“Aeron, I—ow, I—oh my God…”
I shove into her. Each thrust is a dull thump, swollen tissues too sensitive, almost numb. She picked the wrong night to flake out on me—after the day I’ve had, I wouldn’t trust myself to peel an apple without shredding the damn thing. The scalpel shivers in my fingers; I bring it down to the underside of her breast, teasing cool metal along the delicate skin there.
“I—I can’t,” she says between jagged breaths. “Please. Those pictures…I just can’t. I’m sorry.”
I don’t think she’s noticed, but I’m not really listening.
I bend my head to blow along the seam between blade and breast. Leo arches at the feel of it, and pulls tight as she can on me—her stomach muscles ripple with the effort.
“Nice try.” I smile up at her through my sweat-damp hair. “Now hold still.”
No use. She wriggles, trying to fuck up on to me. Shocks of pleasure knot around my cock, squeezing and shuddering, and at once I’m torn between losing myself inside her, or shifting the scalpel just a little to the left so I can tear something else and lose blood, beautiful blood.
“Fuck me,” she murmurs. “Just fuck me. Like that, but harder…like…” Her thighs fall open wide, so wide. “Deeper. Y—yeah.”
No.
“Sweetheart, I only want one little thing.” I bring a hand up to stroke the hair from her face, where I catch her wild, wide eyes with mine. “Look at me. I’m not him.”
“I know,” she whispers, though there’s a flicker of doubt there somewhere, a brief dip to her brow.
“I always take care of you, don’t I?”
“You do. I know that.”
“So where’s my good girl, huh? Where is she?”
“I just can’t,” she whimpers, trying to look away. I find myself hoping she’ll cry. Nothing like a tear to catch the smallest shred of light. “I don’t…I keep asking myself, why did they let him do that? Did they know?”
I told you so. She burns in the vague lines of symmetry between her lover and a ritualistic killer; panic tugs at her nerves. Leo is not stupid. She prides herself on her intellect—I’m more downfall than she ever wanted, and all this is a reminder too raw.
“Did they?” she repeats, desperate.
With a sigh, I pull the blade from her breast and set it back on the bedside table. Then I slide my arms beneath her, draw her up. Press her heartbeat over mine so that they mesh, we pulse together and she calms. Then slowly, slowly I move inside her, cupping her jaw while I hold her still.
“Maybe they loved him,” I whisper. I am dangerously close to the bone here, but some wounds need cauterizing before they begin to fester.
“We aren’t like them,” she shoots back.
“Maybe they loved him.”
“Stop it.”
Despite her panic, she grows slicker. Hotter. For a second, I swear she forgets everything but the friction between us, the shove and glide of my cock. If there wasn’t a canvas at stake, I could be tempted to forget too, but if that slips away, then what? The thought sets my teeth on edge.
We’re panting now, a mess of breath. She lets her eyes fall closed, bites her bottom lip, and drags sharp nails across my shoulders.
“That’s why you let me do these things,” I murmur. “Because of the way I make you feel.”
Those black button eyes roll open to watch me. Their pupils grow glassy and fat.
“That’s why you let me see you on the inside, isn’t it, baby?”
Leo begins to moan—soft, reluctant little sounds. So pained to want the things she shouldn’t, even now.