Chapter 32
Igathered everything we needed and laid it on the nightstand.
Alcohol wipes.
My blade.
Gauze.
Tape.
Scarring oneself wasn’t something to be taken lightly, and any misstep could mean a medical emergency. I’d never forgive myself if I landed Avery in the hospital because I made a stupid mistake.
So, we’d take precautions.
She was lounging against the pillows, clutching the blanket at her hips, observing me. She didn’t look scared or worried. Instead, her eyes were calm, confident, sure of the choice she’d made.
I grabbed the blade, immediately noticing how it felt heavier than usual as I palmed the grip, letting the reverence of this moment sink in.
I couldn’t believe she’d asked me to do this, to mark her up with my name, my claim. Seeing her take the dive into me solidified our connection. It wasn’t in my mind. She was here, breathing, waiting, wanting a permanent reminder of the deviant duo we’d become, a tangle of depraved love.
“Last chance,” I told her. “You can still change your mind.”
She shook her head. “I want this.”
I studied her for a moment, watching for any hint of hesitation, but there was none. She really was committed to this, to letting me carve myself into her skin. My chest tightened, overwhelmed with the thought she trusted me that much.
I kissed the untouched spot once more before putting on gloves and pouring alcohol on a cotton pad to clean the area and my knife. My breathing was shallow, chest tight, as I put the tip of the blade against her perfect, unmarked skin.
When I looked back up at her, she nodded, a slight smile on her lips and peace in her eyes. Even though the moment was silent, it wasn’t empty. It was full in every way that mattered.
I cut into her soft flesh.
The line was shallow, but it would be enough to leave behind a scar. I remembered the sting so well, I could practically feel it as her breath caught in her throat. She didn’t cry out, though; she just gritted her teeth.
I tried to focus on the task, not wanting to fuck up a single line. This had to be perfect.
Just like her.
She gripped the blanket with white knuckles as I completed the first letter—R.
I started the letter for my middle name—Blake—wincing with her as she hissed. This one probably hurt worse than the first, the initial rush of adrenaline that had dulled the pain already fading.
“Stay with me, baby,” I encouraged her. “You’re doing so well. Such a good girl for me, aren’t you?”
She nodded and whined a little, closing her eyes while I completed the last curve of the ‘B’.
Blood had welled up in both letters, but I caught the drips before they dotted the sheets. I cleaned the edges enough to continue, then carved the next letter—T—beside the rest, feeling guilty for hurting her as she groaned through the pain.
But fuck, did it make my cock so damn hard knowing Avery now had my initials on her, a permanent mark of my claim, one she could never deny. The proof was there now, carved into her smooth skin.
I grabbed a cool cloth to hold against her wound, taking extra care not to push too hard, and looked up at her face. She shook her head and covered her eyes.
“Don’t look at me like that right now,” she muttered.
“Like what?”
She deadpanned me. “Like you want to devour me.”
“I do,” I said in a low voice. “I own you, Av, not just here,” I said, removing the cloth and pointing at my initials—RBT. “But everywhere.”
I cleaned the cuts once more before taping gauze over her ribs.
“My turn,” I said, reaching for the alcohol.
“No,” she said quickly, grabbing it from me. “Let me do it.”
I nodded and watched as she followed all the steps I had, cleaning the small bare spot under my ribs, just above my self-inflicted scars, then cleaning the knife. She stared at it for a moment, like she was hyping herself up.
“Better hurry before I do it myself,” I joked, knowing she needed a push, a challenge.
She narrowed her eyes playfully and took a deep breath before positioning the blade against my skin. Her hands were shaking, and at the moment, I didn’t give a shit if I ended up with crooked ass lines, just as long as this woman branded me as hers before I gave in to the need to fuck her again.
The first cut was therapeutic, sending my head spinning with an overwhelmingly euphoric feeling. It didn’t hurt. It was heavenly.
“Is that okay?” she asked as she finished the 'A’.
“Perfect,” I said without looking down. I was too busy watching her eyebrows knit together as she focused.
“You didn’t even look,” she complained.
“I don’t need to, baby. You did it. It’s perfect.”
She smiled, a tenderness softening her eyes. “Can I keep going?”
“Don’t make me beg.”
She went back to work, carving the rest of her initials into my skin as my cock hardened with each burning slice, knowing my addiction only grew more dangerous with each letter.
She thought I was the one who ruined her.
But it was really the other way around.