Chapter 9 Mackenzie #4
“Your body says otherwise.” His eyes flick down meaningfully, and I feel the betrayal of my own desire, hot and insistent between my thighs. “I can smell that sweet pussy dripping for my cock, begging for my touch…but I’ll ask again—do you want me to stop?”
The cold metal traces my collarbone, not cutting, just skimming—a threat and a promise intertwined. I shiver, goosebumps erupting across my skin, and still no words form.
He chuckles. “Would you bleed for me, ma belle ame?” he purrs.
The knife's cold edge trails down to the swell of my breast, and I gasp, my thoughts scattering in confusion. I should scream. I should fight. Instead, my body arches toward the blade.
“I…” My voice breaks.
With surgical precision, he makes a shallow cut along my collarbone. The pain is sharp, immediate—then transforms into something else entirely as he leans forward and drags his tongue along the thin line of blood. The sensation sends electricity crackling through every nerve.
He cuts into me again, this time with deliberate, artistic strokes.
The blade traces fiery lines across my skin, each incision sending waves of something beyond pain—a dark euphoria that makes my nerves sing.
Blood wells up in crimson beads, then trickles down in thin rivulets that feel like hot silk against my feverish skin.
I don’t scream; instead, I find myself moaning for more, craving each burning slice as though it’s oxygen I’ve been denied.
When he’s finished, my body trembles in the aftermath, muscles quivering with spent adrenaline. He steps back, twirling the knife between his fingers with casual expertise, droplets of my blood catching the red light as they spin off the blade.
“So you don’t forget,” he whispers, a wicked gleam in his ice-blue eyes as he winks.
My head falls forward, heavy with exhaustion and lingering pleasure.
Through sweat-dampened lashes, I see what he’s done—the letters M and I carved with precision into my right breast, their edges clean and weeping scarlet; N and E slashed more savagely into my left, as though his control had fractured with his desire.
MINE—branded into my flesh like a contract signed in blood.
“More,” I beg.
“Such a greedy fucking whore,” he groans.
The word slides from his lips like a blade—sharp, dangerous, thrilling. I should feel shame at his crude assessment, but instead, I feel a twisted pride bloom in my chest, right alongside his bloody signature.
“Yes, Daxton, make me your fucking whore,” I breathe, the admission tearing something loose inside me. “Please, I need—”
His laugh cuts through my plea, low and cruel. “I know exactly what you need, Mackenzie. I’ve always known.”
The chains holding me suddenly release, and I collapse forward into his waiting arms. He catches me effortlessly, one arm hooking beneath my knees to lift me against his chest. The boat has reappeared beneath us, or perhaps it never left. Reality blurs at the edges, making me dizzy.
“Look at me,” he commands, and I force my heavy eyelids open. “Look at me while I fuck what’s mine.”
He sits me in the helm of the boat before unbuckling his pants. His fingers don’t move fast enough, teasing, so I do it myself.
“I need you,” I whisper against his lips. “I need you inside me.”
He pulls me onto him without preamble, his thick length filling me in one brutal thrust. I cry out, my body stretching around him, the pain of his sudden intrusion blending with pleasure so intense it feels like death. His hands grip my hips with bruising force, guiding me as I begin to move.
“That’s it,” he growls, watching every flicker of emotion that crosses my face. “Show me how badly you want this dick.”
I ride him frantically as if this moment might disappear, my body no longer my own. The cuts on my chest sting with every movement, blood trickling down my torso in thin rivulets.
He leans forward to catch them, his tongue trailing along the curve of my breast, his eyes locked on mine as he savors me, reverently healing his harm.
The sight of him tasting me sends electric currents straight to my core, pressure coiling tight and urgent in my lower belly, my thighs trembling with the promise of release.
But just as the first spasms begin to ripple through me, my vision clears like lifting smoke, and we are sitting on the boat as it comes to a halt, clothes intact, not a drop of blood to be found.
Daxton lounges beside me, one arm draped casually over the seat, working a cherry lollipop between his teeth, a smile curled around the stick.
Fuck.
I scramble the fuck out of there as quickly as I can, nearly falling over the side of the boat.
I look back at him one more time, and he waves two fingers, clearly still amused with himself.
I can still feel him on my skin, taste him on my tongue—but whatever dark magic he has wafting off him will not be taking hold of me.
But what the fuck was it? And why did it feel so real?
As I scramble inside the crowded house again, I pass a couple of guys in the hall who I know are some of Gavin’s frat brothers.
“Hey, have you seen Gavin?” I shout over the blaring music. The group of five exchanges awkward looks before one speaks.
“Nah, mamita,” he shouts back. “You can dance with me, though.” He pushes through his friend with a smirk, but I don’t give the smug bastard the time of day; all these damn boys are the same. I hear a commotion on the wind of my departure, but I don’t stop to look.
Heading around to the front hall, I scurry up the spiral grand staircase to avoid any more encounters with Eric. Just behind me, I swear I hear footsteps that cause me to halt and toss a glance over my shoulder to lock eyes with the exact pair I expect to see there.
“Are you going to make me hunt you down all night?” he asks.
“Well, I don’t know. You can always stop, like I’ve asked you to,” I huff, shaking my head as I turn to continue up the stairs.
On the top landing, students litter the halls, and I start to feel bad for tomorrow’s cleaning crew.
The usually spotless hardwood is covered in dirt and liquor sludge.
But my feet move on autopilot toward Gavin’s room.
“So, that’s your plan then? To ignore everything that just happened between us?” he asks.
“Nothing happened between us, Daxton,” I say, my steps never slowing as I turn a corner. “ It was all a figment of my imagination, remember?”
He grips my forearm, spinning me to face him, and pins me to the wall just next to us before tugging down the collar of my shirt.
“Does this look like nothing to you?” he growls, causing a few people to look in our direction.
But my eyes shift to what he’s showing me—still scrawled across my skin, in faint red marks are the letters he put there. “You are mine, Mackenzie.”
“I am not,” I say, swatting his hand from my shirt. “Whatever kinky mind fuckery you did on the boat was just that, nothing more. I don’t even know why I let you do that—I’m so stupid.”
Pushing him away, I continue on my way leaving him to his exasperated grumble.
When I hit the end of the hall, my hand locks around Gavin’s doorknob, but once again, Daxton is there like some kind of annoying gnat—a very sexy gnat, but that’s not the point.
Before I can protest, he spins me, pulling me in so close I lose my words. His hands are cool on my waist, too steady for how wild the racing in my chest feels; my breath trembles in that way that I hate.
“Hey,” he murmurs, voice low enough that it slips straight under my skin, just as he tips my chin, brushing my tousled hair out of my eye. “Look at me.”
“Daxton…” I breathe.
He leans down a little—just enough that my heartbeat drums in my ears. His fingers flex on my waist, as if he’s fighting himself and losing.
“Then no more kinky mind fuckery.” he says, and the way his voice rumbles through his chest knocks something loose in mine. “Just once…”
I swallow hard. “Once…what?”
His mouth curves, not quite a smile, not quite sane. “Just kiss me once. If you don’t feel it too…” His forehead almost touches mine now, his breath warm on my lips. “I’ll walk away. I’ll leave you be.”
My stomach drops, and my pulse kicks so violently I swear he can feel it.
I try to tell myself to say no, to move, to breathe—anything besides standing here like a trembling mess, feeling as if I’m already what he says I am…
his. But he’s looking at me like I’m the only thing he’s ever wanted, and it’s messing with every rule I thought I ever had.
“Just once,” he whispers again, softer this time, like the plea of a broken promise.
And when he starts to lean in—slow, giving me every second to pull away—I realize something awful and electric—
I don’t want to.
His lips press to mine, and all I can think about is kissing him until my lungs give out, collapsing into the sweet release of eternity, forever drowning in his sea of iniquity. What a beautiful rebirth that would be—alive again in every insidious breath that passes between us.
Never in my aimless, fleeting life have I felt this way for anyone. If love is a drug, its name is Daxton Mortis.
“Your thoughts bleed into the taste of lying lips.” His words come out a panted whisper. “So even if I doubted myself before, there’s no doubt now—you’re mine, ma belle ame.
It’s only at this moment that I remember where we are and what I’m doing—without a second thought, I shove him away.
“No, I will never be yours,” I seethe.
“Mackenzie—”
“No,” I snap, cutting through the fog of emotion swirling between us before I turn away to shove open Gavin’s bedroom door.
The sight behind it makes my blood run cold—Tiffany, stretched over Gavin’s desk, the front of her liquor-sodden dress sitting just under her bouncing breasts as he plows into her from behind.
Tears prick the corner of my eyes before they fall. My heart feels like it’s being held hostage at knifepoint.
How could I have been so…blind? I expect this from him but…my friend.
“Fuck! Mackenzie, baby, this…th—it’s not what it looks like!” He scrambles for words, while my best friend simply smiles.