Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Lola
“ F or fuck’s sake, I suck at this!” Hannibal curses, releasing the strands of my hair and flopping back on the bed.
I turn and straddle his lap, his hands instantly going to my hips to steady me.
“You spent an hour every day this week watching tutorials on braiding hair and then practicing on me. It doesn’t matter if the braid is too loose or off-center. It doesn’t matter that Millie can braid her own hair.”
“Wait, she can?”
I lean over him and kiss his lips.
“You spent hours learning how to braid your daughter’s hair. Trust me, that’s the only thing that matters.”
He cocks his head, looking at me as if to gauge my truthfulness.
“Really?”
“Really.”
He sighs before sliding his hands up the back of my T-shirt.
His fingers deftly unhook my bra before he flips us, so I’m now lying flat on my back, and he’s straddling my thighs.
Reaching inside his cut, he pulls out a small leather pouch.
I watch as he flips it open and swallow hard as he pulls out a sleek silver scalpel.
“Hannibal?” I whisper, not bothering to hide my nerves.
“Trust me, doll.”
I nod but don’t say anything so my voice doesn’t betray me.
Leaning over me, he hooks the neck of my T-shirt with his finger and lifts it away from my skin before he uses the scalpel to cut the material from collar to hem.
Spreading the material wide, he uses the blade to cut the straps of my bra before pulling it free and tossing it across the room.
“You just bought that one,” I gasp as his mouth closes over one of my nipples.
“I don’t care. I’ll buy you a dozen more. Not that you need to wear one for my benefit. With tits like this, it’s a fucking travesty to cover them up,” he murmurs before moving to my other breast.
I grip his hair as he lavishes my breasts with attention, whispering his name reverently until I’m a hot, wet, squirming mess of need.
“You wet for me, doll?”
I nod my head rapidly.
“Yes.”
“Tell me what you need.”
“I need you inside me.”
“You want me to fuck you?”
“Please,” I beg as he sits up and shoves my shirt up over my hips.
He uses the scalpel to cut through either side of my underwear.
“Say ‘fuck me, Hannibal.’”
“Fuck me, Hannibal.” I feel how wet I am and I know he’ll only have to slip inside me and I’ll come.
He runs his fingers over my lips.
“Open wide for me, doll.”
I open my mouth and find my panties pressed inside.
The lace feels weird on my tongue, but I don’t spit them out.
Curiously, I find I want to please him.
“I want you to trust me. I’ll push you to your limits, but never pass them. Without your voice, you can’t say no. You’ll be my little fucktoy to do with whatever I want. I’ll play with you until you can’t take any more, and only then will I give you what you want most.”
I blink up at him, not liking the idea of not being able to say no.
It’s ironic, given that saying no has never stopped anyone from getting hurt.
It never unbroke a hymen or stopped a bullet, never prevented cancer from spreading, or restarted a heart.
Saying no never saved me.
So why does giving up the ability make me feel so powerless?
And yet…I’m not afraid.
His eyes are staring into mine, grasping all the threads of my sanity, holding me together in only the way he knows how.
Yet, for him, I’m more than willing to unravel.
Isn’t falling in love a little like going insane?
”
He waits me out.
When I don’t protest, he visibly relaxes.
“Always knew you’d make the most regal of fucking queens.” He presses his lips against mine for a moment.
When he lifts his head and looks at me once more, my Hannibal's gone. In his place is the monster everyone is scared of.
My heart rate picks up, and my palms feel damp. But as fear starts to war with lust, I feel how wet my thighs are with my arousal.
“You keep those panties in your mouth. Toys don’t talk. Toys don’t move. I’m going to do what I want—and you’re going to let me. More than that, you’re going to get off on whatever I do to you.”
He slides down my body and presses a kiss to my belly. “I won’t touch him.”
I frown, unsure what he means, until he lifts the scalpel. I watch in morbid fascination as he gently runs the blade over his tongue. A thin line of red rises to the surface before he leans over me once more and traces my lips with the tip. With my mouth full, I can’t do anything other than lie passively beneath him as he paints my lips with his blood.
Bracing his weight over me, he uses the flat of the scalpel to trail up my arm and across my collarbone. My heart is thundering so loudly that he has to hear it. When he reaches the swell of my breast, he turns the blade. His eyes move to lock on mine as he cuts a shallow path across my chest.
Shock renders me frozen for a second. By the time the sting registers, his tongue is soothing away the hurt, lapping up the thin trail of blood.
His eyes move to mine again, gauging my reaction. “Fucking knew you’d be perfect for me.” He moves lower once more, dragging the tip of the blade between my breasts.
Placing the scalpel on the bed, he laps up the blood from the newest cut before using two fingers to smear the last of it across my chest. His hot gaze moves over my body as I lay out before him like a macabre piece of art. When he lifts his red-tipped finger into his mouth and sucks, my stomach clenches hard.
I don’t know what he reads in my expression, but it snaps the thread of restraint holding him back. It takes him the barest moment to kneel up and yank his jeans down over his hips and pull his weeping cock free. He grips himself hard and I watch mesmerized as he strokes himself. I see his eyes dip to the scalpel on the bed, his brain warring with his cock for supremacy.
When he reaches for the scalpel, I brace myself for his next move.
“Open your legs for me. Show me what’s mine.”
Fear threatens to smother me, but I fight it down, remembering his words about pushing me, but never too far. I bend my knees, feet flat on the bed, before I drop my knees and spread myself wide. When he drags the flat of the scalpel across my inner thigh, I let my eyes flutter closed, trying to find calm in the chaos.
I jump when I feel the tip of the blade press against my skin.
“Easy, doll. Stay nice and still for me.”
A flash of fire washes over me before I feel him move once more. I open my eyes and watch as he rubs his open hand over the cut, covering his palm with my blood. He wraps the same hand around his cock and begins stroking again, leaving streaks of red on his skin.
His movements become more rapid as his breathing picks up, before his eyes move up to mine once more. Without breaking his stare, he positions himself between my legs. Without any warning, he thrusts inside me, not stopping until he bottoms out.
I arch my back and cry out at how full I feel but he doesn’t give me time to adjust. He hammers into me, his fingers digging into my hips hard enough to leave bruises.
“Such a good girl, taking my cock like that. You fit me so damn good.”
My hands fist the sheets as I force myself to stay still as he asked me. If I move, he might stop. If that happens, I might just murder him.
“If I died right now, I’d die a happy man with your sweet pussy wrapped around me so tightly.”
I feel the pressure building inside me like a balloon inflating. Any minute now, I’ll explode, and nothing he says or does will stop me. I’m too close to the edge already. Every thrust and pull sends me closer to the point of no return.
I whimper, which makes him grin maniacally.
“You need to come, don’t you, doll?”
I moan in response, tilting my hips, wanting, no needing more.
Pulling his cock from my pussy, he fucks his fist with the tip pressed just inside me. Feeling horribly empty, frustrated tears prick my eyes. At the sight of them, he moans and comes. The first shot releases inside me before he slides his cock over my clit, coating me.
When he’s spent, he replaces his cock with his fingers, stroking me deftly with one hand as he presses his cum-covered fingers inside me.
“Come for me, doll.”
As if his permission unlocks some secret code, I come hard. So hard, I forget to breathe for a second, and everything around me fades away. Nothing matters at this moment but pleasure. My release is that much more exquisite for giving myself over to the man so completely that I feel like my orgasm lasts forever.
When I finally come back to myself, I realize Hannibal's lying beside me with his arms wrapped tightly around me.
Tears run down my cheeks, soaking us both as he tilts my head back and tugs the lace panties from my mouth.
I open my mouth to say something, anything.
Instead, a sob slips free.
“Shit. Was it too much?”
I shake my head, unable to put into words quite what I’m feeling right now.
There was fear—I won’t pretend otherwise—but the whole experience was cathartic, too.
I got to let go and feel whatever I wanted with no expectation.
Maybe I knew in the back of my head that Hannibal would stop if I really needed him to.
The man has an uncanny way of reading me that most people don’t.
“Let it out, doll. I’ve got you,” he tells me softly, which makes me cry harder.
This, right here, is what I need.
His closeness soothes my lonely parts and makes me feel like part of something again.
After being disconnected from the world for so long, I’m struggling to process what it feels like to be needed and wanted by someone—someone who has slowly started to heal parts of me I thought were decaying.
I don’t dwell on the reasons I liked what he did.
Even now, I can feel the sting of the cuts left on my skin.
Five years ago, I’d have run a mile.
But Hannibal’s right.
I’m not the starry-eyed girl I once was.
And I don’t need to be.
The pressure to be perfect nearly destroyed me.
Now, I get to just be me— broken, flawed, and more than a little battered.
But each crack in the perfect facade lets a little more light into the darkness.
“Thank you,” I whisper, finally finding my voice.
“No. Thank you. Thank you for trusting me. For giving me you. I’ve never had someone break so beautifully before.”
He kisses me softly—a complete contrast to the man from before.
His arms stay locked around me until my tears run dry and I can breathe without it hitching in my chest.
“What even was that?”
“That’s who I am.” He leans up on his forearm and rolls me gently onto my back.
“I like knives, as you know.” He grins.
“But the scalpel is an extension of me. I like cutting. I like watching blood well like tiny rubies.” He stares down at my chest.
“Does it get darker than that?” I need to know what I’m dealing with.
After having my naivety beaten out of me, I’ll never take my safety for granted again.
“Yeah. But I don’t need anything more than this from you.”
My eyes fly to his.
I mean, logically, I knew he’d get his needs met somewhere else—this is an arrangement, not a love match.
But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t hurt, even if I know I probably couldn’t handle much more than this.
“No, doll. My dick won’t be inside anyone but you. When I said this was enough, I meant it. I like a little blood play, but I’ve got zero fucking desire to watch you bleed out. The thought of doing you any real harm makes my dick shrivel.
“I won’t deny that violence turns me on.
There’ll be times I do shit that would haunt a lesser man, things I’ll never tell you about.
But when I need release, I’ll come home to you.
Then it will be me covered in blood, not you.
Can you handle that?
”
“As long as it’s not your blood, yeah. Though I should point out the dangers?—”
“No,” he cuts me off.
“I get tested regularly, and I’ll keep doing it. The only blood that’ll ever make its way inside you will be mine. I’m dripping with it when I come to you—my cock stays pure.”
“Not sure cock and pure belong in the same sentence,” I tease, though the whole my blood inside you thing kind of freaks me out.
I let that go for now.
Turns out I can be pretty adaptable when I need to be.
The sound of Hannibal’s phone chiming breaks the spell.
He reaches over, grabs the phone off the nightstand, and reads the message.
“The prospect’s picked Millie up from school, and they’re on their way back.”
“I better get cleaned up.”
“Take a shower. I’ll put some ointment on the cuts after. They’re shallow, so they shouldn’t scar—but I’m not making any promises.”
I shrug.
“The only person that’s ever going to see me naked is you. If you don’t like scars, don’t hurt me.”
“Oh, baby,” he says, voice low and hungry.
“I love hurting you. I love the taste of your tears on my lips and your blood on my tongue. A little fear, a little pain, makes your blood taste that much sweeter. And I happen to love your scars, old and new. By the time we leave this world, there’ll be a road map of marks on your body that only I will know the history of.”
“Like a secret code. The story of us.”
“And when you’re ready, you can carve our story into my skin too.”
My womb clenches at the thought.
Yeah, I guess we are two sides of the same fucked-up coin.