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He nods. "I was twelve when I killed my first man. It was my father’s idea."
"What do you mean?"
"He put a gun in my hands, told me it was time I became a man. He had his men drag out a traitor from among them, and—"
"It was your job to kill him?" I whisper.
He nods.
"And you did…kill him?"
He nods again, "One shot between the eyes." He forms his fingers into the shape of a gun, places his forefinger and middle finger in the center of my forehead. "Boom." He mimes pulling a trigger and I flinch.
He drags his fingers down my nose, across my lips, to the hollow at the base of my neck. My pulse rate speeds up as he swipes his fingers down to the already healing scratch between my breasts… The tiny wound that he had inflected on me with his knife.
"Does it hurt?"
I shake my head and he digs his fingers into the scratch, reopening it. A sliver of pain fires across my nerve-endings. I wince. He glances down and I follow his gaze to find the blood seeping down my belly. He removes his fingers, only to bend his head and slurp at the open wound. A shiver of something—lust, fear, maybe a mix of the two?—ladders up my spine. He licks the scratch again, then glances up at me, "Does that disgust you, Beauty?" He tilts his head, "Me drinking your blood."
"No." My voice cracks, and I clear my throat. "No." I shake my head, "Strangely, I find it reassuring."
"Reassuring?"
"It confirms to me that you are human, for some reason. It tells me that you don’t hide your proclivities. It..." I swallow, "it affirms that you don’t shy away from what your heart wants, and that… That is something."
"Is it?"
I nod. "Most people go through life trying to ignore what they really are deep inside, but not you." I peer into his face. "What you see is what you get with you. You wear your likes and dislikes on your sleeve; you don’t hesitate to declare what you want and go after it. You are brutally honest about your intentions, and for that, I am grateful."
"You are, huh?" he says in a strange tone. "I kidnapped you, Beauty. Held you to the marriage that your father had promised me."
"And I stabbed you for it."
"I locked you up in a cell as punishment. I withheld orgasms from you—"
"It’s called edging," I murmur.
"I’m aware." His eyebrows rise, "Though I am not sure how a nineteen-year-old fashion designer whose claim to fame is hawking her clothes—"
"Designs." I scowl, "Thought I corrected you on that already."
"—at a flea market—"
"Camden Market is a world-renowned space for artists," I counter.
"—knows the term for an S & M technique, is something I am keen to find out more about."
"It’s just…stuff I picked up along the way."
"Is that right?"
I nod, "Just like you learned everything about knives… Let’s just say, I read up a lot of informative literature about BDSM."
"You did, huh?"
I bite the inside of my lip. "For example, I know that you like to indulge in knife play."
"Oh?"
