Page 136 of Intense
“Your turn.”
She stares up at me, wide-eyed and trembling, but not from fear.
From want.
“If you cut me,” I say roughly, “you get to come.”
Her lip trembles. Her thighs clench.
“Do it.”
This isn’t just about me marking her as mine. It’s about her owning me too. This is a marriage, a union in blood.
This isn’t something any paperwork can take away from us.
Standing beside her, she sits up and takes the blade. I watch the slight shake in her fingers, the movement awkward and hesitant. I’ve seen her do surgery for hours. I know she can do this. She handles pressure like a pro.
I drag my shirt off, baring my chest to her, forgetting my past for just a second. Forgetting the things I am supposed to hide from the world. Her eyes rake over my body, and she’s not horrified; she’s not even looking at the scars on my chest that I’ve covered my best with tattoos. No. She’s staring at my shoulders like she wants to sink her teeth into them.
“Something you like, Mrs. Quinn?” I ask with amusement.
It makes my heart flutter seeing her satisfaction with me. Like she wants to tear into me. That this obsession is mutual.
“I knew you were ripped, but damn. Look at those traps.”
I tilt my head, amused at her little outburst.
“You mean your leg rests for when I eat you out?”
She licks her lips and nods.
“Not now though, that can be after,” I wink.
I tip my head back, offering my skin.
“Make it hurt, Mrs. Quinn.”
Her fingers shake. But the blade slices clean and fast across my shoulder. Not deep. Just enough to sting. To satisfy.
My groan is guttural.
Pain and pleasure blur. They always have for me. I need this, and something settles inside of me knowing that she is prepared to give me it. No questions. No persuading her to do it.
She is like me. She wants pain too.
“Nice work, Dr. Quinn,” I praise her.
“Now, lie back down.”
Blood runs in a thin line, trailing down my chest. I dip my hand into it, smear it between her thighs, and slide two fingers back inside her. Her slickness and my blood mixing into something primal.
Something sacred.
She arches violently, gasping as I stroke her with that unholy blend. The monitor screams. So does she.
But I’m not done.
I yank off the wires from her chest as fast as I can before flipping her onto her stomach so she’s on all fours and dragging her to the end of the bed.
