his chest rising and falling steadily against my back. The faint sting between my thighs and the memory of last night hits me like a freight train: riding him hard while drunk and feral, carving my name into his ribcage with my dad’s fucking pocketknife. The way his blood welled up under the blade. The way he groaned and fucked me harder because of it…
God, I really did that. What the hell was I thinking?
I wasn’t.
Jealousy over Brenda had burned away every last filter, and now, I’m tangled up in the consequences. The fresh knife marks right there on his skin—permanent, claiming. Stupid and reckless. The kind of thing that could blow everything up if anyone found out. Lennox is my brother…my secret. And the way he subtly threatened Switch the last time we were all together is nothing more than a reminder that last night only tangled things worse. I can’t let myself get pulled in deeper with Corbin. Not with Redline still out there, Thomas making threats, and the club teetering on the edge of what could be war.
One wrong move and everything could come crashing down.
Carefully, I slip out of Corbin’s arms, holding my breath as he shifts and murmurs something in his sleep. He looks almost peaceful like this. My chest tightens. I grab myself clean clothes quietly and pad into the tiny attached bathroom, shutting the door with a soft click. I turn the shower on as hot as it’ll go and step under the spray. Steam fills the small space as I scrub away the evidence of last night—the smell of him, the stickiness between my thighs, tequila, and the faint blood on my hands and legs from the knife. The water runs pink for a moment. My nipples are still sensitive from his mouth and fingers. The bruises on my hips are already darkening where he gripped me.
He felt so good. Too good.
Everything is etched deep into my memory and my bones. The way he fucked harder when I cut him, the piercings that rubbed and reached places I didn't know my body had, but mostly, it was the expression he made. The mix of pleasure and pain intertwining and showing he is as crazy and fucked up as I am.
I want him too much. That’s the problem. I can’t do this. Not openly. Not when I’m still a pledge and fraternization is forbidden. Not when Lennox warned him and when my own secrets could destroy everything.
Shutting off the water, I towel off quickly and throw on fresh clothes—T-shirt and jeans. My hair goes up in a messy bun, still damp. I swipe my hand across the mirror. I look to make sure I seem put together enough as the fog slowly creeps back on the surface of it. I slip back into the bedroom. Corbin is still asleep, sprawled on my bed like he belongs there, the fresh marks carved into his ribs starting to scab over nicely. My stomach flips. Before I can talk myself out of it, I grab my boots and ease the door open, heading out into the hallway. The click of the latch sounds impossibly loud.
I don’t look back as I head toward the back exit, boots soft on the floor. The morning air outside is cool and sobering. The yard is still a mess from the party—empty bottles, charred remains of the bonfire—but I keep walking. Avoidance is easier than facing what I’ve done. My phone buzzes in my pocket, but I ignore it. Then it buzzes again. And again. I know it’s him before I even look.
Corbin:
Where the fuck did you go?
Corbin:
Did you really run from your own room, Spitfire?
Corbin:
Don’t hide from me, Tatum. I can still feel your knife on my ribs.
Corbin:
Pledges need supervision. Better get back here before I come find your ass.
I sigh and head out to the garage where a group of pledges are running simple drills: tire flips, bag work, and basic formation riding. Diesel waves me over to the line of bikes. “You’re with me today on maintenance,” he grunts, handing me a wrench. “Switch got tied up with club business. Pres needs him today, just got the text.”
Relief and disappointment twist in my gut. Good. Distance is what we need even if my body still hums from last night. I dive into the work, letting it consume me, tools clinking against metal as I lose myself in the basic maintenance. Grease coats my fingers, the familiar smell grounding me. Diesel doesn’t talk much, which I appreciate. My mind wanders to Corbin’s cock—thick, pierced, and one of the biggest I’ve ever had if I’m being honest—and the way his blood had welled up under my knife while I rode him. Fuck.
