Page 25 of Fear Me, Love Me

Her eyes are huge and scared. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m going to let go. If you move the knife away from my neck, I will take it from you and stab myself in the heart.”

“Are you fucking crazy?” she whispers.

I grin malevolently and raise my chin, baring my throat to her. “Will you make our baby fatherless before they’re even born?”

Slowly, I let go of her wrist, and she keeps the knife where it is.

“That’s my good fucking girl.” I drag my thumb along the cut on my arm until it’s wet from my blood and then apply it to her clit. Masturbating her with it. Pleasuring her with it. The prick of the blade against my throat is making my balls ache. I want more.

“Cut me, angel. Make me bleed.”

She shakes her head. “I’ll kill you. I don’t know where’s safe.”

“I said cut me,” I snarl in her face.

Vivienne jumps in fear, and the knife scores my collarbone and sinks into the muscle of my shoulder.

“Jesus,fuck.” Pain blazes in my flesh, and I squeeze my eyes shut. Vivienne pulls the knife out with a horrified gasp and warm liquid drips down my chest and onto her. “If you lower that knife I will fucking kill you.”

Vivienne puts the blade back against my throat with a shaking hand.

I open my eyes and see that her soft, pretty tits are spattered with fat drops of blood. Blood is running down my chest. I groan and push her knees up to her shoulders, pounding her even deeper. She whimpers as I fuck her closer to her climax, all the while my blood drips down on her. When she comes, the knife tumbles from her fingers. I snatch it out of the air before it can hurt her, and stab it point-first into the floor by her head as my own orgasm rips through me.

After, it’s silent except for our gasping breaths.

Vivienne glances around. “It looks like a murder scene in here.”

My blood is all over her body. My body. Her clothes and her satchel. There are drips on the carpet. She says murder scene. I say a really good fuck.

I keep her on her back for several more minutes with my cock buried deep inside her and then slowly pull out of her. I’ll never get tired of the sight of her brimming with my cum. She’s such a good girl for not fighting me this time and lying there full of my seed.

There are wet wipes and bandages in her cutting box, and I fish them out and start cleaning up my arm. The wound has clotted, and I wipe the blood off and wind some gauze around it. I don’t know why Vivienne was so upset by the thought of a wound or a scar on my body. There are scars all over me from old fights, stabbings, even a bullet wound on my thigh. My tattooed knuckles are crisscrossed with white lines from being slashed against other men’s teeth. I love that now I’ll have a scar that makes me think of her.

Vivienne sits up and hugs her knees, watching me. “How did you know to come here?”

She’s a smart girl. She’ll figure it out.

“You heard about the graffiti on my house and knew what Dad would do,” she guesses.

I reach for another wet wipe, glance at my blood smeared over her naked body, and change my mind. I like my blood all over her. Instead, I take a notebook and pen from her desk, prop my back against her mattress and the notebook against my knee, and start to write. Just a sentence or two, and then I rip the strip of paper off, fold it, and drop it in her cutting box. Then I do it again. And again.

“What are you doing?” Vivienne asks.

I don’t answer. I just keep writing and ripping.

“You don’t like me having that box.”

It’s not that I don’t like it. I’d rather she didn’t need it, but my girl needs dark things to cope right now, and I’m not going to take that away from her. Other people have already taken so much. Soon she won’t need the box at all because she has me.

I’ll be your dark thing, angel.

“Why don’t you just throw it away?” she asks.

I keep writing. A few minutes later I’m finished, and I close the lid on the box and put it back in its hiding place.

Taking her face between my hands, I tell her, “Because you’ll only buy another. At least when you open this one, you’ll see that someone gives a damn about whether or not you’re bleeding.”

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