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“Fuck, that’s a sexy sound.”
Heat flares through me. I take my hand from the base of his shaft and grip his thighs instead, my blade free fingers digging into the cut on his leg. His dick swells and precum oozes from the tip.
“Umm, that hurts real good.”
I dig a little harder and push myself a little deeper, swallowing as much of him as I can.
“You have such a pretty little mouth. I’ve wanted to fuck it for so long.”
He swipes his hand through the blood that's now flowing freely down his leg before dragging it across my face.
“Fuck. This is how I’ve imagined you so many times. Painted red with blood. But this is better than any fantasy because it’s not your blood, it’s mine, and I didn’t have to hurt you to get it.”
He pulls me to my feet and kisses me deeply, spinning me around until my back is pressed against the cold tiles. I yelp, and he chuckles.
Pulling away from my lips, he dips his fingers into his wound once more before painting patterns all over my flesh. His touch is electric and sensuous, awakening and arousing. I’m a panting mess, trembling at the lightest brush of his fingers, and he hasn't even touched me there yet. He takes the knife from my hand and presses it against his palm until a deep well of blood appears. Smiling, he cups my face, my breasts, my pussy. Holy fuck it shouldn’t turn me on but it does.
“Bax—”
He drops to his knees, silencing whatever plea I was about to give, then takes a moment to dance his finger across my lower abdomen. When I glance down I see he’s written ‘mine’ in blood.
“It’s the best kind of claiming. Written in blood. There’s no take backs now.”
This time he doesn’t play with his prey. He leans right in, running his nose up my seam and inhales. Fuck. My eyes widen in shock but flutter closed the second his tongue snakes out to lick the entire length of my opening. He repeats the motion, two, three, four times using the flat of his tongue.
“You taste like the worst kind of sin.” He pulls back to grin at me. I’m pretty sure that’s Baxter’s way of complimenting me but I’m distracted by the gleam in his eyes and the blood around his mouth that paints him like the psycho he thinks he is.
He’s never looked hotter.
‘Radioactive’ begins to play. I don’t know how many songs I’ve missed but the beat of this one just works. I groan and tilt my head back under the shower spray while Baxter eats me like I’m his final meal on earth, savouring every mouthful until I’m struggling to stand.
There’s something I have to do.
“Baxter,” I pant. “The knife, please.”
He passes it to me, obviously expecting me to cut him again. Instead I move the blade to the inside of my thigh, where the scars I don’t like to think about are.
“Make them yours.” I don’t know if I’m begging or commanding, but he takes the knife from my grip and presses it against the biggest scar.
“Just this one,” he promises, kissing the ugly jagged flesh.
“All of them.” I’m definitely begging now, a sudden compulsion taking over me, needing to remove every mark on my body caused by dissent and replace it with consensual pain, a permanent mark that will brand me as his.
“I will. Each time I touch you, it will be my honour to remove your suffering and replace it with pain. One mark, one scar, one cut at a time. Until your body is a canvas of our love.”
He presses the blade against my skin and the pressure builds until it breaks. The release is cathartic and arousing. Baxter lets the knife clatter to the tiles and laps at the new cut he’s branding me with before turning his attention back to my pussy.
My own release is just out of reach. He’s way too good at what he does. If he’s torturing me with pleasure, I can only imagine what he’s capable of with pain. It is his forte after all.
“Please—”
“You’re not coming until I’m deep inside you.”
“Then get inside me!” I snap impatiently.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
He gets to his feet and grins maniacally at me. Maybe it’s not crazed, but with the blood and excitement in his eyes, it seems that way to me. He’s a painted devil and I love it. I love him.
