29
Hayes
I can feel her anxiety any time I’m not distracting her in some way, and it heightens mine in turn. It’s something we’ve both dealt with our entire lives, something I’ve related to her about even though I try to play it off. But what we’re doing here helps. Maybe it’s the dominance that keeps my mind level and the submission for her, but either way, we’re both more at peace when she’s on her knees.
My jaw clenches and my fingers tap the chair as I watch her pace the kitchen. I need her. It bubbles over until I can’t take it anymore. “Strip off your clothes and crawl to me, Samara.”
Her shoulders slump slightly in relief like she’s desperate for me too. Every movement is quick, jerky, and completely without finesse as she bares herself for me and drops to her knees, but I see the change in her eyes as she crawls. The way she looks at me with reverence, with respect.
I feel the tug of my lips even though I had no intent to smile, it’s just impossible to fight it when she looks like this. “Good girl,” I praise, committing her beautiful expression to memory so I can call on it later. She looks like nothing bad will ever touch her, and somehow it makes me believe the same. Here and now, there are no Sons stalking us like prey. There isn’t an outside world at all, there’s only us. “Are you ready to make art with me again?”
I’ve left her alone for a few days to heal, but my new blade set is calling to me.
I can’t wait to show them to her.
“That depends,” she teases, settling between my legs. “Will you leave one that scars this time? The others are gone.”
“Yes,” I reply, the word coming out much more growly than I meant it to. “I’ll be sure my mark stays with you forever.”
And I know exactly what I want to carve into her flawless skin.
“Then I’m ready to make art.”
Lifting her up with ease, I toss her over my shoulder and take her to my room. I have to set her on the bed to get everything ready, biting my lip at the gasp she lets out when she sees the new knives gleaming from their carrying case. “I got these for you,” I admit, setting them next to her so she can examine them as I grab the white comforter. Just imagining how much blood will be on it soon has my cock hardening in my sweats. We didn’t stain it nearly enough last time. “You can hold them, but don’t touch the blades, okay? I already sanitized them.”
“The smaller ones I understand, and I’m okay with. But this one?” She gingerly picks up the handle of a butcher knife, easily twice the size of her hand. “I trust you, Hayes. I do. But you can’t be serious about using this one.”
I can’t fight the chuckle her fear elicits, nor the blood rushing down to my already throbbing cock. “Does that scare you, Hurricane?”
Closing the distance between us, I gently take it from her fingers and hold her gaze, watching those expressive blues go from curious to almost terrified.
“Yeah, it scares me, Hayes. That thing is fucking huge.”
“You’ve said that to me before,” I joke, tentatively reaching out to press the cool metal to her throat. “This one is just for that look in your eyes. The one you have right fucking now.”
It’s clear when she tries to get herself under control. She rolls her eyes, relaxes her shoulders slightly, smirks at me. But she can’t change the erratic beating of her heart, the shallow, rapid breaths making her chest rise. This knife scares her.
I still scare her.
Good.
I hum, sliding it along her flesh until that smirk is gone and her pupils are blown. “I can practically taste your fear, Samara. Do you know what that does for me?”
Reaching out for her hand, I guide it toward my cock so she can feel exactly how hard I am. Maybe it makes me fucked up that her fear turns me on, but that isn’t quite right. It’s not her fear, not directly. It’s the fact that even scared out of her mind, she still trusts me enough to submit fully. It’s the proof that she’d let me do anything to her I wanted.
“So what are you gonna do with it, Hayes?” she asks. “I’ll let you decide if I’m talking about your cock or the knife.”
It’s my turn to grin, but instead of answering, I lean in to kiss her with the blade still resting against her throat as I slip my tongue past her teeth and devour her for a little while.
One minute.
Two.
As much as I don’t want this to end, I remind myself I can pin her to the wall with a knife at her throat anytime I want and find the strength to pull away. “I want you to lay on your stomach this time, baby.”
She twitches, breathless and confused as she stares at the blade. “You’re gonna put that where I can see it, right?”
“Of course.” Fuck, this is hot. She’s fucking hot. “How about right here?”
I set it on the ground right above where she will lay so she’ll know where it is the whole time, hopefully keeping her heart pumping hard so her blood flows beautifully.
Yet she relaxes. Apparently being able to see it means she knows I can’t use it. Hmm.
“That works for me. Do you want me to lay down?”
I let her watch as I take off my clothes then nod for her to move, ghosting my hands along her skin the second she’s in place. “Have you been thinking about our art as much as I have?”
“Maybe,” she says quietly. “Probably.”
I’ll take it .
“I think about it all the time. When you’re cooking, walking around in those tight shorts... when you’re sleeping.” The amount of times I’ve stared at the thin skin on her wrists just so I could see the blood under the surface. Maybe there is something wrong with me, but if she enjoys it as much as I do, I don’t see the problem with it. We’ll be broken together.
“When I’m sleeping, Hayes?” She peeks over her shoulder, giving me that playfully judgmental look that drives me wild. “I’m wide awake now. Do you want me to pretend to sleep?”
“Not this time, beautiful. I want to hear you while I carve my last name into your back. How many letters do you think you can handle today?”
She pauses, licking her sinful lips. “Five letters, right? Do it all so they’re even.”
Her strength amazes me sometimes. “You can safeword at any point.”
I know she won’t.
It takes me a few moments to map out her back and pick a spot on her shoulder blade, my fingers tracing my name there so I can gauge her reaction.
She seems... pleased. “Why your last name and not your first? Less letters? ”
Because it will be your last name too one day.
“We can go with that, yeah. Less letters. Shh... focus on your breathing.” I wipe down her skin and grab my scalpel, showing it to her briefly as I mentally prepare to carve the S.
I’ve been thinking about doing this for longer than I care to admit, and now that we’re here, I have to take a moment to keep my hands from trembling in anticipation.
I’m finally gonna do it. I’ve marked her before, sure. Covered her with cum inside and out, left little bruises, even cuts that lasted days. But that could’ve been done by anyone. The hickies on her thighs could’ve been any asshole on the face of his planet, the cuts carved by any blade.
But this? My name? Our name? No one else could ever take credit for it. Even if she leaves me, every guy who ever bends her over will see who owned her first. Sarro. “Say my name, Samara. Say it.”
“Hayes fucking Sarro.”
Hayes. Fucking. Sarro.
I’m so fucking hard when the knife pierces her skin, the whimper she releases only spurs it on. I can’t deny what this woman does for me. No one else has ever made me feel even a fraction of what she does. They never could. She’s exactly what I need.
Every little moan she lets out, every whimper, every gasp proves it. These cuts are deeper, meant to scar. Meant to last. Meant to bleed . And with every letter, I come a little closer to understanding that I’ll never allow another man to come anywhere near her as long as she lives. She can try to move on, if she chooses. She can attempt to find someone new. She can deny that she was made for me until her lungs run out of air, but in the end, I’ll never let her go.
S-A-R-R-O.
A past full of pain, a future full of sorrow.
A blanket full of blood.
Now this is art.
“Hayes,” she gasps. “Are you done? It... it hurts.”
I have to fight the urge to tell her that I love her. “Yes,” I breathe. “I’m done, Hurricane. My beautiful hurricane.”
Setting the scalpel aside, I move to reach under her and spread her legs, running my fingers through the wetness I find there with a smile. “I know it hurts, baby. But you did amazing. Let me make you feel good now. ”
The metallic scent of blood fills my nose as I rub her clit, making her jerk. “Oh- fuck. N-No, I need you. Fuck me.”
I wouldn’t deny her for all the money in the world.
Without hesitation, I grip the base of my cock and shove it inside her, groaning at the tight, wet heat as she clenches around me. “Fuck, Samara.”
She lifts her hips, gripping the blanket and squirming. “Shut up and fuck me, Hayes. Hard.”
Growling, I slap a hand down on her ass and snap my hips. “Who do you belong to?”
“You. Oh god, you!”
The desperation in her voice makes me throb, but also tells me she needs everything I’ve got tonight. I fuck her at a steady, brutal pace, her screams all I hear, her pussy all I feel, and her blood all I see.
Her needy noises settle deep into my chest, finding home there just as she’s found home in me, and somehow I know she feels exactly what I do. “I know, Hurricane. I know.”
I don’t stop until she comes on my cock half a dozen times, and even then, I want to keep going. But I know her, and she needs something else soon. Cleaned up, held, cherished. Worshiped. I focus all my attention on her tight cunt and my name carved into her back, cock pulsing as I near the edge and feel my balls tighten. “I’m gonna come,” I warn her, hips snapping against her flesh. “Tell me where to come.”
“Come inside me or I’ll kill you,” she rushes out. “I earned it.”
“You did, beautiful girl. You earned every drop.”
I come so hard my vision blurs, our bodies pinned together like it’s exactly where we belong, and for every throb my cock gives her, she clamps down on me for more.
Greedy girl. Perfect girl.
My future wife.