My Bloody Valentine

17. Maya

17

MAYA

I wake, immediately aware of Adrian’s muscled arm draped possessively across my body. Blood thunders in my ears as memories flood back—the mask, the knife, the way he commanded and claimed me. A chill unrelated to the cool air on my bare skin sweeps over me.

He’s psychotic. A murderer who drugs women and uses cum and blood in his chocolates. I should be terrified, should be plotting my escape. And yet... heat pools low in my belly as I remember how he pushed me to the edge, how he seemed to know exactly what I needed. No one has ever made me feel completely owned and thoroughly satisfied.

The dirty fantasies I’ve kept locked away, the ones I never dared share with anyone—Adrian brought them all to life. The skull mask that should have frightened me only heightened my arousal. His forceful dominance, the blade’s cold caress... I squeeze my thighs together at the memory.

I shift away from him, trying to resolve the war between my rational mind and traitorous body.

Adrian stirs behind me, his arm tightening around my waist. “Going somewhere, little critic?” His voice is rough with sleep but no less commanding.

My breath catches. “I... no.”

The truth in that simple word terrifies me more than any blade could. Because despite knowing exactly what kind of monster Adrian Vale is, a bigger piece of me wishes to stay right here in his arms.

Adrian’s voice is like warm honey, dangerously seductive. “You’re a good girl, Maya. So perfect for me. Soon, you’ll understand me well enough to accept all of me.”

At his words, I shiver. Should I accept him? I don’t think I will ever truly accept him. But even as my mind rejects the idea, my body yearns to submit, to learn more.

“Now that you’re awake, it’s time for us to continue our exploration.” He reaches for the knife on the bedside table, and my breath catches. His fingers trail lightly along the blade, and I see the glint of hunger in his eyes—it mirrors mine.

I watch, transfixed, as he brings the knife closer, his thumb gently stroking my inner thigh. “You’ve been mine since the moment we met.”

With a swift, sure motion, he cuts me. A sharp sting and then warmth as a bead of blood forms. I feel lightheaded, arousal mixing dangerously with the aftereffects of the drugs. He leans down, his lips close to my ear. “Let me show you how deep this goes.”

Adrian lowers his mouth to my wound, his tongue lapping gently at the blood. My body arches instinctively toward him as a low groan rumbles through his chest. His mouth on my skin sends sparks of pleasure through me, and a part of me wonders if it’s the blood that’s made his kiss so electrifying.

His tongue teases my wound, gently probing, and I whimper as the pleasure intensifies. I’m helpless to do anything but feel. Feeling the sharp bite of the knife, the heat of his mouth, and the rush of my blood as he tastes me. I’m completely under his spell, caught in a sensual web of pain and pleasure.

“You like that, don’t you?” His voice is deep and satisfied as he pulls away, licking his lips. “You’re just as addicted to the depravity as I am.”

“No,” I gasp, pulling away from his blood-stained lips. “This is wrong. You’re a murderer.”

But Adrian’s fingers trace the cut on my thigh, making my breath catch as he applies pressure to the wound—it stings and throbs.

“Am I?” His blue eyes bore into mine. “Or am I an artist who understands that true creation requires sacrifice? The hollow ones I choose—they waste their lives. I give them purpose, transform them into something beautiful.”

I close my eyes, fighting against the way my skin burns for him. “That’s insane. You can’t justify murder by calling it art.”

“Yet here you are,” Adrian’s thumb circles my inner thigh, “trembling with an ache for a murderer you claim to reject. Your body knows what you need. Stop fighting it.”

“I won’t be like you.” My voice wavers as his hand slides higher. “I can’t...”

“Can’t what?” He leans close, his breath hot against my neck. “Can’t admit that you crave this? That you want to taste the forbidden? I see how your pupils dilate when I touch you. How your pulse races when I show you my true nature.”

My body betrays me, arching into his touch even as I try to pull away. His fingers find me wet and ready, and I hate myself for responding to him.

“Stop,” I whisper, but there’s no conviction in my voice.

Adrian’s eyes narrow. “Your lips say stop, but your body begs for more. You’re mine now. The sooner you accept that, the sooner I can show you pleasures beyond your wildest dreams.”

I close my eyes, blocking out his words and ignoring how right he feels. His touch sets me on fire, making me want things I shouldn’t—things that terrify me.

“I won’t...” I start to protest, but Adrian’s mouth claims mine in a bruising kiss that tastes of copper and sin.

He pulls away, breaking the spellbinding kiss. I’m breathless, my heart pounding in my chest. My body aches with need, every nerve ending tingling with anticipation.

“You’re so beautiful, Maya,” he murmurs, his eyes trailing over my body possessively. “I want to explore every inch of you. To see you fully surrender.”

My pulse quickens as he retrieves a blindfold and binds it gently over my eyes. The room darkens, heightening my other senses. As the fabric brushes against my skin, I shiver, a tantalizing preview of the restraint to come.

Slowly, deliberately, he binds my wrists above my head, securing them with silk scarves. I’m spread out before him, utterly vulnerable and exposed. A thrill runs through me, and I bite my lip to muffle a moan.

“Perfect,” he breathes, his lips grazing my ear. “Now, let me taste you.”

The tip of his knife teases my skin, trailing lightly down my neck, across my collarbone, and lower. I tense, anticipating the sharp bite of the blade. Still, he only grazes me, leaving a trail of tingling sensitivity in its wake.

With the flat of the knife, he runs it up the curve of my throat. I feel the whisper-soft touch of his lips against my pulse, his breath hot and intimate against my skin. My heart hammers, anticipating the razor-thin edge of the blade.

I gasp as the knife’s edge breaks the surface. Adrian’s mouth is on it instantly, his tongue lapping gently, tasting me. My body arches toward him, electricity shooting through me where his mouth touches.

“Such sweet blood,” he whispers, his lips moving against my skin. “And so much more to taste.”

His tongue teases my wound, and I moan, my body bucking against the restraints. I’m aware of every sensation, the scrape of the knife against my sensitive skin, the heat of his skin against my bare legs, the contrast of his wet mouth on my flesh.

“My exquisite little critic,” he murmurs, his fingers lightly tracing patterns on my stomach. “Tell me, have you ever felt so alive?”

I open my mouth to respond, but he cuts me off with a hard, demanding kiss. His tongue invades my mouth, demanding and possessive, even as his fingers gently stroke my most sensitive spots. I taste my blood on his lips, and it only turns me on because it tastes of pure obsession.

His mouth leaves mine, trailing kisses down my throat and lower. He skips over places I want him to touch, teasing me, driving me wild with need. His mouth hovers over my breasts, his breath teasing my already taut nipples.

“Adrian,” I plead, my body aching for release. “Please.”

But he only laughs, the sound sending shivers through me. “No rush. We have all the time in the world.”

He continues the slow, torturous path down my body, his mouth paying homage to every inch of skin. Sharp nips with his teeth make me cry out, followed by soothing licks that send shivers through me. He owns more and more of my body with each touch, branding me. When his lips reach my stomach, he pauses, his breath hot against my sensitive skin.

“You’re so beautiful, Maya,” he murmurs, his voice thick. “So responsive. Every touch, every taste... it’s like you were made for me.”

I burn with need, aching for him to keep going. I feel him smile against my skin before he continues his journey, this time with open-mouth kisses that leave me breathless. Lower and lower he goes, his hands gripping my thighs, spreading me open as he settles between my legs.

His tongue traces patterns on my inner thighs, teasing me and making me squirm. Every muscle tenses as he finally reaches my center, his breath ghosting over me. I try to grind against him, seeking relief, but he holds me firmly in place, his hands unyielding.

“So eager,” he says, his voice laced with satisfaction. “But I want you desperately begging before I give you release.”

“Please, Adrian,” I whisper, my face flushing beneath the blindfold. “Please.”

His tongue teases me, lapping lightly at my folds, tasting my essence. I moan, my body arching, but he pulls away, tormenting me with soft kisses and gentle sucking along my inner thighs.

“Not yet, little critic.” His voice is husky. “I want you to lose control. To beg me for it.”

I’m dizzy with need, my body throbbing with pent-up tension. “Adrian, please. I need you. Now.”

He laughs gently, the sound making my skin tingle. “Impatient, aren’t we? But I can’t blame you. The anticipation is delicious, isn’t it?”

He nuzzles against me, his breath hot. I feel his tongue flicker lightly, teasing my clit but never quite touching it. A whimper escapes my lips, and I shift restlessly against the restraints.

“Confess your deepest desires to me.”

“I want you,” I gasp. “Please, just touch me.”

With a low groan, he finally gives me what I’ve been begging for. His tongue delves into my pussy, tasting, exploring, and driving me wild. His mouth works magic, sending shocks of pleasure through me.

But just as I’m teetering on the edge, he pulls away, replacing his tongue with his fingers. They slide deep inside me, stretching and filling me as his thumb finds my swollen clit. He circles it with maddening slowness, building the pressure back up.

“Adrian,” I moan, bucking my hips. “I’m—I’m close. Please, don’t stop.”

He laughs, the sound vibrating through me. “I’m just getting started because tonight, I plan to feast.”

His mouth returns to my clit, sucking firmly. Electricity shoots through me, and I cry out, my body arching off the bed. My restraints dig into my wrists as I pull helplessly against them.

“Crumble for me, little critic,” he growls, his teeth grazing my clit. “Let me taste your surrender.”

I shatter into a million pieces, my body convulsing with the force of my release. My blindfolded eyes squeeze shut as I cry out his name, waves of pleasure washing over me.

He keeps his mouth on me, drawing out my orgasm until I’m gasping and sobbing, overwhelmed by the intensity. Only when I’m reduced to a trembling mess does he finally pull away, kissing his way up my body to capture my lips in a deep, passionate kiss.

His mouth tastes of my essence, and I’m shocked to find that I like it, that it only adds fuel to the fire between us. I kiss him back fiercely, my body still thrumming with aftershocks.

“We’ve only scratched the surface,” he whispers, his lips ghosting over mine. “The night has just begun.”

The silk blindfold slides away, and I blink against the dim light. Adrian’s face comes into focus—those stunning blue eyes burning with possession, his lips curved in a satisfied smile. My blood stains his mouth, stark crimson against his pale skin.

What the hell is wrong with me? I’m tied up in a murderer’s lair, bleeding from where he cut me, and instead of screaming for help, I just begged him to make me come. My body still pulses with aftershocks of pleasure even as my mind recoils at what just happened.

He killed people. He uses their blood in his chocolates and sells them to unsuspecting customers. These same lips that just brought me to ecstasy have tasted death. The thought should disgust me, should make me sick to my stomach. Instead, heat pools low in my belly as I remember how his tongue felt against my skin, how he savored the taste of my blood like it was the finest chocolate.

I’m losing my mind. That has to be it. The drugs he gave me earlier must still be affecting me, warping my thoughts, making me crave things I shouldn’t want. But even as I try to blame the chemicals, I know the truth—I wanted this before he ever drugged me. From that first taste of his chocolate, I sensed the darkness within him and yearned to explore it.

His fingers trace the cut on my thigh, making me shiver. “Having regrets?”

Yes. No. God, I don’t even know anymore. Everything I thought I knew about myself, about right and wrong, is crumbling in the face of this fucked-up desire. I should be fighting against these restraints, should be screaming for help. Instead, I arch into his touch, silently begging for more.

What kind of person does that make me? That I know what he is, what he’s done, and still want him? That the taste of blood on his lips only makes me burn hotter?