Page 21 of Queen of Anarchy (Dirty Broken Savages 2)

“Do it,” he says, a hungry challenge in his voice. “Cut me. I wanna feel it.”

I reach over and grab the first object my fingers make contact with—the same knife he used to cut my bra. The same one that sliced shallowly through my skin just a bit ago.

I hold the knife in surprisingly steady hands, considering how hard he’s fucking me, and drag the blade down his chest. Almost subconsciously, I mimic the mark he left on me, going right between his pecks.

It’s a shallow cut, but it draws blood, red and stark against his skin.

“Shit,” Knox curses, and it’s so thick with pleasure and desire that I have to do it again.

I make another cut, parallel to the first one, just off to the side. He drives into me even harder, turning the sex even more intense. I can feel the heat building between us, searing us both from the inside out, and each stroke of his cock sends pleasure rippling through my body. It makes it hard to breathe, hard to focus. Hard to do anything but take it as he fucks me with everything he has.

His fingers clench on my hips tight enough to bruise, and I can feel his shaft getting thicker, spasming inside me as he reacts to the pain from the knife.

I add a third cut, and Knox moves like an animal, primal, driven by his instincts.

He reaches between my legs and finds my clit, thumbing it lightly. It doesn’t even take more than that before I’m screaming again, his name on my lips as I shatter apart into an orgasm that leaves me seeing white and shaking under him.

My pussy goes tight around his cock, like it wants to milk him of his release too, and he manages to hold out for only another few thrusts before he’s falling apart just like I did, coming with a roar that shakes the room.

I can feel the wetness from my orgasm mingled with his cum, just like the blood from the cut he left on me has mingled with the blood that’s dripped onto my chest from where I cut him.

Knox pants hard, looking at me where I’m laid out before him. His hair is wild and unkempt, his face flushed, and his nostrils flare with every exhale. Reaching down, he drags his fingers through the mess on my chest, and the heat in his eyes threatens to burn me alive.

My body is still trembling from the almost brutal orgasm, and I’m breathless and a little hoarse when I finally speak. “I guess it might be a little weird that the only thing that gets me off like this is rough sex.”

Knox just shrugs a shoulder. “You don’t have to justify what gets you off,” he says. “I stopped trying to justify what gets my dick hard a long time ago.”

I snort at that. “You’re just saying that because you like having sex with me like this. Cutting me, grabbing my throat.”

He doesn’t deny it. Not even a little bit.

Instead, he just laughs and pulls out of me, leaving me a sore, sticky, sated mess.

Pressing up onto my elbows, I look down at my chest—then blink in surprise at what I see. Knox wasn’t just smearing my blood around into a random pattern with his fingers.

He wrote a word on my chest with our mingled blood, and it stands out in stark red against my pale skin.

Mine.

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