Page 104 of Revenge Saints
“I will,” I smirk at the panic in her eyes. “But you first. I want to bleed for you.”
She’s shaking now, her hand trembling beneath mine. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Oh, doll…” I guide the blade to my chest, pressing it down until it slices, slow and shallow. My breathing turns ragged. The sting makes my cock twitch, and she clenches around me so tight I nearly lose it.
“Fuck,” I groan, tipping my head back.
Blood trickles down my chest. Her eyes are dark, lips parted.
Then she leans in and licks it, her tongue drags across my skin, savoring the taste, moaning as she clenches again around my cock. My rhythm stutters, hips snapping forward.
“God, I missed you,” I growl.
She trembles under me, licking her lips, a smear of my blood staining the corner of her mouth.
I lean down and suck it; tasting my blood on her is divine. She is fucking divine.
Pulling out, I drag my piercing over her clit, circling her until her hips start moving with me. Her eyes flutter shut, mouth parting withsoft, helpless moans. I feel her body tense beneath me, trembling legs fighting to stay open for me.
Then I stop.
She gasps, blinking up at me like I just pulled her back from the edge. Her breath’s shaky, chest heaving, those gorgeous tits rising and falling with every needy inhale.
“Please, Dante,” she mumbles.
I lean down and flick my tongue over one of her nipples, teasing, then bite down just enough to make her cry out.
“Dante,” she moans, breathless.
“What, doll?” I grunt as I bite harder, the sting making her back arch. “Use your words.”
“I want more,” she begs.
Fuck.My little doll likes pain more than I thought.
I sit back up and twirl the knife in my hand. Her eyes lock onto it, lip caught between her teeth as she bites it.
“Where?” I ask.
She points next to her nipple, and I smirk.
“What did I say?” I slap her cunt with a sharp smack, just enough to make her gasp, and thrust into her, hard and deep. She cries out, her walls fluttering around me, gripping every one of my piercings like she’s never letting go.
“Use.”
Thrust.
“Your.”
Thrust.
“Words.”
I slam into her again, so hard the bed jerks beneath us.
“God, Dante!” She cries.
“Trust me, doll. God doesn’t want to see what I’m about to do to you.”
