Page 25 of Bathed in Blood

“I don’t care,” she breathes, a needy little sound that damn near drives me to the brink. “Hurt me.”

The newly unfamiliar organ in my chest makes another odd flip. “I won’t; not until you’re ready.”

Fucking hell, that sounds dumb, even to me.

Her eyes widen, her brows quirking up before knitting together. The gray sweatshirt she’s wearing rode up, exposing her stomach. I want to explore every grove and dip of her flesh, but fuck me, I can’t look away from her eyes.

Her sad fucking eyes.

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” she whispers, suddenly so still.

The words are on the tip of my tongue, a promise I can’t keep, because she’s here for a reason, and it's not to keep my dick wet, heart racing, or my bed warm.

“I won’t take your cunt until you’re ready.”

It’s all I can give her, and fuck, the look in her eyes, the sudden admiration like I’m some knight who just swooped her off her feet. I’m not a good guy, not by any stretch of the imagination, but I’m self-aware enough to know if that good guy showed up, sword in hand, to take her away, I’d blow an RPG-sized hole in his chest and fist fuck the cavity. I’m the cruelty my princess has pretended to be, the monster they made her.

The monster I refuse to let her kill.

Lana

For a moment, I think he’ll leave, that the thudding in my heart will scare him away. When he pulls back, my hands fly out on their own accord, knotting in his hair. Those harsh lips pull up in a smirk. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Again, his words tunnel past my ribcage, settling deep in my chest like a blade, one I’m scared I’ll never be able to dislodge. That’s the funny thing about trust and the horrid thing about hope. Once it sparks in an unrelenting darkness, it’s damn near impossible to snuff out.

His head dips as he lowers himself, inhaling deeply at the crux of my thighs. "Fuck, princess. I bet you're soaking wet for me.”

I don’t even try to suppress the moan that comes unbidden to my lips. I’m fully clothed but bare. He’s a live wire, and I’m thesuicidal manic jonesing for a touch. Something, anything, that’s fully mine, untouched by hands that didn’t belong.

I’m all need. A greedy fucking little girl who wants to be touched—badly.

But I don’t want the hero with stunning blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. I want the villain. I want his pain, his violence, because I know he can stomach mine.

For the first time in forever, I don’t want to be saved.

The moment that passes is harsh. It’s raw, and together, we manage to come to a conclusion, one that I’m sure equally ensures our destruction. Christian crawls back up to me, his lips stealing mine again before they fuse to my chin, tracking the line of my jaw to my neck. It’s not kisses he leaves in his wake; its tongue and teeth. He wrenches up my sweatshirt, rubbing the gray fabric against my oversensitive skin, exposing my breasts. “Fucking hell.”

I feel my cheeks flush as he nibbles his way down the valley of my breasts, a shudder rolling down my spine as he laps at one of my puckered nipples, eliciting a very needy sound. His green eyes are on me when I wrench mine open, desperately bowing my back off the bed, as if it’ll force him to take my nipple into his mouth. He blows gently, the cool air only adding to the dampness between my legs.

“Christian,” I moan, arching into him further, desperate to rub against him despite his bruising hold on my hip. “Please.”

He groans, switching sides to torment my other nipple. “Such a pretty word. Say it again.”

I’d like to say I held out, that I teased him too, but I folded like a deck of cards, need blinding me.

“Please, please, please, make me feel good.”

He rolls his hips into me as his teeth capture my nipple, biting and tugging gently. I’m all sensation, my heart and clit pounding in tune. He keeps my nipple caged between his teeth as histongue flicks and teases, his teeth adding pressure, slowly but surely, until pain mixes with the pleasure.

When his hand leaves my hip, his body lifting off me enough to find purchase on my swollen clit, I moan loudly, trying to grind into him.

“Pretty princess, you look even better like this than I’d imagined you would.” His words are mumbled from my nipple, gravelly.

He takes a mile and allows me an inch, the pressure on my nipple mounting as he makes too-soft circles on my clit with long, deft fingers. Through the thick sweatpants, it’s maddening. I mewl and plead as he torments me, my breath hitching when the pressure of his teeth on my nipple is too much, too painful, forcing my impending orgasm back just as it surges to the surface.

Then, he lets go.

Pain and sensation rip back into my redden, swollen nipple just as he jerks down my pants.

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