Page 59 of Alamort

This time I pull the belt back farther. The sound of it slicing through the air. Three more swats that land perfectly across her rounded cheeks. They jiggle on impact, making me bite my knuckles, holding back a groan. I don’t want her to know the sight turns me on. Is this what’s considered an “apple bottom?” Shaped and colored like an apple? Bloody hell, this is a sight. One more wouldn’t hurt… me.

The metal of the belt jingles when I raise it again. Her knuckles turn white as she fists them into the blanket, readying herself for the next blow.

“Virgin.” She pants. “I’ve never been with anyone.” Good to know.

It whooshes through the air. The impact causing her to let out a squeal and sink her teeth into the bed. Dropping down to my knees, my hands gravitate toward the curve of her arse. While it may seem like I’m trying to comfort the hurt I’ve caused to some, my indifference remains unchanged. It’s because I want to feel my marks on her. I’m curious to know if my actions can help me understand and share her relief at receiving pain. It’s like a constant need, an addict looking for their next fix.

With every strike, her skin got hotter and transformed into a unique shade, creating a mesmerizing kaleidoscope of colors. Each welt has its own distinct color–the first a soft, rosy pink, the second set a rich, dark red, and the last one a bold scarlet hue. The strikes were fast and continuous, each one blending seamlessly into the next. It’ll bruise. Every time she moves or sits, she’ll remember me. That’s exactly what I asked for.

My fingertips delicately glide along the seam of her thong, caressing the most sensitive part of her. Her body writhing to get away, clearly uncomfortable with my touch. From this angle, the black fabric soaked, its color deepening to an even darker black. I take a chance testing the boundaries by pulling her panties to the side exposing the glistening lips that are no longer hidden by flimsy fabric. My middle finger touches her stiffened bud before dragging down to the opening of her pussy, sticking in only the fingertip she clenches around nothing. Her pussy weeping for more. There is no way she’s as turned on as me. Just a taste?

No. I said she wasn’t ready, and she’s not. Not yet, anyway. I pull out my push dagger, the one that has been with me through all of my kills. Always cleaned after each one, letting me bask in the memories of each drop of blood spilt. Recently, it’s only been hers. She’s been able to stave off the constant need of death.

I’d like to think I’m helping her. A therapist to talk through problems with. A diary to pour her heart out to. Or maybe even a God who answers her prayers. The knife’s sharp point connects with her skin, making an indent before I pull it down. She sucks in a breath between her teeth and forces her body to relax. It’s no easy feat. A strange man comes into her room to cut her when she fucks up. I’d like to think we’re closer than that. Then her thinking I’m just some weirdo who breaks into her room at night.

She… makes me feel things I’ve never felt before. Things I was never given the opportunity to feel. I’m not sure if thatmeans anything because I’ve never really had anyone. Saint, Crew and Bennett are all BFFs. The way they interact with each other, the way Saint talks about the twins, isn’t something I’ve ever experienced. I’ve never really thought about it like that, so it’s never bothered me how alone I am. It’s possible she helps fight off my newfound loneliness.

“Do you think we’re strangers, Little Monster?” I whisper into her soft skin. She makes a strangled noise. “I’d like to think we’re more than that.” My unoccupied hands trace the belt marks, hoping she’ll move, and my dagger will go deeper. She doesn’t. “I’d like to think we have a connection.” The knife sinks into her flesh at an angle, cutting down, opening beautifully under my direction. “That what this is, is deeper than the surface level shit you feed everyone else.”

I ready the blade again, making an upside-down V. It slices through like butter. The last line goes in the center of the V, completing the letter. My breath catches at the sight in front of me. It’s hard to control myself around her. Everything about her is so inviting. I place my face down at her knee level, the drops of blood racing each other down her pale freshly shaved legs.

“I think you were made for me.” My tongue touches the drops of blood, her skin sweet as the flowers she smells like, and lick a strip up to her new mark. My mark. I suction my lips over the wound, sucking at her like a vampire starved of blood for the last century.

“You’re so sweet.” I say, licking the blood from my lips and sucking her wetness off my middle finger. The combination is deadly.

She’s not as broken as she was the last time in the shower, begging to die. Don’t get me wrong, she’ll always be broken in the way that attracts darkness to her. But she won’t always want to die. I don’t think she knows what she wants. She lays stock still, no answer, no movement.

“Stay here.”

“Okay.” Her voice comes out breathless and husky. Should I kiss her? Isn’t that what people do after first or second dates? My mind is whirring with questions of what the “right thing” to do is. This is new to me. I need to research “How to take care of a pet”. Yeah, I’ll do that.

I keep the lights off when I go to get her supplies ready on the counter that she uses to clean herself up. Then I remember the head wound I viciously pulled on when she wasn’t listening. An ice pack is my next step.

After I’m done with my bathroom task. I stop to admire her in the same position I left her in. Bent over the bed, bloody and bruised. The image brings a smile to my face. She does listen. Every pet needs guidance, and that’s what she’ll get. The freezer suctions closed after I grab the ice pack. I place it gently on the bed next to her right hand, letting the coolness seep into her skin.

“Make sure you ice your head. That’s going to be a nasty headache.” I stroke her hair twice, pushing it away from her face. “Sweet nightmares, Little Monster, dream of me.” I decide against the kiss. That’s a pretty big step for us. It should come naturally.

When the door softly shuts behind me, I think of everything we still have to do together. The tension I’ve been carrying during our separation is fully gone. My thoughts are clearer than they have been in days, all thanks to her. Now to the more pressing matters at hand. The guys are getting suspicious. Saint more than the others. The twins think that Saint has just been shut in his room finding helpful information.

The truth is, I’ve been a bit of a naughty boy lately, fronting more than usual. Saint is the one who is asking more questions. Eventually, I’ll have to tell them the truth.

priya

No word today. I think I have brain damage. Thoughts hurt. Iloveyou.

“Ow, ow, ow.” I hiss as the sunlight hits my eyes, the pounding of my heartbeat in my head. Pain radiates through every inch of my body. Carefully, I press my fingers against the back of my head, where most of the pressure is building up. For the past hour, I've been contemplating getting out of bed. I instinctively bring my hands up to my eyes, desperate to block out the overwhelming light. I fumble for the remote control that seals off the outside world to create a pitch-black haven within these walls.

On the first try, I miss it completely, and my fingers graze it on the second attempt. With a sense of resignation, I release my grip and allow my hands to go slack, grabbing a pillow to cover my face, accepting defeat. I would scream if I could, but that would only worsen the pain.

A feminine throat clears in the room’s corner.

“God, is that you?” My hoarse voice croaks out. The remote lands on my chest with a smack. “Ow, bitch. Definitely not a merciful God.”

“The nurse is on her way up here. I suggest you change your clothes. You’re halfway naked and on top of that, still smell like fire from last night.” She tsks. River, sweet, sweet River. There’s something I need to ask her. A sharp pain interferes with whatever thought I was working on.

“I think I’m dying.” I groan. This feels like one of the beatings my dad gave me when I accidentally embarrassed him by thanking the waitress for helping at a charity event.

It’s kicking my ass. Speaking of my ass. I wiggle side to side on the bed, shrinking away. The rough fabric against my sore asscheeks mixes in with a dizziness that overcomes me with each movement, makes it unbearable. I forgot about this part. It’s been a while since I’ve had to nurse a concussion and an ass whoopin’. Even without a doctorates degree, I know that Bennett left me some brain damage.

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