15. Erica
Cain spins me around and tucks the gun into his waistband, but I don’t consider fighting back or going for the knife he left on the counter.
I’m outmatched.
His right hand closes around my neck, painfully tight and sure to leave bruises.
I can tell from the glimmer in his eyes that he loves the way my pulse hammers against his fingers.
His free hand yanks down my pants and underwear in one go.
“Step out of your clothes,” he orders.
This time, I obey.
As a reward, Cain releases my throat, and I gulp for air.
He glances down at my discarded clothes and a smirk lifts his mouth.
“One day you’ll have to admit that you’re a sick, broken freak like me. Only a disturbed slut soaks through her panties from being threatened with a gun.”
Shame curls like an angry serpent through my belly.
I don’t have to look to know he’s telling the truth.
The warmth between my thighs is unmistakable.
Cain grips me around the waist and lifts me.
He sits me down on the edge of the island, the marble pressing icy cold against my naked ass.
He picks up the knife I threatened him with and he spreads my legs wide before stepping between them.
His eyes hood with morbid lust as he brushes the tip of the blade under my chin.
“Beg me to cut you, little dove. I know you want it.”
“I don’t.” My meek tone is unconvincing.
He breathes a snicker.
“You’re a lousy liar. I knew what you wanted from the moment we met. It was obvious you were looking for pain, somebody to let out the rage and terror you bottle up inside.”
My stomach cramps.
“You might not like it, but I’m the monster you need, darlin’. No other man can make you feel like I do. And when you finally get that through your pretty, stubborn skull, you’ll be on your knees, crawling at my feet and begging me to hurt you.”
He lowers the knife to my thigh, pressing the flat side to it.
The cold seeps into my skin, making me squirm.
“Now ask me to cut you,” he repeats.
“Please—” I choke on my embarrassment, and he slaps my leg with the blade.
I startle, forcing out the words.
“Please cut me, sir.”
“God, your voice sounds incredible when you beg. Hold very still. I don’t wanna slip and nick an artery.”
My breath catches as he drags the blade in a slow curve over the inside of my right thigh, just below my center, avoiding my tattoo.
The searing pain is intense, silky and rich.
I don’t mean to moan, but I can’t stop it.
Every neat cut sends shocks of lust to my pussy and my hand twists into his shirt as my blood drips on the floor.
Cain wields the large knife with the same precision he uses a delicate scalpel, yet I know these wounds are going to leave scars.
Being marked by this vicious man should be a terrible thought, but the pulsing between my legs grows.
My hips burn with the need to roll and grind, my cunt aching to be filled.
“Done.” Cain takes a step back.
“Look at it, little dove.”
Dazed, it takes me a beat to make sense of what I see etched into my skin.
CM
I stiffen.
The possessive asshole carved his goddamn initials into me to mark me as his property!
I expected random cuts, but not this .
“Do you like it?” Cain asks.
I have no answer for him.
I don’t have one for myself, either.
He crouches and pushes his head between my legs, and though he has already seen all of me, I flush.
There is something more intimate about this situation than the hookup in the motel or the sex in the operating theater.
His tongue flicks over the fresh wounds and his breath hits my slick pussy.
I jerk and he glances up, grinning.
The sight of my blood across his mouth has me spiraling deeper into the abyss of insanity.
So deep, I’m sure I’ll never climb out again.
I want to kiss my captor.
I want to lick my blood from his lips and taste it from his tongue.
“You look unbelievably hot with fresh cuts and bruises, darlin’,” he murmurs.
“They’re like tiny galaxies in between crimson constellations scattered over your skin. And I’m the God shaping your universe of pleasure and pain, one gentle strike and one careful slice at a time.”
Without warning, he sucks my clit between his lips.
A moan rips from my chest as I throw my head back, grinding against his face with reckless abandon.
I don’t care anymore if I seem desperate or if this is morally wrong.
He makes me feel too fucking good.
His tongue toys with my clit before he lets it slide out and sucks it back in.
He laps down along my slit, probing my pussy.
“Damn, you’re so wet, I don’t have to get you ready.”
“Don’t stop, please… I’m close…” I plead, attempting to grab his hair, but he pulls out of reach.
His smug grin has tears of frustration burning in my eyes.
“Why did you stop?”
“Because you have a lesson to learn.” He takes the dish towel from the counter and wraps it around the blade of the knife.
“If you wanna play with knives, you’re gonna come with your cunt wrapped around one, darlin’.”
He pushes the thick handle against my entrance and a pang of adrenaline shoots through me.
After the girth of his cock, the smooth wood slides into me with ease, but I’m still sore.
I moan as he shoves the hilt deeper and the temptation to look down at myself is too great to resist.
The knife is buried to the base inside me, the wrapped blade sticking out from my pussy.
A trickle of red flows from where Cain’s hand is holding it, his pinky missing the fabric shield.
He doesn’t care if he bleeds so long as he can fuck me.
While his other hand massages my clit, he takes up a punishing pace of thrusts.
He pumps the knife handle in and out of me and—oh my fucking God, the shape and slight bend at the end—it hits every orgasmic spot.
“Fuck,” I groan.
My eyes roll and I lay back on the cool marble.
“I think I’m going to—”
My climax tears through me with tidal force.
Stars explode under my skin.
My shaking legs instinctively wrench shut, but Cain’s body keeps them wide open.
When the fire inside me has died down, he withdraws the knife.
“I guess I don’t have to ask if you liked that ,” he says.
He holds my gaze as he licks my shimmering wetness from the handle, and I forget what words are or how to use them like a human being.
“You’re so damn delicious, I’ll eat your pussy as my last meal if they put me on death row.”
Confusion muddles my post-climax bliss while he puts the knife in the sink.
Wasn’t this supposed to be a punishment?
How strange that he didn’t ruin my orgasm.
Even stranger that he’s still hard and doesn’t want to get off, too.
Cain picks me up, cradling me in his arms as he walks to the stairs.
The warmth of his strong body is relaxing, and I hate to admit to myself that I kind of like it.
“Those cuts have to be cleaned and dressed. Don’t wanna risk you getting an infection,” he says and kisses the top of my head, speaking soft words into my hair.
“But don’t you fret. I’ll make sure they scar nicely. I don’t want you ever forgetting who you belong to.”
Who I belong to .
Butterflies surge in my belly.
I focus on the sting on my thigh and what it means.
Cain has marked me.
Forever.
As long as I live, I’ll carry his initials carved into my skin.
I lean my head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
A smile curls my lips, but I wipe it off in an instant.
I’m only playing along, only staying because I have nowhere else to go , I tell myself.
Because the house is gorgeous, and my stomach is full, and I get to sleep in a warm, cozy bed.
Because I don’t have to worry about bills or debt or being on the streets.
I’m only staying until I figure out an escape plan.
Not because I experience a bizarre sense of safety in his arms.
Not because he’s made me come harder than any other man before him.
Not because he makes me feel beautiful and alive.
“Can you stop being so hot and cold? It’s annoying,” I mumble into his shirt.
His laugh is a low, vibrating rumble.
“I thought I’m only ever hot.”
I roll my eyes.
“I mean things like this. First you threaten me, hurt me, fuck me, and treat me like I’m your toy. But then you carry me, wash me, feed me, take care of me.” My throat tightens when I realize what I said.
He is taking care of me, isn’t he?
“I told you I’m obsessed with you, little dove. It’s on you if you don’t believe me.” Cain squeezes me as he climbs the stairs.
What he says next would sound ridiculous coming from anyone else, but out of this handsome lunatic’s mouth, it makes perfect sense.
“Besides, torturing you always puts me in the mood to cuddle after, darlin’. It’s all about balance.”