“I’m not scared of you,” I bite, moaning again as an orgasm builds.
“So many lies,” he whispers, right before he presses the blade in and starts to
cut.
I suck in a sharp breath, burning pain flaring in my chest. Slowly and
methodically, he begins to thrust in and out of me, keeping his movements gentle
so he can slice cleanly.
This isn’t short little cuts like last time, but one long, continuous drag. It’s nearly blinding, so I rub my clit harder, moaning from the cornucopia of pleasure and agony ravaging my body.
It feels as if a gasoline-lined rose is seeping into my skin, and it’s steadily catching fire beneath his touch.
“I will carve a garden of scars into your flesh, little mouse. Only my pain will
bring them to life.” I tip my head back, groaning from the sharp bite of his knife.
“They'll only ever grow beneath my touch.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, and his voice cuts in sharply. “Look at me, Adeline. I
want you to watch me brand you as mine.”
Though it’s a struggle, I force my eyes open, trading between the macabre rose being engraved into my skin, and his glimmering mismatched eyes.
“You’re doing such a good job, baby,” he whispers, sparing me a quick
glance. Sweat forms along my hairline as the two different sensations battle in my nerve endings.
“You take it so fucking good,” he groans, biting his lip as blood bubbles and
pours from the wound, pooling in the divot in my throat and the sheets beneath
me.
My breath hitches as his cock hits that spot inside of me, sending my eyes rolling to the back of my head. I arch into the knife and twirl my fingers faster, uncaring how grotesque the rose will look.
Nothing about our love is pretty. It’s full of jagged lines, chipped pieces, and
sharp edges. It hurts like fucking hell, but it’s not a masterpiece if it didn’t make you bleed for it.
He curses, the blade slicing through my skin faster.
“Don’t you dare fucking come yet, Adeline. Not until I tell you to.”
I don’t listen, continuing to chase after it despite his warning. Nothing else matters right now except coming all over his cock with his knife in my chest.
He growls, the hand around the back of my neck sliding up and fisting my hair so tightly, I cry out. After a few more moments, he pulls the knife away, the agony still lancing throughout the bloodied rose.
I’m so close. Right on the precipice.
But then he jerks my head back farther, forcing me to bow off the bed.
Seconds later, the sharp edge of the knife is pressing into my jugular, and Zade’s
dangerously soft voice is filling my ear.
“I can slit your throat so fucking easy. And the harder you come, the faster your blood will drain from your body,” he drawls.
My fingers still, a different type of agony stealing my breath as I force the orgasm back down.
“You don’t fucking come until I tell you to,” he repeats, his voice biting and
as rough as sandpaper. Despite his threat, he fucks me harder, pressing his chest
into mine and earning a pained cry in response.
His breathing escalates, the sharp edge biting into the sensitive flesh on my neck. With every thrust, he jerks my body and causes it to scrape against my skin.
“Zade, please,” I cry. “You feel so fucking good. I need it so bad.”
He inhales sharply, and then he’s flinging the knife across the room, the sound
of it cracking against my vanity mirror swallowed by my sharp cries.
His hand comes around my throat, mouth still pressed into my ear.
“Say it again,” he demands, quickening his pace.
I bite my lip until I taste copper, struggling to hold on—to keep from exploding around him. I’m in a losing battle, and I am a fucking liar. I’m terrified of what Zade will do—enough to keep grappling at that control. Yet I know if I let go, I’ll welcome his punishment as chaotically as I did the tip of his knife.
“I love you,” I choke out, the words scarcely leaving my tongue before his hand is clamping down, arresting the oxygen in my lungs.
“Such a good girl. I want you to soak these sheets with your cum as deeply as
your blood, do you understand me?”
My mouth opens, but no sound escapes. He’s gripping my throat too tightly to
allow a single decibel to slip through.
Blackness licks at the edges of my vision, taunting me as it creeps in slowly.
The pressure in my head heightens, and I feel how bright red my face is. Panic
unfurls in my stomach, into the whirlpool of bliss and agony. It’s a battle of needing him to stop and preferring he snap my neck if he does.
I’m clawing at his arm, and when my eyes begin to roll, he releases my throat
right as a tidal wave crashes through me.
The combination of the blood draining from my head at a dizzying speed and
the earth-shattering orgasm reduces me to delirium. My pussy clenches around him so tightly, I feel him strain to sink into me.
“Zade!” I scream through a ravaged throat, hoarse and cracked, my arms
looping around his neck, desperate to hold on to something, and needing it to ground me as I’m shredded into pieces.
My ears ring as my body bows completely off the bed, the euphoria clawing
at my insides too intense for me to process.
He refuses to stop, fucking me harder even as I thrash in his hold. His hands
clutch my hips with a bruising force, and if I could see past the image of God staring in my eyes, asking me if I’m ready to come home, I’d find an unhinged man on his knees asking if he can come, too.
Tears spring to my eyes, and my face contorts with a helpless cry as my body
is ravaged. All of the sensations—it’s too much.
“Oh my God, please, I can’t anymore!”
I feel his fist slam into the mattress beside my head with a guttural growl, and
his tongue slides along my cheekbone, lapping up the teardrops.
“Eyes on me when you’re praying to me,” he snaps. I shake my head, more
tears spilling over. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful when you cry for me. Do you think
I’ll ever stop now? I want to drink your fucking tears like they’re the blood of
Christ.”