Page 70 of Sick Bargain

“You shouldn’t.”

I push the metal collar up to his chin and tip his head back until it hurts. He winces, but the first prick of the needles against his throat shuts him up, only drawing forth hisses. He bites back questions about what I’m tattooing, and I’m so focused on the work that I barely notice his cock hardening against my thigh right away. I smile to myself.

“That pill went down this throat,” I explain, dipping the gun. “This part of your body is forever tainted. Every time I look at the way you swallow or the bob of your throat, I’ll shatter. Because it broke me, Remiel.”

“I’m s-sorry,” he cries.

“Shh.” I keep him still until the word is done. Single letters from the top of his throat to the hollow at the bottom. Dark and black and bold, uneven and unmatched.

I set the machine down and pick up a blade from the middle of the cloth. It isn’t surgical, so it’ll leave a rough scar, but I want it to. Beneath the bottom letter of his new throat tattoo, I dig the tip of the knife in.

“It travelled down here.” I slice Xs into his skin, small and straight down his sternum. “Down your esophagus and into your stomach, and I’ll never forget the look in your eyes as it travelled through you. Because I saw it.”

“Saw what?” he asks, voice pained. He’s sweating a bit now, too.

“You knew. Ghost told me you thought it was a sedative, but I saw it in your eyes, Remiel. You knew it wasn’t.”

He sobs softly, his memories hurting more than my carving. “I didn’t know for sure, but I knew there was a chance.”

When I reach the bottom of his ribcage, my column of Xs complete, I move the blade down to the area beneath his navel. I look at his face, so anguished, and then I slice from hip to hip. “They pumped it out of your stomach and had to give you medications to counteract the ones shutting you down.”

He twitches and screams in pain but never takes his eyes off mine. I kneel in front of him and watch the wound leak blood down his pubic bone and over the base of his cock. It passes his dick, and a few drips leak down his balls and thighs.

I press on the cut and lean forward to lick the blood off his cock. I haven’t tasted his cum yet, but the rust of his blood andthe hardness of him against my tongue make me thicken in my pants.

“I’ll bleed every last drop of your blood until you believe the curse is gone. I’ll drink it all, consume it, and take the curse for myself.” His cock bobs in front of my face, twitching on its own and leaking clear fluid from the tip. I lick that too, letting it light a fire inside me. I bury my face against his groin and drink him in, licking and sucking until my face is covered in his blood.

When I look up at him, he’s flushed and sweaty, but terrified and turned on, too. I suck his dick into my mouth, spreading precum and blood along his shaft. The feeling of a dick in my mouth is new, but to consume him is my nature. I might be in charge of him, but I want to worship him.

“Krypt,” he groans.

I stand again, setting the knife down. The cut isn’t deep, it’s just a bleeder, so I’ll leave it open for now. The ones on his sternum are leaking a little but mostly drying. The collar around his neck bothers me. I don’t want it rubbing against my letters there, so I unclasp it and drop it to the floor. His head hangs forward as he pants shallowly.

“This next one is going to hurt, hero. Bite down on this.” I hold up a strap of leather, but Remiel doesn’t bite it. “Remiel.”

He looks at my eyes. My lips. My eyes. My lips.

“Ask for it,” I dare him.

Sweat drips down his temples, and his tongue runs over his bottom lip. “Please.”

“Please, what?”

He leans forward, making the manacles rattle. “Please… please kiss me.”

To kiss is to consume. It’s a claim. A chance to steal oxygen and mingle exhales. The only times I’ve pressed my lips to his have been to devour brutally. He’s already brutal tonight, so I lean in slowly, teasing my lips against his. I close my eyes andfeel his tongue sweep out, dampening his lips in preparation for mine.

Without seeing him, I feel everything about him. The slight tremble running through him. The sweat on his skin. The thump of his heart under my palm. The shallow pants that leave his lips and the restraint as he prevents them from turning harsher. I’m a twenty-eight-year-old man, and Remiel Sauder is the first person I’ve kissed.

I bump my nose to his, letting out my own shaky exhale. When he whimpers quietly, his body begging and his dick hard against my own, I part my lips and lean into him. The kiss starts open-mouthed, slow and hesitant. I barely move my lips, but Remiel moves his, making mine follow. He does it again, opening and closing slowly, kissing me with no tongue but every emotion ranging from lust to fear to shame and pain.

I feel it throughout my body. The kiss travels, tingling my temples and filling my blood with a slow-burning flame. It hardens my cock but softens my heart, slowing time and defying my instincts.

I groan, but it’s not a savage sound. It’s relief and longing, surprise and mercy. From a kiss with no tongue. A kiss with impact. A kiss that scares me and tastes like blood. Because Ifeelit everywhere.I feel.

“I trust you, Krypt,” Remiel whispers against my mouth.

I want to remind him he shouldn’t, but I can’t. I’ve made myself everything to him, ensured it, even, and his trust means more to me than I’ll ever be capable of conveying. “This is going to hurt, hero.”

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