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I reach a hand down to readjust my hard-on at the view of my cum that’s mixed with her blood. Then I proceed to wipe it off with steady, unhurried fingers.
Low moans spill from her and it takes me more time than needed to clean her pink cunt.
I stall on and on, engraving this visual of her in the deepest, darkest corners of my memory.
Once I’m done, I throw down the towel, then open my side drawer and fetch a tube of ointment. I’ve never done any type of play at home, but I planned to bring Annika here all along—though not this soon—which is why I bought everything necessary.
From the ropes to the toys and finishing up with the ointment.
I slide it over the welts, my fingers lingering a bit too long on each angry mark.
Mymarks.
Mybruises.
I marked her, so she’s mine.
A sense of raging possessiveness grabs me in a chokehold as I inspect the map of welts I left. Or when I recall how she screamed and sobbed, then came apart while she took them.
Annika whimpers while I tend to her, but she shows no sign of waking up as she hides further in her pillow.
After finishing with the ointment, I carry her in my arms bridal style. Her head lolls and drops onto my chest, hair in disarray, lips parted, mascara running down her cheeks, but there’s still no hint of consciousness.
The scent of violets mixes with the smell of sex and me, choking me and sending a redo signal to my half-erect cock.
Too soon.
If I follow that instinct, I’ll just break her this time, and I don’t want that. As much I get off on hurting her, I don’t want to drive her to the point of no return.
I carry her to the bathroom, check the temperature of the water, and then I slowly lower her into it until her tits are partially covered.
If it were up to me, I’d keep her like this, with my dried cum between her legs and my scent on her skin.
But I’m not willing to sacrifice her discomfort for that.
If I expected her to wake up at the contact with the water, she doesn’t. Her head angles to the side, letting her hair cascade down her shoulders and into the tub.
“Annika.” I lift her chin. “Come on, wake up, little purple.”
“Mmm.”
Her tiny sounds of pleasure and her whines nearly have me coming in my boxers. Fuck. I feel her everywhere, in my bloodstream, on my flesh, and down to that forbidden nook in my heart.
I nudge her again, but an unintelligible sound is all I get. So I lean over and whisper in her ear, “What type of date do you want to go on next?”
That gets her attention, because her bright blue-gray eyes slowly open and she stares at the opposite wall, dumbfounded, almost without concentration. Then she focuses on her body that’s entirely hidden by the water.
Her expressive blue-gray gaze slides to me and some of the confusion automatically withers away.
It’s as if she…trusts me.
Big fucking mistake.
A sheep can never put its faith in the wolf. No matter what type of nice mask it wears.
Her fingers touch her neck, latching onto the necklace around her pale throat that I put there when she was asleep, and then she gathers the pendant in her palm, eyes growing in size.
“What is this…?” Her voice is a little bit hoarse, a little bit raw.
