Page 91 of Priest and his Anarchist

“Do you trust me?” It never mattered before, but for whatever reason, it did for her.

She battles with her answer, her mouth forming an O before snapping shut. Her eyes shift around the room before landing back on mine. “Yes. I do.”

“Bad idea.” My thumb is in the hole of the throwing star as I whip it out from her holster and roll her onto her back.

She squirms beneath me but wriggles down the bed. Metal against flesh, the sharp end sinks into her skin where her thigh meets her middle.

“Spell it out for me.” With every stroke, I force myself to not dig deeper. I want nothing more than to watch her body swallow the weapon in one go, to cut her open and feel every inch of her.

“M—” She doesn’t hiss, flinch, or display any sign of pain.

I continue.

“—A.” The lines are messy like graffiti, and when blood spills from the incision, I stroke myself slowly, tilting my head to the side as my thumb circles crimson over her inner thigh.

“D—” My lip curls and a soft growl escapes when her bleeding becomes rapid.

“—R.” Precum glistens over my cock. I pause, using the throwing star to collect some of the spillage.

My eyes find hers when the chill of metal meets my cock. I use it to cover me with her blood.

Her eyes widen, watching in fascination as I bring the weapon back down and continue.

“A—” I finish the letters quickly. “B. B. I. T.” Tossing the star to the side, I use my cock to spread the blood over to the opening of her pussy before burying myself back inside of her.

Her teeth catch my jaw as I drive harder, faster, the sound of our sweat and her blood slapping together in hard, broad strokes. I want it. Her. This. Her. It all.

Her orgasm comes fast, and her body shakes as her release spills over me. I drive in harder. Until her ass claps against my hips, and my fingers are buried in her wound.

Blood drips down my arms as I reach forward, painting her lips red as the muscles in my body tighten. A strangled groan leaves me breathless as I empty myself inside of her, feeling the build of both of us between the thirst of her cunt.

Sucking on her lip, my body quivers with hers on its way back down as I place a soft kiss on the corner of her mouth. “Tell me you hate me.”

I drop my weight over her but slide to the side. When she doesn’t answer, I pull her in close. “Tell me you fucking hate me and that I’m disgusting.”

“No,” she chokes on a whisper that spreads over my chest. “But you do me, and I know why.”

As soon as her breathing levels out and her body turns limp, I roll out from beneath the covers, snatching a cigarette from my packet and lighting the end. Three deep inhales later, and I finally have the courage to see her for who she is.

Sprawled out in a mess of blood and sex, she was made for me. With her blonde hair knotted in the ribbon of her bow and blood-stained lips, she is a thing of fucking beauty. Of Madness. I don’t deserve her.

Pulling open my bedside drawer, I take out the box of first aid shit. I tear open the wipes and clean the weeping wound. Every second is a battle as death stains the only girl I’ve ever considered living for. A tug-of-war of character. What one side wants, the other wants more.

I lay a range of butterfly stitches over the wound, circling it once more with my thumb and taking another hit of nicotine.

“So close.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

luna

“Luna…” He intrudes my thoughts. Clean shaven, deep-blue eyes, and a hollowness to his soul that can only be found from someone like him.

I hated him a lot throughout my life. More than I do Priest right now.

If he hadn’t left me this morning, I wouldn’t have called my mom in a panic. She wouldn’t be here right now, with my two dads, sitting with me in my living room like it’s a damn therapy session.

“Yes?” My lashes hit my cheekbones every time I blink, but I keep my focus on the clock in front of me.

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