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Yes, fuck. I needed to come. I needed him so fucking bad.
He knelt across my stomach again, and my dick strained to make contact with him—with anything.
Him kneeling over me, the sharp blade in his hand, the evil gleam in his eye…I was so fucking close. He could plunge the knife into my neck, and I’d probably come as I died.
“I’m going to mark you here,” he murmured, stroking his finger over my left pectoral.
“Do it.” My voice was almost as tight as my balls, as every muscle in my body.
“Poor Valor needs to come.”
“Please!”
The knife came down, and he sliced into my skin. I gasped in pain—was it pain? It felt delicious and wrong.
He swore in French, and said something under his breath. The next slice made us both moan, his hips rocking as though the knife was his cock, and he needed more. I could feel the blood trickling—smell it in the room. The next cut was slow and deliberate, hurting more than the first two. I wailed, not sure if it was my chest or my dick distressing me more. He hissed in sympathy? Pain? Arousal?
“One more. Can you take one more for me?” Our eyes were rapt on each other. Each of my breaths was a sob, but his weren’t much more controlled.
“God—please more,” I begged, writhing beneath him. I only needed a little more—desperately, frantically. The pain had twisted into a perverse pleasure. His molten gaze pinned me in place.
The final stroke of the knife was pure lust burning into my skin. My body bowed under his, my breath staccato, my sight blurring, as my orgasm slipped the last of my control. His hand wrapped around my jerking, surging cock, as though he’d known this would happen, and when. I didn’t care about my dignity, only about his firm grip stroking me as spasm after spasm wracked my body. I fell back against my pillow, feeling doped and spacey. My chest burned like a son of a bitch, and out of the corner of my vision I could see the blood welling, feel it dripping down my side.
“You were supposed to wait,” he said, his voice teasing but not cruel. “You came all over my back.”
An aftershock shuddered through me, and he squeezed my now overly sensitive cock possessively one last time, before letting go. He grimaced playfully and wiped at his back with his hand, bringing it around to show me the mess I’d made.
“Open.”
Still buzzing, I opened my mouth and even stuck out my tongue. He chuckled and wiped the mess on his hand against my tongue. Part of me tried to be horrified and disgusted as he fed my own cum to me, but this new me—the one I was when I was with him—accepted it. Took it in. I rolled the taste of myself around my mouth, and he leaned down, licking some that I’d missed from my bottom lip. He collapsed on top of me, his head next to mine on the pillow, his lips against my ear, every breath hot and labored, gradually evening out. I shifted to get more comfortable and realized his jeans were damp against my stomach. I felt him smile against my ear.
“I’m not sure which of us made more of a mess, but I definitely feel your blood seeping through my shirt.”
“Is that what you call that thing? I thought you stole the bug screen from someone’s window. They’re going to get a nasty surprise when mosquito season hits.” I laughed breathlessly, feeling high.
He bit my earlobe, and I grunted, squirming beneath him.
“I’m leaving, but I need to borrow some clothes.”
“Not interested in doing the walk of shame covered in cum and blood?”
“Exposing other people to bio hazards without their consent would be a dick move.”
“You’d hardly be the first person to get cum on the seat of a ride share.”
He levered himself up on both arms and looked down at me. “You’re much calmer than I expected.” Leaning down, he kissed me.
I kissed him back.
“There’s never any point in being upset about something that already happened.” Incredibly, I was smiling at him. “Do you still want to kill me?”
“It’s too late for that, especially now that I’ve left my mark on your beautiful chest.” His smile was heart stopping as he traced a finger through the damage he’d done, then popped the bloody finger into his mouth. Atthe taste of my blood, his eyes unfocussed, as though I was a sinful dessert he was savoring. I should have been disgusted, but he pinned my wrists and kissed me yet again, passing the taste of copper between our tongues. My dick twitched in interest, but I was going to need a few minutes to recover.
“How bad is it?” I asked, craning my neck to look down at the wound.
“You’ll probably be fine. The knife was new and disinfected, although I should have disinfected your chest, too.” He reached into my nightstand and withdrew a bottle. He opened it and dabbed it over the cuts he’d made as I hissed in pain.
“Is that disinfectant?”
