Page 46 of Regressive

“Okay.”

Roughly, I spread her thighs, running my fingers over the creamy smooth skin. I know Imogene has a history of self-Correcting by cutting her flesh. This is another level of that. Pushing her panties aside, I rub my fingers around the wet heat, watching her tremble, then I take the tip of the blade and press it into her inner thigh. I make the cut quick, guiding the blade down her inner thigh. Her legs quiver and I duck, lapping up the trail of blood with my tongue.

Her body is still, tense, frozen, and I wonder if I’ve gone too far, revealed too much of my darkness, but she drops her fingers to my head, curling them into my hair. “More.”

I’m happy to oblige.

Again, I cut her, the thinnest of marks, the most delicious taste, coppery blood with the scent of her dripping pussy. When I lick her, her hips rise—seeking. I glance up her body, at her tits, and I see her nipples are hard, her free hand moves to it, tugging at the sharp peaks.

“How does that feel?” I ask her, the words a low grunt. My cock is blindingly hard, my mind delirious with lust. “Close?”

“Not yet,” she says, spreading her legs wider. This time I don’t cut her thigh but run the blade through the crotch of her panties. She gasps, eyes wide. I climb over her and flip the blade, nudging her pussy with the handle.

“You need more, don’t you?”

“Yes.” She nods, biting down on her bottom lip. I bend and capture her mouth, her tongue and press the handle of the knife into her. Her jaw drops and a small breath catches in her throat. Her hand lands on my forearm, the one holding the blade, and she squeezes the muscle as her hips rock forward. I plunge the handle in, knowing she wants it rough—raw—and give her what she needs.

“Oh!” I kiss her to swallow the cry. I thrust the handle in, fist dragging against her clit with every motion. “Harder,” she begs against my mouth. “Fuck me harder, Levi.”

I only wish I could do it with my cock, bury myself into her, pounding out every ounce of grief and rage and regret, but I don’t deserve a woman like Imogene. She isn’tmine. But I can give her what she needs, something Rex doesn’t understand.

“Come for me, Imogene,” I tell her, feeling her rising to the edge. “Let it go. Let go of the shame built up inside of you. Release all the pain.” I keep away from the language of The Way, not wanting that to be what this is about. It’s not about Lapses or Regression.

“I’m close,” she says, and I slow my motion, dragging the handle in and out slowly, brushing my thumb over her clit. I bend, licking the trails of sticky blood off her inner thigh. It’s that way, with my face between her legs and the knife pushed to the hilt that she finally comes, a deep guttural groan releasing all of the pent-up emotions she’s been carrying.

I fist my cock, rock hard and a few strokes away from exploding and get to my knees. Imogene looks up at me, eyes glazed, fingers grazing my hipbone. “Let me—”

“No,” I grunt. It’s too late. I’m too far gone. I seize, back arching, jaw clenching, and come, thick ropey spurts of semen spilling on her thighs.

Our breathing slows and I look at us, truly look at the mess on the bed, the broken-down girl, the ripped panties and the blood and the semen. I don’t know if I helped her or harmed her. Or what is up or down, if Anex is right or if we’re all wrong.

One thing I’m pretty certain of, is that the two of us are fucking ruined, raw like a scabbed over wound I can’t stop picking at.

Neither of us know how to stop making it worse.

“He’s goingto be mad when he sees these,” she says, looking down at the wounds. “I don’t know who he’ll be angrier with, you or me?”

I grunt, fishing through the bedside table for a pot of Silas’ salve. I find it, spinning open the top. She stopped bleeding a while ago, the cuts aren’t that deep. I’ve learned the balance, how to manage the weight of the tip.

“I’ll deal with Rex,” I say, dipping my finger in the pot and scooping out a thick glob.

“It’s okay. I can please him other ways.”

I glance up at her mouth, imagining Rex’s cock buried inside. Imaginingmycock buried inside. I coat the cut with the salve and cover it with a bandage. “Keep it clean,” I tell her. “But the knife is disinfected. It should heal okay.”

Her hand rests on my hip, thumb rubbing the scars underneath my shorts. Regret washes over me. I shouldn’t have shown her. It’s my burden to carry, not hers.

“You know you can come to me, too,” she says softly. “When you feel the urge to Correct.”

I snort. “That’s not how it’s done.”

Females do not Correct men. They don’t have the disposition for it. They’re too fair. It’s the male’s job to inflict, which is why Anex trusts us to do it to ourselves.

“I know it’s not how it’s done, Levi,” she says, “but nothing we do here is by the book. We’re all wandering through this together.” Her voice lowers. “I’m worried about you. Those scars…”

“I shouldn’t have shown you.”

I move to stand, but her hand grabs my forearm. “Thank you for trusting me.”

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