Freckles

Chapter 23

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

KINCAID

My reflexes kick in, knocking her hands aside so the blade plunges into the flesh of my upper arm, missing my chest.

And fuck, it hurts. The wound is pure fire.

Without thinking, I tug the knife free and throw it on the floor.

Blood gushes from the injury, making my stomach churn until the pain recedes. Francesca scrambles to get away and I grab her with both hands, ignoring the trail of heat from my left arm. “Keep going.”

Her pale face turns to mine, a stunned look in her eyes. “Wh-what?”

“I said, keep going.” I thrust up into her, and she slowly gets the idea, resuming the tentative movements that clouded my judgement. “You feel so good, riding me. Don’t stop.”

With my bad arm circling her waist, I swipe my fingers across the wound, gathering blood before I push my fingers into her mouth.

And she takes them.

Not just takes them, she sucks them, holding them steady while her tongue licks them clean, a lollipop of gore.

“That’s it, Freckles,” I mutter, and I’m ready to explode. “Ride me like a fucking cowgirl.”

The sight of her obeying, every thrust moving deeper, is a rapture for my twisted soul. Nothing has ever been as vivid, as engulfing as the need that overtakes my common sense. She’s perfect. More perfect than I ever imagined.

This is a girl I could tell my truth to and never have to worry that she’d turn her face in dismay.

I grasp her tighter, turning so her back is flat on the mattress, drops of crimson falling onto her chest, the same colour like lipstick around her greedy mouth. Her green eyes darken in contrast, fire crackling in her long hair.

“Are you ready?”

Her lips rise to claim mine, the answer in the salty iron tang of her tongue. In the wet warmth of her tight cunt, gripping until my balls tighten, my dick twitches, and my seed explodes high into her waiting body. Convulsions shudder through me as I drench her insides with my cum.

Even spent, my cock barely softens and I leave it inside her, taking her with me as I roll onto my back, her weight the perfect pressure against my chest.

When I flex my dick, she laughs, lifting her head to examine me, reading my expression with as much intensity as I read hers.

My blood has smeared across her chest, and I drag my fingertip through, pushing it into her mouth, brain humming at her suction. Thoughts flicker behind her eyes. Her body grows tenser as her eyes trace the damage, perhaps fearing repercussions.

“I suppose it’s only fair,” I whisper, “that since I made you bleed last time, you get to do the same.”

Her laugh comes easier this time, reaching her eyes. I lose myself in her freckles, the endless galaxies painted on her skin.

“Aren’t you going to fetch me a Band-Aid?” I tease.

“Thought I’d wait to see if you’d finished.”

She props herself on her elbows, hair trailing across my face, tickling as it hides us in a long curtain.

Her cunt squeezes me, and my dick responds, growing harder, insisting on a round two. “If this is what a bit of blood play gets me, you have permission to stab me any time you want.”

I twist so we’re on our sides, still locked together, my movements languid as my satiated body slowly stirs, taking its time to recover.

My lips find hers, tasting the remnants of my blood in her mouth, savouring the flick of her tongue. I kiss further, licking along the curve of her throat, tasting the salty treat of her skin, the light sheen from her exertion as addictive as the rest of her.

“Where did you go today? Besides the pawn shop.”

There’s a slight hesitation. “I was at the clinic, getting birth control.”

“You went on the pill?”

“An IUD.” She wrinkles her nose.

I take her hand from where it’s caught between our bodies, kissing each knuckle, stroking her fingers. “You know I’d support you if anything happens. You and our baby.”

“If your uncle doesn’t like things that cost him money, a teenager pregnant with his nephew’s child won’t exactly be a celebration.”

“Let me worry about my uncle.”

Francesca wrinkles her nose, then sits up in alarm, slipping off me. “Shit. You’re still bleeding.”

She gets off the bed and puts my rugby shirt back on before leading me into the bathroom. I lean against the sink and the wound throbs as she cleans it, staunching the flow of blood. Occasionally her tongue flicks out, wetting her lips, then she snags the bottom one between her teeth, as though the pain helps her concentrate.

“Keep still,” she orders, the deep V of her frown line appearing. I touch it with my finger and her face scrunches a little more, but she doesn’t flinch away.

Somewhere in the past hour, Francesca forgot she’s scared of me at all.

“I’m serious,” she snaps as I grab at her hair, rubbing the bright strands between my fingers. “Keep moving around like this, and it’ll scar.”

“Nothing wrong with a few scars. They can join my collection.”

Her eyes meet mine, then flick away. The cloth she’s using to clean the wound is already soaked through with watery crimson. I’m not sure it’s absorbing the weakening flow any longer or just moving it around.

“A shower would work better.”

She snorts. “You wouldn’t fit into the cubicle.”

Instead, she runs a bath, already knowing I can squeeze into the tub. The bloody rag gets tossed in the sink to soak.

“Are you gonna join me?”

“I’m not the one covered in blood.”

I lean forward, thumb wiping a few specks from her chin.

“Doesn’t count.” She grabs a loofah from the shower cubicle and a container of liquid soap while I lower myself into the water. “Lean forward and I’ll scrub your back.”

With her perched on the rim, it’s all I can do not to drag her in with me, but I obediently lean forward, closing my eyes as she lathers in circles, across my shoulders, along my spine, painstakingly covering every square inch of skin.

“I think you got all of it,” I tease as she rubs the nape of my neck for the third time. “There is another whole side of me, you know.”

“Just being thorough,” she says in a prim voice that drives me wild. “Lean back, then.”

I do, enjoying the way she steals tiny peeks at me. I love the moments when her curiosity transforms into admiration, giving me an ego boost and showing the attraction isn’t one-sided.

After the only girl I’ve ever given a damn about stabbed me, I need something to prove I’m on the right track.

“Did I hurt you?”

Yes. You made me feel too much and I don’t know where to put it.

But Francesca is only just warming to me. Telling her details like that will make her bolt in the other direction.

“That depends,” I say instead, taking her wrist and guiding her to where my body is desperate to be stroked clean. “Did you want to?”

“If it teaches you a lesson, yes.”

I drag the loofah farther along my chest, bringing her with it, and she nearly tips into the water, squealing with a mix of laughter and fright.

“You’ve already drowned me once,” she scolds, sinking onto her knees beside the bath instead. “No repeats.”

A shadow crosses her face as she leans forward, the full weight of her body pressing into her knees. Her jaw clenches, her eyes stare into the middle distance. Then she sniffs, shaking her head.

“Okay.” I hold up my arms. “I’ll keep my hands to myself, but you’ll need to wash me everywhere. No skipping.”

Her expression brightens until it hurts to look directly at her.

“What was your plan?” I ask, genuinely interested in how much thought she’d given this attack. “After you were successful, what were your plans for the six-foot-four corpse in your bedroom?”

She sits back on her heels. “Set a fire and watch you burn.”

“Do you know how long that’d take?”

“Who cares? I wouldn’t be sticking around for all of it.”

“Just long enough to toast some marshmallows, right?” The smile she gives me is wide, genuine, and shrinks my chest until it’s ten sizes too small. “I’m not sure you’re safe to be around.”

“That’s the idea,” she retorts. “You’re meant to stay away.”

But it’s hard to take the words seriously when she lathers the loofah again, sliding it over the muscles of my chest and abdomen, eyes fixed to the slow progress like she doesn’t want to miss a second.

Her lashes flutter, and she gives a shy smile. “What would you do? If you had to dispose of a six-foot corpse?”

The tone is teasing, but there’s a haunted look to her eyes. “Are you sure you can stomach the details?”

“Pretty sure. My favourite movies are horror.”

I run my fingers through her hair and this time she lets me, gaze steady as she waits for the answer. “My uncle has an abattoir. A few minutes with the machines and I could break a body into manageable chunks, then mince the flesh, grind the bones into paste, and pour it into the slurry.”

There’s a second where she looks… disappointed? Just a flash, there and gone. Then she leans over the tub, soaping my body, cleaning it with long strokes that turn my mind dirty.

“What are these from?” she asks, tipping a handful of water over my side to clear the bubbles. Her fingertip traces the outline of the scars there. The parallel lines too neat to be anything but deliberate.

“Are we at the point in our relationship where we’re comparing scars?”

Francesca’s brow furrows, eyes briefly meeting mine before she stares at the lines again. “I don’t have any. Not on the outside.”

I cup her neck, pulling her into a kiss, the urge immediate and overwhelming. Although her shoulders stiffen in surprise, her lips are soft, yielding. They make my skin erupt into tingles, amplifying each gentle touch.

“Your fingers will scar.” I take away the loofah and straighten them, exposing the two with red lines sliced across the pads. “No more knives, you hear me? You could’ve really hurt yourself.”

An incredulous expression crosses her face, and she bursts out laughing. “Are you serious? I just tried to stab you in the heart, and you’re worried about a scratch.”

“You could’ve done some nasty damage. Was it loose under your pillow this whole time?” When she nods, I clutch her hand to my chest. “What if you’d flailed about at night? You could’ve severed a tendon.”

“I don’t sleep in bed most nights.”

A moment after the admission slips from her mouth, she stares at the floor, avoiding my searching gaze.

“Where do you sleep?” But even though she shrugs instead of answering, I can guess. “In the car? But what’s wrong with the house?” I sit up, sloshing a wave of water over the lip of the tub. “Are there weird chemical readings or something? Is it the mould on the walls?”

She pouts. “A gentleman doesn’t mention the mould on a lady’s walls.”

We stare at each other for a full second, then explode into laughter. “That’s the worst euphemism I’ve ever heard.” I cup my arm when my shaking shoulders makes the pain flare, the wound indignant I’m having fun.

And I am. I’ve never experienced this intense burst of emotion.

It’s usually just the anger, a constant pulse. That and the nagging sensation that if I strip away the perks of my uncle’s largesse, there’s nothing left. Underneath the car, the house, the clothes, even the sporting ability, my only use is following orders. Not man enough to be a bigger player.

Francesca’s fingertips travel along the old scars again and I realise I never gave her an answer and wouldn’t with anyone else.

I lie, even to myself, insisting I don’t remember.

“Mum raised me on her own. When she was working, she’d leave me with my grandfather. He was old school, had a strict set of rules, and I was a contrary little shit, who ended up with a few beatings.”

“But these—”

She bites off the words, shrinking away, and I realise my hand is gripping the side of the tub, face twisted in a scowl.

I force myself to relax back into the water. “Sorry, I don’t… It’s not something I’m used to talking about.”

“You don’t have to tell me. It’s okay.”

“No, it’s…” I stare at my fingers on the porcelain. “Come into the bath with me. I won’t do anything bad, I promise, but I can’t…”

She frowns as I flounder for the words, giving up and sinking farther down in the tub, my knees bent at a ninety-degree angle.

“Promise you won’t dunk me again.”

“Never.” She strips off her t-shirt and frowns at the bath, already full of water and me.

“Turn around,” I order, then stand and cross my arms under her breasts, lifting her against me before carefully sitting, folding her into the tub.

“Manhandle me, why don’t you?”

“Glad I have your permission.” I bury my nose into her hair, inhaling the scent of feijoas, apples, and a tang of something chemical, hairspray or the like.

It’s easier to explain when she’s facing away from me. Easier with her wriggling body inside the embrace of my arms.

“The marks on my back are from a belt buckle. He’d give me a number, and I had to count out loud for each strap. It started with the leather on my palm and progressed to my back. Then he reversed ends so the metal would score my skin and make it bleed.”

Her arms tighten over mine, the only way she can hug me while facing away.

I rest my forehead against the back of her head, closing my eyes, forcing myself to continue. “When that stopped giving him the desired result, he cut me. One day, the wounds were deep enough, they bled during school, staining my clothes until a teacher noticed. That’s when my uncle stepped in. He would take me on outings when Mum was working.”

A choice of words that doesn’t quite cover the situation. It makes it sound like we went to the movies or a theme park, not out to tense meetings between criminals, embroiled in a constant game of one-upmanship with deadly consequences.

“Is that why you live with your uncle?”

“No, it’s… I don’t have anyone else. My mother stole money from the business and absconded overseas before he could retaliate.”

Her voice fades to a whisper. “And left you here?”

“It’s not as bad as it sounds. I spent a lot of time taking care of myself, anyway.” I grab the floating loofah, giving it another pump of liquid soap before gently washing Francesca, lifting her arms, soaping between her fingers, taking my sweet time with her breasts and her pussy and the slender curve of her throat. “What about you? Where did your mother get to?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know. She won’t answer her phone.”

I think she’s about to explain more, then shrugs, linking her fingers through mine and squeezing. “I’m sorry I stabbed you.”

Tears clog her voice, and I want to blurt, it’s okay. She doesn’t need to apologise, but I stay silent.

Something else is happening between us and I don’t want to shortchange her if she needs to speak.

“It’s scary living here alone. I didn’t want to kill you, but I need to protect myself.”

“You never have to protect yourself again. That’s my job, now.”

“Unless you’re the one I need protection from.”

Her head tilts back and I twist until we can look each other in the eye because she has to understand, and the words are too easy on their own. “I will never harm you, Freckles. I may make spank you until your arse is on fire, and you beg me to stop, but never any lasting damage. Fear the rest of the world as much as you want. You’ll never have to fear me.”

Relief and reluctance mix in her expression, but that’s okay. She doesn’t need to believe me today; I will prove myself to her.

“From now on, promise you’ll only stab me for fun.”

She convulses with laughter, covering her eyes with her hand, the vibrations sinking into my body until I’m laughing along with her, hugging her more closely as the water cools.

As she settles, Francesca shifts in my embrace, squirming to get comfy.

“I shouldn’t want you,” she mutters, softly pouting. “I shouldn’t want you at all.”

My throat aches with the sweetest pain as I hug her close to me, pressing soft kisses to the top of her head.

I shouldn’t want you.

It’s not a love sonnet gushing with flowery language but it’s real and it’s spontaneous.

It will do.