Page 32 of Cry, Little Dove

I want tokissmy captor. I want to lick my blood from his lips and taste it from his tongue.

“You look unbelievably hot with fresh cuts and bruises, darlin’,” he murmurs. “They’re like tiny galaxies in between crimson constellations scattered over your skin. And I’m the God shaping your universe of pleasure and pain, one gentle strike and one careful slice at a time.”

Without warning, he sucks my clit between his lips. A moan rips from my chest as I throw my head back, grinding against his face with reckless abandon. I don’t care anymore if I seem desperate or if this is morally wrong. He makes me feel too fucking good.

His tongue toys with my clit before he lets it slide out and sucks it back in. He laps down along my slit, probing my pussy.

“Damn, you’re so wet, I don’t have to get you ready.”

“Don’t stop, please… I’m close…” I plead, attempting to grab his hair, but he pulls out of reach. His smug grin has tears of frustration burning in my eyes. “Why did you stop?”

“Because you have a lesson to learn.” He takes the dish towel from the counter and wraps it around the blade of the knife. “If you wanna play with knives, you’re gonna come with your cunt wrapped around one, darlin’.”

He pushes the thick handle against my entrance and a pang of adrenaline shoots through me. After the girth of his cock, the smooth wood slides into me with ease, but I’m still sore. I moan as he shoves the hilt deeper and the temptation to look down at myself is too great to resist.

The knife is buried to the base inside me, the wrapped blade sticking out from my pussy. A trickle of red flows from where Cain’s hand is holding it, his pinky missing the fabric shield.

He doesn’t care if he bleeds so long as he can fuck me.

While his other hand massages my clit, he takes up a punishing pace of thrusts. He pumps the knife handle in and out of me and—oh my fucking God, the shape and slight bend at the end—it hits every orgasmic spot.

“Fuck,” I groan. My eyes roll and I lay back on the cool marble. “I think I’m going to—”

My climax tears through me with tidal force. Stars explode under my skin. My shaking legs instinctively wrench shut, but Cain’s body keeps them wide open. When the fire inside me has died down, he withdraws the knife.

“I guess I don’t have to ask if you likedthat,” he says. He holds my gaze as he licks my shimmering wetness from the handle, and I forget what words are or how to use them like a human being. “You’re so damn delicious, I’ll eat your pussy as my last meal if they put me on death row.”

Confusion muddles my post-climax bliss while he puts the knife in the sink.

Wasn’t this supposed to be a punishment? How strange that he didn’t ruin my orgasm. Even stranger that he’s still hard and doesn’t want to get off, too.

Cain picks me up, cradling me in his arms as he walks to the stairs. The warmth of his strong body is relaxing, and I hate to admit to myself that I kind of like it.

“Those cuts have to be cleaned and dressed. Don’t wanna risk you getting an infection,” he says and kisses the top of my head, speaking soft words into my hair. “But don’t you fret. I’ll make sure they scar nicely. I don’t want you ever forgetting who you belong to.”

Who I belong to.

Butterflies surge in my belly. I focus on the sting on my thigh and what it means. Cain has marked me. Forever. As long as I live, I’ll carry his initials carved into my skin.

I lean my head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. A smile curls my lips, but I wipe it off in an instant.

I’m only playing along, only staying because I have nowhere else to go, I tell myself.Because the house is gorgeous, and my stomach is full, and I get to sleep in a warm, cozy bed. Because I don’t have to worry about bills or debt or being on the streets.

I’m only staying until I figure out an escape plan.

Not because I experience a bizarre sense of safety in his arms. Not because he’s made me come harder than any other man before him. Not because he makes me feel beautiful and alive.

“Can you stop being so hot and cold? It’s annoying,” I mumble into his shirt.

His laugh is a low, vibrating rumble. “I thought I’m only ever hot.”

I roll my eyes. “I mean things like this. First you threaten me, hurt me, fuck me, and treat me like I’m your toy. But then you carry me, wash me, feed me, take care of me.” My throat tightens when I realize what I said.

Heistaking care of me, isn’t he?

“I told you I’m obsessed with you, little dove. It’s on you if you don’t believe me.” Cain squeezes me as he climbs the stairs. What he says next would sound ridiculous coming from anyone else, but out of this handsome lunatic’s mouth, it makes perfect sense.

“Besides, torturing you always puts me in the mood to cuddle after, darlin’. It’s all about balance.”

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