Page 65 of Sorrow

Suppressing a smirk, I drop down and crawl toward him, knowing it’ll make him weak. His quick intake of breath only spurs me on. “Fuck, I love it when you’re good for me.”

“I’m always good for you,” I whisper, settling between his knees. “How good do you need me to be tonight, Hayes?”

Biting his lip, he reaches out to pet my face almost lovingly. “The best,” he whispers, gravelly and desperate. “Are you in the right headspace to make art with me, Hurricane?”

Art. Like the stuff in my veins is mere paint and not lifesaving connective tissue.

Luckily for him, I’m not too concerned with staying alive.

“Almost,” I say quietly. “Can I cockwarm for you first?” My cheeks flush with heat — I hate admitting that sitting here with his dick in my mouth actually calms me.

I see what that does for him. I see the way his eyes close, the way he breathes deeply like my words somehow comfort him. “Yes, of course. I’m proud of you for communicating your needs.”

Swiping his thumb along my lips, Hayes stares at me like I’m so precious my blush deepens, only easing when he sits back and waves at his crotch. “Go ahead.”

The process is familiar to me now, taking him out, settling my lips around him, tasting the metal from his piercing. Resting my head on his thigh, feeling his thumb against my cheek. But things are different this time. I’m not doing this to prove I can or to learn anything at all, I’m doing it to prepare myself for pain.

Maybe we should’ve talked about this more. Not knowing what he’s going to use or how much blood he wants to see has menervous — so much so that it takes longer than usual to talk myself down.

I must sit there for the better part of an hour before my heart rate finally slows and I feel myself drifting. Not once does he rush me, and when I know that I’m ready for whatever he needs, I can tell I’m not the only one who used that time to get into the right headspace. His touch is gentle in spite of what we’re about to do, but his gaze is sharper than ever. “You’re so beautiful, Samara. No one else in the world is allowed to hurt you. I’ll always keep you safe.”

He carries me to the bedroom, where I’m surprised to find a white comforter spread out on the floor. I have to wonder what he’s going to do with it afterward when he lays me at the center.

Are we really making art?

“You’ve never done this with anyone else, right?” I ask. “Just me?”

He shakes his head. “I’ve been reading up on it though and watching videos on how to do it correctly.”

How cute of him to think I was worried about his technique. I don’t care that he isn’t experienced, I care that he’s taken so many firsts from me and I finally get to return the favor. And... maybe I’m glad that when thisis all over, it’ll be me he thinks about when he’s all alone. Not someone else. This isn’t some acrobatic fuck or a porn star blow job. It’s deeper than that, for me and for him.

I can sense it.

His hands are trembling, but the excited energy radiating off of him tells me it isn’t nerves. He’s wanted this for a long time. And I think I’m ready to give it to him.

“My safeword is Frost,” I remind him. “Don’t listen if I ask you to stop.”

Wide eyes meet mine as he nods, straddling me still fully clothed as he begins to ghost his fingers over the places he wants to cut. “We’ll start with two today, Samara. Here—” he draws a straight line along the right side of my chest, and then another one on the left “—and here. I need to be able to watch your face this first time.”

To see what, I wonder? Pain, enjoyment, fear? All I know is instinct tells me I should temper my reaction, and I know my instinct is wrong. “I’m ready,” I breathe, fisting my hands in the soft cotton fabric below me. “Wait, can I take my bra off? I like this one.”

“Yes,” he growls, unclasping it in a second to toss it over on his bed, and then he cups both of my breasts with a satisfied expression. “Breathe for me.”

He leaves me for the briefest moment, returning with a blade roughly five inches in length and a rock hard boner between his thighs. From here, I get to watch him set the knife down next to me and strip, each article of clothing leaving his body in a way that’s so unintentionally sensual, I feel my pussy throb.

When he straddles me again, I think my heart stops.

This is it.

“Do it,” I beg quietly.Before the anticipation kills me.

“Eager little girl,” he coos, his cock jerking against my stomach as he leans in and reaches for the blade. “Say please.”

Oh, he’s a special kind of bastard. Huffing, I ball my fists in the blanket again. “Please, Hayes. Make me bleed.”

“Fuck,” he hisses, cock leaking near my belly button. “Good girl. First slice... take a breath and release.”

The blade pierces my skin the moment I exhale, his eyes widening further as he slides a short trail along my chest and awaits the crimson liquid he longs for.

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