Page 33 of In His Veins

I alternate between flicking my tongue up and down, to circles, then sucking her clit, continuing this pattern until she pulls my head closer to her core and her thighs clench around my face. From the grip of her thighs, she seems determined not to let me thwart her orgasm. This time, I have no intention of doing so as I set my tongue to a steady up and down rhythm. I match the tempo with the pulse of my fingers untilshe’s screaming as her pussy clenches onto me.

I know my face is red with blood as I sit up, but she looks at me like I’m a god and she might bow down to me. I grip her jaw again, bringing my lips to hers. Her mouth parts and I dart my tongue inside. She groans at her own taste. As I sit up, I clean her mouth, then mine.

“You’re sick,” she breathes again, her eyes bright.

“So are you.” She sucks in air as she comes down from her climax.

“I know,” she confesses, before reaching down, inserting one of her own fingers into her pussy. Withdrawing it, she sits up and smears the blood in a line down my sternum. The movement reminds me of her painting on my dresser across the room. I look down at the blood on my chest with a grin

“You’re an artist.” Her eyes close as she laughs, so she doesn’t see me lunge. I grab her by the waist and throw her to the mattress so that we lay on our sides with her ass pressed against my cock, lifting her left leg to position myself at her entrance. She tries to squirm away as I come close to her anus, but I hold her still.

“I won’t go there tonight, but that hole is mine, too,” I growl in her ear. She whimpers and I thrust into her from behind. Now inside her, I wrap my left arm around her chest, placing my hand around her throat. Her small hands grab a hold of my wrist as I squeeze.

My pelvis connects with her ass with each thrust, her tits bouncing with the movement. Her breath is shallow and strangled, but I don’t let go until I feel her little finger tap twice on the back of my hand.

I pull out of her and roll her onto her back, leaving her on the mattress to catch her breath as I reach for the knife in my bedside table, taking a moment to sterilize the blade with a flame of a lighter. Ava watches me warily as I climb into bed with the knife and hover over her.

“I told you that I can teach you how these can come from pleasure,” I say, pointing to her self-harm scars with the tip of my blade. “Do you remember that?” She nods.

“You haven’t told me why you cut yourself, but I think I have a decent idea. You didn’t deserve what happened to you, but you especially didn’t deserve to lose understanding of your self-worth because of that piece of shit.” She nods her head again, tears shining in her eyes.

“Do you trust me?” Ava slowly reaches for my hand holding the blade and guides it to her throat.

“Yes,” she croaks. “I can’t believe I’m saying it or that I feel it, but yes, I trust you.” I lean down to kiss her, blade still against her neck.

I reposition my cock at her entrance and slowly slide into her. We both groan as I set a slow tempo. Her hips rock into me and I trail the tip of her knife across her belly. I survey her scars, stopping at one below her belly button. I drag the blade through her flesh so that the scar and new wound make an ‘x.’ She sucks in a breath as I make the cut. Blood flows as I find another scar to make the same shape, this time near her right side.

“Oh god, Cal,” she whispers, pain and pleasure mixed in her voice. I brace a hand on the side of her head and thrust into her faster.

“Who do you belong to?” I ask her. Her eyes widen as I create another ‘x’ on her stomach, but she doesn’t reply. I grab her thighs with my hands and push her legs forward, holding the blade and her leg in one hand. Her vagina is tilted toward the ceiling, making me drive into her even deeper than before.

“Who do you belong to, Ava?” I ask again as I slow the pace and let her legs fall. Using the tip of the knife, I use it to gently part her slit. She sucks in a breath and goes completely still. I press the flat edge of the blade against her clit and rub it in small, slow circles.

Resting the blade on her stomach, I grab the back of her knees, using them to drive myself as deep as her body will allow. She cries out and I stay buried there as I drag the tip of my blade down the length of her sternum, just like her painting. I take my time with this one, a work to make it a straight line. She’ll have a completely new scar there and will forever see me in it.

“Who do you belong to?” I growl as I begin pumping into her viciously. Blood pours from her wounds and onto my sheets.

We’re both covered in it when she finally screams, “You! Oh god, you, Cal.” Tears stream down her cheeks and her eyes are shut in ecstasy.

“Look at me,” I demand, and her eyes fly open. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours, Cal,” she breathes. I flip the knife and grab it by the blade. I pound into her relentlessly, rubbing her clit with the handle. My palm splits open and blood drips down the knife. Ava’s watching the handle as we both see my blood drip onto her pussy. A second later she screams as her orgasm rips through her body. Her scream pushes me over the edge, and I spill into her with one final thrust.

We’re both struggling to breathe as we ride our respective aftershocks. After I pull out, I push her legs above her chest, watching as my cum drips out of her opening and mixes with our blood.

21

AVA

I’m sticky and covered in blood when Cal leaves the bedroom. I hear him banging around in the kitchen, suddenly feeling very vulnerable and alone. He walks through the door as I’m sitting up and sets a large bowl and a box on his bedside table.

“Lay down. I’ll be right back.” He disappears into another door in his room that I hadn’t noticed before. My eyes wander around the room as I wait for him to return, landing on the painting on his dresser. The familiar image confuses me at first, and I can’t process why I’m seeing it at his house. I hear the sound of a shower turning on. A moment later, he strides toward the bed. He climbs up next to me and brushes my hair away from my face, his thumb tracing my brow bone.

“How are you feeling?” He asks gently. “Can you sit up?” His tenderness catches me off guard, even as it sends butterflies into my belly.

“You stole my painting.” I meant to phrase it like a question, but it came out like an accusation. He has the decency to look embarrassed as he helps me to my feet. We’re both so covered in blood, we look like the remaining survivors of a massacre.

“I’ve spent a lot of nights without you. It seemed like a decent option to hold me over until you could get to know me.” He says it lightly, and I get the impression he isn’t telling me the whole truth. I let it slide though, because I’m secretly pleased to see it here. It’s one of my favorite self-portraits, but it’s been shoved in the back of my closet since I moved into my apartment. At least, I thought it had been in my closet.

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