Page 40 of Cruel Cravings

But then I remind myself who he is. I remember the agony he’s put me through over the years, stalking me, watching me, making everyone believe I was crazy.

I think about my sister and how he could be the reason she’s gone.

My thirst for blood, for his pain in exchange for what I need, returns, more consuming than ever.

I press the knife to his stomach and slash away at the skin, creating yet another fresh gash.

“Tell me where my sister is,” I say.

And when he still doesn’t answer, I run the blade back over the open gash to double his agony. Blood drips everywhere.

On me. On him.

On the floor.

Clinging to the beautiful knife.

“Clumsy me. I just can’t help myself,” I say, smirking. I bring the blade up to my lips and swipe my tongue along its length, licking up more of his blood. I let the taste linger on my tongue for a second, watching him watch me do so. “You know what? I’m in the mood for something else. I know how to get you to talk. You have no one to blame but yourself.”

Before he can figure out what I mean, I slide into his lap, straddling him. His body tenses beneath mine, a ripple of hard muscle against metal chains. I press the knife to his thick, scarred throat and rip the minotaur mask clean off in one brisk motion.

His reaction is immediate and intense—a thunderous growl rumbles from deep within his chest. His head jerks back like he’s pained by what I’ve done, but it’s too late. The part of him he clearly didn’t want me to see is exposed.

His face is a mess of scars. There’s too many to count. Long, jagged marks that cut across cheekbones and twist along theseam of his mouth. Even his lips have a slash mark that tells me they were once split all the way open.

But what’s worse is the fact that his features are distorted. They’re as beastly as the mask he’s been wearing. His nose permanently broken. One eyelid irreversibly thicker and lower, more swollen than the other. The scars carry on into his hairline, eventually disappearing into his head of unkempt, dark hair.

He releases another savage howl and his body surges forward. The chains creak under the strain, barely withstanding his efforts. His fists clench tighter than ever, two huge instruments that can easily be weapons of their own.

I lean back slightly in his lap and smirk tauntingly at him. “Well… it’s a little anticlimactic. I was expecting you to be hideous. I would’ve been more surprised if you weren’t.”

He turns his head to the side, away from me, for the first time avoiding my gaze.

Finally.

Now we’re cooking.

“Does it bother you?” I ask. “That I’ve seen what you look like?”

He refuses to respond.

“The mask can go back on… if you answer my questions.” When several more seconds pass and still nothing, I grab him by the face and force his head to turn toward me. I press the blade against his mangled cheek and say, “Do you want more scars? I can always add some.”

I drag the blade across the ruined flesh, watching the line of blood emerge. His gaze links with mine as I do, the rage that was possessing him gone. He’s back to silent restraint as I cut his cheek open and let the blood dribble to the edge of his jaw.

Leaning forward, I lick that up too. Taunting him. Showing him who’s in control and that I can do whatever the fuck I want.

I will until he tells me where my sister is.

But as the flat side of my tongue runs across his severed cheek and more of his sweet blood explodes on my taste buds, a strange sensation hits me.

The adrenaline that’s driven me unleashes a wave of heat that travels somewhere new. It shoots straight through me, burning a path to my pussy.

My pussy that clenches as my tongue licks up his blood.

I snap back like I’ve been electrocuted, blinking dazedly at him.

The tension is thick. It’s fucking unbearable as I look him in his disfigured face and become aware of the pull between us.

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