Brutal Obsession (119)

“What do you want me to do, Violet?”

“Sit on the floor,” I whisper.

He does, leaning his back against the wall. I turn away from him and pull the sweatshirt off slowly, revealing my bare back. I don’t know why—he’s seen me naked. But there’s something erotic about stripping on purpose.

When I drop it, I bend forward, arching my back. My thumbs hook in my shorts, and I drag those down my legs. When they get to my ankles, I kick them away. I face him in just my panties and the knife in my grip. I motion to his shirt, which he quickly shucks. Then he shimmies out of his running shorts, leaving him in just tight black briefs. They do nothing to hide his erection.

I lower myself to my knees, straddling his lap. I inch closer, until only a breath of space separates our chests.

“What’s your plan, Violent?”

I smile at his nickname for me. It is a little violent. And violating. But he doesn’t stop me when I raise the knife and press the blade to his throat. I hold it there lightly, watching his face.

Doesn’t change.

He doesn’t flinch.

I move it lower, to his chest. One of his pecs. And then I just do it.

I cut him.

He lets out a small hiss, maybe of surprise? Or shock? But his cock twitches, getting even harder. I palm it and lean forward, kissing the edge of the cut. Blood wells up, little beads at first, but it’s deep. In seconds, the blood drips down his skin. I flick my tongue, catching it and letting the metallic flavor burst across my tastebuds.

Then I withdraw, meeting his eyes again.

He takes the knife from my hand and mirrors my movement, holding the blade first to my throat, then trailing it lower. Between my breasts, all the way to my navel, then back up. I shiver.

“Will they see it? With your leotard?”

I push his hand down my breast, until he’s only an inch or two above my nipple. “Don’t worry about it.”

He cuts me with the same ruthlessness. There’s a prick of pain, followed by a pulse that seems to shoot straight to my core. It stings, and we both watch it bleed.

“I think I know what you want,” he says. “You want my blood and yours. Together.”

Yes. I almost say it out loud. I want another thing binding us together. And what’s better than blood? I love that he knows it automatically. That he followed my line of thinking all the way through my fucked-up mind and ended up with the same conclusion.

He scoops me up and rises, turning and slamming my back to the wall. Our chests press together. He spares one hand to shove his briefs down, then slices through my panties. He folds the knife and tosses it away. It clatters to the floor.

I wrap my legs around his hips. The pain and blood are all I can focus on. Mirror cuts—my right and his left. When he thrusts into me, my mouth falls open. He takes advantage of that. His hand cups the back of my head and guides my face toward his. Our chests smash together as we move, the cuts rubbing.

Every inch of me is a live wire right now. Every point where we touch—our chests, arms, mouths, between my legs—is extra sensitive. He drills into me, each thrust knocking me harder against the wall. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and hold on to him. Our tongues war in our mouths, twisting and tasting each other. I hope he tastes his blood on my lips as I taste mine on his.

“You’re so fucking perfect for me,” he says, tearing his lips away and moving down my throat. I tip my head to the side and let him suck and bite my neck, knowing full well it’ll take extra time to cover those marks. But it’s so worth it.

He grips my ass and fucks me like he’s feral.

And maybe he is.

Maybe I am.

Because he doesn’t even have to touch my clit this time. I’m just knocked over the edge of a cliff, and my climax comes hard. I see stars when it crashes into me, and I dig my nails into his back.

“That’s it,” he urges. His hand slips between us, and his fingers on my clit bring me right back up before I’ve had a chance to come back down to earth. There’s too much sensation. I move his head away and lean down, sinking my teeth into his shoulder.

“Ah, fuck,” he growls. He rolls his hips. His fingers don’t stop.

I’m falling apart around him again when he quickens, then stops buried fully inside me.

My heart slams against my ribcage, and I twist my fingers through his short hair. He comes, and I press my lips to his, swallowing the noise. His heartbeat is as frantic as mine.

“Wow,” he murmurs.

Our fronts are covered in blood. Not a lot—the cuts weren’t that deep—but we’re streaked with dark brownish-red.

“Shower,” we say at the same time.

He doesn’t even put me down. He adjusts his grip and carries me to the bathroom. Only when we’re locked inside does he set me on the counter.

“When you spit in my mouth?” I say suddenly, gripping the edge.

He glances over his shoulder at me. “Yes?”

“I, um, liked that.” I cough to hide my smile. “Just saying.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yeah, so, feel free to do that again. When the mood strikes you.”

Grey crosses back to me and steps between my legs. One hand cups my pussy, and the other grips my chin. He pulls my mouth open and leans in.

“What do you like more?” he asks, flicking my clit. “When I touch you here, or… here?” His hand slides lower, and suddenly his finger is pushing into my asshole.