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Peter dropped his eyes. “She’s new, Sir V. I’m merely concerned her mind will break if you play with her too long.”
“That’s not your concern now, is it?”
“No, Sir V.”
“Your only concern is how to please me.” Victor’s voice turned to acid. “So…please me.”
“Yes, Sir V.” With a final snatched look at Ily, Peter leaned forward and deep-throated his Master’s cock.
Ily let out a savage little scream.
Another stream of foreign language spilled out of her.
She thrashed and fought.
Her belly flexed with panic. Her legs flailed uselessly.
I crossed my arms while she lost herself.
I sank even deeper into the heart of darkness that made everything so viciously free. Her goodness was what made her sad for Peter. Her kindness would be her downfall. I wanted to take every shred of that empathy and sympathy and burn it to fucking dust.
Raising the pipette again, I squeezed out her clotting blood.
“Seventeen.” I grunted as the plop stained my palm.
“Eighteen.” I groaned as Ily stopped fighting and hung dejected and drained in her chains.
“Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-one. Twenty-two.” I kept counting, losing myself deeper and deeper with every drop. “Twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five.” By the time drop number thirty puddled in my hand, I could barely stand up straight.
I ached.
Fucking ached to snap every restraint and be done with this fucking game.
I wanted to drink from the source. Lap from her vein. Count as each bead soaked directly onto my tongue.
Ignoring the sucking noises behind me, I smeared my palm over my heart in the exact spot where I’d drawn the blood from Ily.
Her eyes met mine.
She shook her head with a wet-sad stare.
And I lost myself.
Time ceased to exist as I cut her again, this time above her belly button, slicing through perfect tender skin. Ten droplets from there. Ten to mark my own stomach.
My eyes drifted to her bare pussy.
To the trimmed line of curly black hair.
To the part of her that I’d claimed twice, yet hadn’t truly mastered.
She’d given me her body because she believed I was better than what I was.
It was time I took her against her will because I would never be anything more than a beast.
With steadfast hands, I unbuttoned and unzipped.
Shoving down my trousers, I wrenched off my boxers and stood before my jewel as bare as her.
She didn’t react.
Her eyes filmed over with horrors.
Her skin pallid and cold.
I didn’t like it.
I hated it.
She’d given me no reaction when I’d been an idiotic wannabe hero—a monster doing his best to be a saint. She’d frustrated me as I’d used her, and she fucking irritated me now that I obeyed no such pact.
I wanted her tears.
Her struggles.
I wanted her to break.
Yet she merely blinked with dead eyes and did her best to ignore me.
Let’s see how she ignores this.
Dropping to my knees between her spread and buckled legs, I looked up at her as if I truly did dwell in hell. She stiffened as I pressed the knife against her ankle, nicking her with a nasty flick.
Tears trembled on her lower lashes, but she didn’t try to kick me again. Didn’t mutter words I didn’t know or see things I couldn’t envision. She merely sighed and closed her eyes as if she sought inner peace.
Allowing her to avoid me for just a little longer, I siphoned up her blood, surprised at how many drops filled the pipette.
I must have cut deeper than I thought as fifteen pretty beads of blood filled my palm.
I smeared them on my matching ankle before reaching for her other one.
She didn’t even suck in a breath as I sliced her again just above the leather binding her.
Not as much in this harvest.
Merely eight little droplets to stain my skin, painting me in primitive ink.
What’s that? Sixty-three so far?
My mind didn’t want to keep count anymore.
It wanted more than just one hundred and two measly drops.
It wanted all of them.
As I worked my way up her legs, cutting and drawing, counting and smearing, my humanity kept falling away. Stripping me from clothes, shoes, and belongings. Erasing money and hardship and ego. I reverted to my ancestors who painted their conquests on cave walls. Celebrating their hunts as they killed their prey and used the blood of their meals to tell stories of their mightiness.
The insides of her knees bled nicely. Giving me thirty combined from both.
Ninety-three.
Panting heavily, swallowing hard against the vicious urges to taste, I reared taller on my knees and clamped my hands on her hips. The slim switchblade kissed her where I held it, the dropper in my other hand.
Her eyes flared wide.
Her breath caught.
My thumbs moved of their own accord, caressing her like I’d done in the past when all we’d had was secrets and whispers.
I did my best to stop, but they kept stroking her delicate, almost translucent skin.
She shifted in her binds.
