I reach out my hand, not looking up. Hoping he'll accept. That my demands are humble, not defiant. I wait, but there's nothing. Just as I begin to drop my arm, a rough, soaked hand clenches it.
I gasp in shock. Terror and relief wrestle inside of me, unsure of what this means. I look up and my gaze meet his as he pulls me to my feet. My eyes shoot down to the knife in his other hand and I recoil instinctively. He looks down at it, and back up at me, dragging me closer to the barn. He plunges it into the old, cracked wood before slamming me up against the wooden exterior.
“I did this…” he mutters against my lips, “to save you.” Grasping my face between his blood soaked hands, he presses his mouth to mine. A spiteful kiss laced with rage and surrender. Tasting of blood and perspiration. Victory never tasted so bitter.
But he pulls the kiss away as powerfully as he thrust it on me.
Sam grabs my skirt, finding a small tear from my jaunt in the woods and rips it open. He wipes a hand clean on the fabric. He slides his fingers inside of me, afterward bringing them up to his face to see them better. Fresh blood glazes his new fingertips--the remains of the life we created together still slowly trickling from me.
“I'm gonna take you like I did the first time you ran,” he rasps in my ear. This time his reasons are different. Sam finishes ripping my dress open, so that the hot night air breathes on my humid skin, and he runs his mouth along my torso, leaving a scattered trail of blood wherever he touches me. The smell of iron and sweat crawl up my nose inciting a hunger, like the craving for meat. I curl my fingers into his damp hair, through caked blood. It doesn't even phase me. I've been so close to death for so long, it's just a part of my life now.
He stands back up, taking sharp, impatient breaths. His hard chest pushes against mine with each inhale. I reach below and feel his potent need. He lets his jeans fall to the floor, so he is just man — skin, hair, blood, muscle, sweat. Without wasting a second, he grabs me, dragging me into the barn.
It's so fast, but I see a trail of blood lead to the opposite direction, where I can't see, where his earlier violence must lay. He shows me into an empty stall.
“I want to see your body in the light,” he grunts, pushing me down onto the thin layer of hay. “I’m gonna fuck you like an animal.”
The itchy straw sticks to my wet skin as he mounts me. The musky smell of livestock wafts in the air, intermingled with our own natural musk.
He forces his way in. It's not gentle. He lets me scream as he opens me up, his first thrusts slow. Not for my comfort, but because he wants the moment to last. It allows me to relax around his girth, and to enjoy the feeling of his cock in my ass. And just when I have found that comfort, he pumps harder, pulling my hair like he's riding his horse.
He grunts and groans as he plows into me.
This is my punishment.
This is my reward.
Finally, all those times he took a part of me and replaced it with himself have come to this. Because I am deriving a pure, untainted pleasure from this. No guilt. No shame.
I made the right choice to stay. It was a gamble of the highest stakes and it's paid off.
I reach under and play with my clit, taking myself to climax just as he lets out a powerful moan, his cock pulsating within the tight grip of my ass. His fullness and the reverberating echoes of my orgasm drown out the dull cramps in my belly from the loss.
He rolls off of me and onto his back. Something has changed. His eyes are human again. His body not so rigid.
I know better than to expect him to say anything, so I do.
On my knees, I turn to face him. He looks up at me inquisitively.
“I'm here,” I say one more time, before lying beside him, facing him in the fetal position. He doesn't react for the first few seconds, still tentative. But then he slides closer, reaching his arm underneath, and pulling me in close.
I run my fingers along the warm, slick blood on his arm. I’ve never had a problem with gore, one of the reasons I decided I had the fortitude for nursing. I trail along until my finger stops at the gaping wound, and then another.
“Sam…” I lament. He’s hurt himself so many times tonight and I hurt for him. “We need to take care of these. I can stitch you up.”
He doesn’t answer, which is to be expected, but when I look up for confirmation, he’s already asleep. His face is blanketed with serenity underneath the smudges of blood.
I rest against his bloody torso, matted in straw, until we both fall asleep.
Sunlight slips through the wood plank walls and shines into my eyes to awaken me. My stirring wakes Sam, who has wrapped himself around me. I still can't tell if it's affection or mistrust.
“Good morning,” I wince. Despite the full night's sleep, I am still exhausted from the ordeal my body went through and have a strong hankering for steak.