Page 87 of Turn That River Red

I stand up, dusting the dirt off my knees, and walk over to inspect her legs. Sure enough, a thin dark trickle of blood slides along her thighs. I sniff the air, breathing it in.

“Look what we have here,” I purr, swiping my finger through her blood. I keep my gaze fixed on hers as I slide my bloody finger into my mouth to have a taste.

Fuck, she tastesdivine. She tastes like the roasted oysters I used to eat as a boy, spritzed with lime and dusted with chili powder. I drop down between her legs and lick the cut, drawing more of her decadent blood into my mouth.

Mercy gasps and squirms and the knife blade presses against my cheek. I jerk away from her, hot blood trickling down my face.

Mercy stares at me, trembling. I wonder what I look like to her right now, blood on my face and my lips.

“This is what I am, humanita.” I reach up and smear my blood onto my fingers. “I like the taste of blood. Your blood especially.”

Then I slide my bloody fingers into her mouth.

“Do you like the taste of my blood? Hmmm?”

Mercy moans, eyes fluttering, and licks the blood away. I draw my fingers out.

“Do you?” I say it more firmly. “Answer me, Mercy.”

“Yes,” she whispers.

I stare down at her, not quite believing it. She quivers with fear and shame and lust, and I push back her hair and then lean over to kiss her, slow and tender. But I’m not going to stay tender. She’s full of surprises, but I also need to know now if this is going to be too much for her.

“Do you want me to fuck you now?” I rasp in her ear. “Next to the grave of your dead friend?”

Mercy whimpers, turning her gaze to meet mine. I can see her considering the options, working through them one by one. It’s not that different from what I see in my victims’ eyes when I toy with them, when I make them think they have a chance at escape. The difference is, if Mercy says no, I’ll let her go.

I think.

“I’m waiting, humanita.” I read down and pinch the knife blade so I can pump the handle in and out of her, working it up against her G-spot. Mercy gasps and arches into it. “Answer me, or I’ll get you worked up without any release.”

Mercy bites her lips and stares at me, her hips rolling against the knife blade, her pupils flooded from lust. I’ve noticed that she’s hesitant to say what she wants.

Well, that’s an inclination I’ll fuck out of her.

I push the knife up, angling it so I can hit the spot I know she likes. Mercy jolts.

“Answer me,” I order, fucking her a little harder with the knife handle. “Right now. Do you want me to fuck you next to the grave of your dead friend?”

There are tears in her eyes. Heat in her cheeks. She nods.

“Say it, Mercy. Out loud.” I push the knife handle inside her pussy and wait.

“Y-yes,” she whimpers.

It’s a start.

“Good girl.” I drag the knife out of her. Mercy slumps back, breasts heaving against her low-cut dress, and I slam the blade intothe ground next to her head, the handle glistening with her arousal. She tilts her head toward it, eyes glimmering, and I grab her chin and force her to look up at me again. “Eyes on me, humanita.”

Mercy softens beneath my touch, yielding to my command. “Yes, sir,” she whispers, spreading her legs a little wider in anticipation.

God, she’s a fucking treasure.

I press my cock against her pussy, stopping myself from slamming right into her the way I want to. I want to tease her some more, want her dripping wet and dying to be filled. I want her to beg. And I want to make sure she comes.

“How does that feel?” I ask, nudging my cockhead against her fluttering clit.

Mercy gasps and squirms. “G-good, sir.”

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