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“Sit,” she says, pointing to the toilet.
I laugh and close the lid before perching on it, shoving up my shirt sleeve a little so she can get a better crack at it.
The light of the bathroom reflects off her silver hair, and I watch her hands as she sorts through the shit she’ll need, pulling out antiseptic and a curved needle and the thread for stitching. Her nails are a brilliant, deep red today, and it matches the color of my blood almost perfectly.
She soaks gauze in the antiseptic and starts gently cleaning the blood from the cut.
It’s weird, feeling her be gentle. I didn’t know she could even do that. The stuff burns, but I don’t flinch, just letting her get on with it.
Once it’s clean enough, she threads the needle and gets to work.
Her hands are steady and sure, and she draws the thread through my skin with no hesitation. Her eyes are narrowed in focus, one hand keeping the wound evenly closed while the other moves the needle.
I don’t feel any pain at all. I’m too busy watching her, feeling like I’m caught up in some kind of spell. I’m entranced and can’t look away.
I was being good at first, but that doesn’t last. I can’t help myself with her standing there, being all precise and good at it.
My hands start wandering, groping her while she works. I slide them up her thighs to her ass, giving it a good squeeze before going higher.
I reach under her shirt and play with her tits, squeezing them through her bra before dipping my fingers inside one of the cups to tease and tweak her nipple.
It gets hard under my fingers, and River hisses, her hand jerking a bit.
She pokes me with the needle, though it’s barely more than a little prick.
“You’re gonna make me fuck up if you keep that up,” she warns.
“I don’t care,” I tell her with a grin.
She rolls her eyes, and I keep playing with her.
I roll her nipples between my fingers, tugging at them until she arches a little. Her breath is less even, nowhere near steady, and her hands follow that trend.
Her stitches were neat and even before, but now they’re messy and rough. It’s going to scar, but I don’t give a shit.
Not when I’m playing with her tits, drawing those noises out of her. She keeps her eyes on her work, but her focus is obviously on the way I squeeze down on her nipple with my fingers, trying to make it hurt.
When I look up at her, her blue eyes are dark and hazy, and I know she likes it. She loves the pain of it the same way I do.
River rushes through the last few passes with the needle, pulling the thread tight before snipping it off with the scissors.
“There,” she says. “I’m done. Not that you were any help.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
“No, I’m not.”
I smirk at her and drag her closer, until she’s standing right between my legs. I shove her shirt up and push her bra cups down, exposing her tits.
She put the needle down on the counter when she was done with it, and I pick it up, twirling it between my fingers with a little smirk.
Her eyes follow the motion, and I bring that sharp point to the perky tip of her nipple, dragging it against the sensitive skin there.
I can almost feel it when she sucks in a breath, and she rocks closer to me, turned on by the slight pain that comes from the sensation.
“More?” I ask, a bit of a challenge in my voice.
