Page 146 of Princess of Vengeance

“So fucking beautiful,” Nico growls, kissing a path up my body and stopping to kiss and suck and bite my nipples, which are so sensitive that the slightest touch sends little aftershocks of pleasure rippling through me.

“I love watching you come,” Atlas says, pulling the knife handle from inside me. “But now we have something important to do.”

I turn my head in the direction of his voice as he moves up the bed toward me. I can’t see a damn thing with this sleeping mask on, but it almost seems like all my other senses are more heightened without my sight.

“More important than making me come?” I ask, only half-joking.

“That’s right,” Nico joins in. “Or have you already forgotten how you told us we owed you new marks?”

Oh, fuck.

They’re going to do it now? To mark my body with the knife while I’m still blindfolded? Jesus, I might actually come again just from the thought of it.

“Who is going first?” is all I can think to ask.

“I am,” Nico answers just a half-second before I feel the slight prick of the knife blade against my breast—just where his older mark is. “I want to build on what I’ve already given you, to make something newer and better.”

Just like we’ve done with our lives.

“Oh, fuck,” I moan.

“This is the easy part,” Nico warns me.

I nod, bracing myself for the worst, and just when I’m starting to wonder what the hell is taking so long, he presses the blade down harder and begins to carve.

My skin splits and burns, and tears spring to my eyes, but the pain is short-lived. Almost as soon as it comes, the agony transforms into something else entirely.

Something that feels an awful lot like pleasure.

“Oh, god,” I cry, arching my back, trying to chase the sensation. “Fuck, Nico.”

He continues working, pausing here and there to soothe the raw skin with a tender kiss or lick.

“There,” he says after a few small touch-ups that send little jolts of pleasure down to my core. “Now it’s Killian’s turn.”

The knife blade touches me again, this time a little higher on my breast, and Killian begins to work.

His carving is different from Nico’s. He doesn’t pause and take his time. He’s quick and efficient, but he’s no less precise.

“That’s it,” I gasp as the knife slices into my skin. “Oh, fuck, yes.”

“Careful, siren,” he rumbles. “I need you to be still.”

It’s easier said than done when my whole body is being wracked by alternating waves of pain and pleasure, but somehow, I manage.

“I think that’s it,” he finally says, lifting the blade from my skin.

“My turn,” Atlas says.

My pulse kicks up a notch, and I feel the familiar heat pooling between my thighs.

“First,” he says, “I’m going to start by tracing the shape into your skin.”

“Tracing it?”

“That’s right.” He doesn’t explain any further, just begins gliding the knife blade across my skin in a pattern.

The cold, flat edge is almost soothing compared to the warm trickle of blood running from the other two marks. But I have a feeling it’s about to get a lot rougher.

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