Page 97 of Silent Schemes
I slam her back against the glass, shards rattling under her spine.
She shudders, then shoves a hand down, unzips my pants, gets her palm around my cock and squeezes until my vision goes white.
I hiss, then drag my own hand up her shirt, yank it over her head, fling it to the floor.
No bra.
Just skin, covered in goosebumps, every inch a map of every time I’ve tried and failed to break her.
I grab her throat with one hand, pinning her to the glass, while the other tears her leggings down.
The wound on her hip is still raw, bandage half peeled, and she grins when she sees me looking.
“You want to mark me?” she says. Daring me.
I pull the knife from my belt.
Flip it open, the steel flashing blue in the dim light.
I drag the flat of it down her thigh, slow enough to make her squirm.
Then I press the point to the skin just below her left hip, where the blood runs fastest.
“You’re mine,” I whisper.
She nods, no fear.
I slice, quick and shallow, the letters V.B. into her flesh.
She hisses, then arches, and the blood wells up, hot and dark, spilling down her thigh.
I keep my hand on her throat, keep her eyes on mine.
She comes like that, locked in my grip, body bucking against me, blood and sweat and spit all mixing together.
I don’t let go.
Not even when she claws my face, leaving red lines that sting in the cold air.
When she comes down, she grabs the knife and cuts the bandage off her side, letting it fall.
Then she grins, wild, and pulls me in, guides my cock into her like it’s the only thing that will keep her alive.
I give her the knife, and while I fuck her, she carves S.C. into my skin.
We fuck on the table, on the broken glass, on the floor where the whiskey still pools and soaks into her hair.
I hold her wrists above her head, then let her break free and bite my lip until she draws blood.
She rides me until I can’t see straight, until the only thing left in the world is the sound of her panting, the slap of our bodies, the blood painting us both.
When I finish, I hold her so tight I think I might snap her ribs.
She lets me.
She curls up in my lap, sweat cooling, hair sticking to my cheek.
We stay like that for a long time.
