Page 90 of Boy of Ruin
“Yeah, baby?” I slide the bottle down, tugging her shirt, too, exposing her growing tits.
“Let. Go. Of me.” Her words are a fucking snarl, and goddamn, does that shit turn me on.
It’s close to midnight, darkness surrounding this cabin, thick, heavy curtains covering the windows so we can stay up as late as we want, pretend its night forever.
We both know giving in to what we really want is so much easier to do in the dark.
The first time I touched her like this? It wasn’t that night I found her on Halloween.
I wonder if she remembers.
“Is that what you really want?” I let go of her wrist, reach for the knife block on the counter, beside the gun, taking the chef’s knife.
She tenses, her mouth parted, brows arched up, but she doesn’t move.
She doesn’t move, because she’s just as fucking sick as I am .
I slowly set the bottle beside us, grip the thin fabric of her shirt in one fist, then drag the butcher knife down the middle, easily cutting the fabric, the sharp tip of the blade against her stomach.
She gasps, then bites her lip as she looks down, watching that knife so close to her belly.
When the shirt hangs in scraps, I nudge it off of her shoulders, let it fall to the fucking floor.
Her hands are balled into fists at her sides, her pink nipples sharp little points as I hold the tip of the knife to her low, round belly, just above the waistband of her skirt.
“You want me to stop? You wanna keep pretending you hate me?” I press the blade into her belly, not cutting her, but enough that if she moves too fucking fast, it will.
My hand moves to her face, my thumb over her bottom lip as she looks up at me, panting, her dark hair falling over her shoulders.
“You wanna act like you haven’t wanted me inside of you for years, baby? Like you don’t fucking love it when I get crazy, for you?”
She’s barely breathing, scared I’ll cut her.
Scared I’ll end what he did to her.
Maybe I fucking will.
“You drive me fucking insane,” I tell her, my voice breaking with that truth, my thumb brushing over her mouth. I swallow down the lump in my throat, her wide eyes at my admission. As if she didn’t know. “You drive me insane, baby, and I can’t take it anymore.”
“Jeremiah,” she breathes, “don’t hurt—”
I press the blade just a little closer. Hear her hiss. Look down and see the blood trailing from the tip of the blade, against her pale skin. She brings her trembling hands up, closes them around mine on the blade.
Almost as if she’d shove it in herself.
Almost as if she’d let me stab her.
“You don’t want me to hurt you?” I ask her quietly, glancing down at her small hands over mine. “You really want me to just…let you go?”
Her lip trembles as she stares at me, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, her fingers pressing into mine on the blade.
“Or do you want me to mark you?” I glance at the knife, see her face flush pink, her teeth sinking into the pillow of her bottom lip, right beside my thumb. “Use you? Fucking brand you, Sid? Let everyone know who you really belong to?”
Her fingers tremble on mine, and even though it’s my left hand around the blade…mine fucking don’t.
Because even my body wouldn’t hurt her.
Not like that.
