Page 20 of Unveiled

“My turn.”

Horror washes over my features as she turns her back to me and grips onto the sink for support. Our eyes clash through the mirror, hers unwavering in their determination and mine full of confusion.

“Does it make you feel better?” she asks, holding my eyes to catch my reaction. Slowly, I nod. It does make me feel better, even if it only lasts until the knife is out of my skin. “Then I want to feel better. So, it’s my turn.”

“Ainsley, it’s not some pretty butterfly that everyone’s going to compliment in the years to come, it’s a jagged scar that will always be a reminder.”

Her unwavering determination turns to anger as I speak. “Did I fucking stutter? If you think it’s okay to carve my name into your skin, then carve your name into mine.”

I want to tell her no. The thought of her having such an ugly scar on her is like a punch to the gut, but there’s also a twisted part of me that loves the idea of marking her forever, so every man will know she’s mine. It’s that part of me that eventually wins my internal battle.

“And which name will that be, little one? Monster or Cain?”

She gives me a devilish smirk, knowing exactly what game I’m trying to play and refusing to play along. “You only have a handful of days left with me. Which would you prefer to see on my skin?”

I give her a devilish smirk back, imagining her with her ass pointed up, taking my cock while my name stares up at me from her back. It’s a pretty easy decision.

My name is much shorter than hers, so I can make this quick for her. As I raise the knife to touch the skin below her shoulders, she drops her head to stare into the sink, stretching the skin even more.

With one long stroke down and two strokes to the right, the first letter is done. She hasn’t made a sound or even flinched away from the pain, taking it like it’s helping her as much as it’s helped me. Two long slants and a small one across, matching the first letter I reopened on myself, and half of my name is already on her skin.

One long stroke down with two shorter strokes on the top and the bottom, and her back looks like a masterpiece as blood trickles down her porcelain skin. Her grip has gotten tighter on the counter as she tries to keep herself from squirming away from the pain, accepting the punishment she’s giving herself.

“Almost done,” I assure her. “You’re doing such a good job, little one.”

I watch as her body visibly relaxes from my praise, and then dive in for the last letter. A long stroke up, a long, slanted stroke down, and another long stroke up.

There it is. My name, forever carved into her skin for everyone to see. It’s such a beautiful sight to behold. I’ve never been one of those people that was into blood play, though I’ve never found anyone I wanted to experiment with. As I raise the knife and watch the light dance off the mixture of her blood and mine, I understand why people would find this enticing.

As her eyes lift to meet mine in the mirror, exhausted but lighter than when she walked in, I lift the knife to my mouth. Her eyes track my movements as my tongue darts out, licking along the edge of the blade and tasting the blood gathered there.

It tastes like what I would expect a penny to taste like, but something about it is oddly intimate. Her eyes are hooded as she watches me do it again, cleaning the blade with my tongue.

When the metal once again shines under the light, I set it down on the counter next to her and instruct her not to move. I rummage through the closet with the towels until I find a washcloth, and when I get back, I open up the cabinet under the sink and pull out antibiotic ointment and some bandages.

She lets me clean her up and take care of her, but this time she can’t hide the pain. The worst is when I wipe the washcloth across the fresh wounds. As I place the bandages across her back, closing up the wounds to keep infections out, she allows her breathing to become more steady.

“My turn,” she announces as she whirls around and pulls the washcloth off the sink. She gives me the same treatment, washing my skin and bandaging me up. The bandage feels weird and tight on my skin, but it’s more of a reminder of her presence than the scar itself. She didn’t want me to feel this pain, and wanted to do what she could to take it away.

“You can spend all day down there if you want to, little one,” I try to tease her, but she doesn’t take the bait. The air between us is still too thick with tension after everything that’s happened today. Funny, it probably hasn’t even been more than an hour since our bath together, yet it feels like an entire day has passed already.

“Talk to me,” I tell her, needing to hear her say something. Anything. What just happened isn’t something that can just be brushed off and forgotten. She just made me carve my name into her skin. It’s something she’ll never get rid of, and every time she sees it, she’ll be reminded of me. It’s a bold action for someone so determined to be done with me.

“And say what?” she asks as she turns her back to me and rinses the washcloth out in the sink. It’s clear that something is bothering her, but I won’t be able to pinpoint what it is until she tells me.

“Anything,” I answer. “Tell me how you feel about what just happened.”

“Which part? The part where I caught you covered in blood from where you were pushing a knife through your skin, or the part where I made you do the same thing to me? Or should we talk about how I just watched you lick our blood from a knife and the way it made me feel is definitely not something I should be feeling?”

There’s so much to unpack with all of this, but I want her to unpack it with me. I want to feel her burdens, to know that she trusts me even if she can’t trust herself. I want to be the one person she can open up to, no matter what.

Instead of answering, I take the washcloth from her hands and throw it in the sink, forcing her to focus on our conversation. “Come to bed with me,” I tell her as I tug on her hand, pulling her out of the bathroom.

“Seriously? I don’t want to get naked with you right now,” she sighs, misinterpreting what I meant. Though, I’m still a little hurt, because I never have a problem getting naked with her.

Pointedly, I look between my naked chest and hers, reminding her we’re already halfway there. “I wasn’t going to take off anymore clothes, I just want to lie down,” I tell her.

She relaxes and lets me guide her out of the bathroom and to our bed. I let her get settled before climbing in myself, facing her so she can’t hide from me.

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