Chapter 7 #2
Her pulse races beneath my fingers as I watch the skin of her chest turn the same shade of red as her cheeks.
It slowly blooms, traveling up her neck, and I have the sudden urge to sink to my knees and run my tongue along the trail of it.
Just imagining what her skin would taste like has me growing hard again.
This woman has a direct line to my dick, and I’m powerless to stop the thing from growing in her presence.
I swear I can feel the three letters of her name heating up along my skin.
I want to show her. I want to unzip my pants and let her see exactly what I’ve done to myself, what I’ve done for her.
Before she can look down and notice my body’s reaction, I pull a knife from my back pocket and hold it out to her. My other hand is still gripping her neck, and I reluctantly let her go so she can take the knife. When she sees it, her eyes widen in fear.
“It’s a present,” I tell her. “I’m not going to use it on you.”
I’m guessing other guys don’t need to say that when giving a girl a gift, but my words seem to relax her as she reaches out and grabs onto the black switchblade I bought for her.
It’s much smaller than the knives I use, but it’s sharp and could easily do a lot of damage.
Her hand is so much smaller than mine, making the knife look less like a toy and more like the weapon it is.
She lets out a soft gasp when she turns it over and sees My Little Cyn engraved into the handle, the silver script filling the small space.
Reaching out, I make sure the knife is aimed away from her and push the small recessed button. With a soft click, the three-inch blade springs out. She turns the knife over, eyes wide, and her inexperienced grip makes it painfully obvious that she’s never held a real knife before.
She takes her eyes off the blacked-out steel blade just long enough to ask, “Why did you get me this?”
“Because your pepper spray isn’t good enough.” Pointing at the knife, I say, “Next time use this.”
At the idea of stabbing someone, her grip falters, and the knife starts to slip from her fingers.
On instinct she tries to grab it, but I quickly wrap my hand around hers, protecting it from the sharp steel and letting it cut me instead.
The pain is quick and intense as my skin splits and blood wells in the small slice on my index finger.
The knife clatters to the floor as Cyn lets out a cute-sounding squeal while grasping my hand and pulling it towards her for a better look.
“I’m so sorry.” Her words are rushed and panicked, and I can’t take my eyes off her.
Usually I’m around people who would like nothing more than to see me hurt and bleeding, but my little Cyn looks positively appalled at the very idea of it.
The side of my mouth lifts in a grin, hidden behind the mask as she gives me a worried look and says again, “I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t have tried to grab it.”
“Then you would’ve been cut.”
Her brows furrow as she presses down to try and stop the bleeding. “Would that bother you?”
“It would,” I say, surprising myself just as much as her. She’s not family. I shouldn’t care if she gets hurt, but I do. The thought of her skin splitting open instead of mine feels wrong somehow.
“I don’t understand.”
That makes two of us, my little Cyn.
When I don’t say anything, she says, “I watched you kill those three men, and you didn’t seem even slightly upset about it, but now you do this to yourself just to keep me from getting cut?” Her beautiful red hair bounces as she shakes her head. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
“I told you before not to try and make sense of me. It’s a waste of time.”
She ignores what I’ve said and instead checks my cut.
It’s still bleeding, but it’s nothing that’s going to require stitches, and I’ve had much worse.
My blood stains her hands, and the sight of it has my cock starting to ache again.
When I move my hand and drag the pad of one finger along her bloody skin, her body freezes and her breathing picks up.
As focused as I am on the pretty picture of her wearing my blood, I keep an ear on her breathing, making sure she doesn’t start wheezing again.
My finger trails up her forearm, smearing the red on her in a way that feels like I’m marking her as mine.
“Krovinka.” I whisper the word behind my mask, but she hears it and turns her face up to look at me.
“What?”
I don’t answer and instead say, “You look beautiful wearing my blood.” Her lips part on a soft gasp when I bring my bloody fingers to her upper chest and trace a line along her skin, feeling the ribs beneath my fingers and knowing exactly what it feels like to sink a blade into this exact spot.
I don’t want to hurt her, though. I want a lot of things, but her pain isn’t one of them.
“Are you ever going to show me your face?” She whispers the question as my fingers trail up her neck, decorating her in my blood.
“You want to see my face, Cyn?” The question is teasing, making her cheeks heat up, the color almost matching her hair. “What if you see me and then feel the need to go to the police about what you saw?”
I give her a tsk-tsk and slowly shake my head. “I think it’s safer if I keep myself hidden.”
She seems disappointed when I don’t rip my mask off and instead reach down and grab the bloody knife that’s still lying on the floor. Grabbing her wrist, I pull her so she’s standing in front of me, her back to my front and my arm across her upper chest, holding her in place.
“What are you doing?” she asks, already trying to wriggle her way free.
I tighten my grip, making it clear she won’t be leaving until I allow it. When she settles down, I put the knife handle in her palm and curl my fingers around hers so she’s gripping the knife and I’m gripping her hand.
“I’m giving you a quick lesson in killing, Cyn.”
“I don’t want to kill anyone,” she says, and I almost laugh at how I’ve managed to find myself enamored with someone who is the exact opposite of me.
“You need to learn how to protect yourself. You were attacked,” I remind her. “If you’d had this, you could’ve protected yourself.”
When it’s obvious she still doesn’t think this is necessary, I surprise myself by saying, “Please let me teach you how to protect yourself.”
After a few seconds, she nods. “Okay. Show me.”
Squeezing her hand, I say, “Tighten your grip around the handle. There you go. Now, rest your thumb here and keep the knife close to you. Don’t wave it around. When you do stab, aim for the soft spots—neck, gut, genitals, even the eyes.”
“Eww,” she says, and I almost laugh.
“Don’t think about it.” I tighten my grip on her hand and thrust it out, so she’s stabbing an invisible stomach. “Fast and hard. Don’t think, just do it, and if all else fails, stick it in his stomach and pull sideways.” I move her hand to the side, like we’re eviscerating someone together.
She’s probably not as aroused by it as I am.
Keeping my hand firmly around hers, we squeeze the knife together as my fingers trail along her collarbone, tracing the hollow beneath it as the coconut scent of her shampoo muddles my senses, making it hard to think.
Letting go of her hand and leaving her armed and me vulnerable, I sweep her hair aside, exposing her bare neck and shoulder.
The mask I wear is custom-made, black neoprene that stretches across my face with a hard, resin layer over my nose and jaw, making the skull look like it’s floating over my own features.
It’s intimidating to look at, especially with the blood that’s stained it over the years, but it’s also surprisingly comfortable, and when I want, I can slip the bottom half down like a gaiter.
Within seconds, I’ve pulled it down so my mouth is free.
I’m drunk on the sight of my blood marring her perfect skin, the color blending in with her neck, staining her skin in a way that makes my mouth water.
She starts to turn, but I tighten my grip on her and lower my face so I’m nuzzling the crook of her neck, grazing my lips over her bloody skin.
Her body tenses in my arms, and a part of my brain is screaming at me to straighten up.
I never put myself at risk, but I’m completely defenseless right now, and if she wanted to, she could stab me in the head and run out the door.
With the scent of her filling my nose and the feel of her heart racing against my hand and her beautiful red hair around me, I can’t help but think it wouldn’t be a bad way to go.
She doesn’t raise her arm, though, doesn’t stab at me like I just taught her how to do. Instead, she softens in my grip and tilts her head even more, exposing more of her bare neck to me, freely giving me access to one of the most vulnerable parts on her body.
With my mouth pressed to her pulse point, I kiss a girl for the first time in my life.
She sighs, and I groan, quickly realizing that once will never be enough.
Hungry for her in a way that blocks out everything else, I lick and suck on the delicate skin of her neck, tasting my blood on her, and wanting more.
When my teeth scrape the crook of her neck, she moans and I’m too lost to pull my hips back before she’s pressing her ass against me.
I’d been keeping the evidence of my arousal from her, but the second she feels my hard length, she lets out a whimper that nearly undoes me.