Page 38 of Born into Madness
“What?”
I don’t answer and instead say, “You look beautiful wearing my blood.” Her lips part on a soft gasp when I bring my bloody fingers to her upper chest and trace a line along her skin, feeling the ribs beneath my fingers and knowing exactly what it feels like to sink a blade into this exact spot.
I don’t want to hurt her, though. I want a lot of things, but her pain isn’t one of them.
“Are you ever going to show me your face?” She whispers the question as my fingers trail up her neck, decorating her in my blood.
“You want to see my face, Cyn?” The question is teasing, making her cheeks heat up, the color almost matching her hair. “What if you see me and then feel the need to go to the police about what you saw?”
I give her atsk-tskand slowly shake my head. “I think it’s safer if I keep myself hidden.”
She seems disappointed when I don’t rip my mask off and instead reach down and grab the bloody knife that’s still lying on the floor. Grabbing her wrist, I pull her so she’s standing in front of me, her back to my front and my arm across her upper chest, holding her in place.
“What are you doing?” she asks, already trying to wriggle her way free.
I tighten my grip, making it clear she won’t be leaving until I allow it. When she settles down, I put the knife handle in her palm and curl my fingers around hers so she’s gripping the knife and I’m gripping her hand.
“I’m giving you a quick lesson in killing, Cyn.”
“I don’t want to kill anyone,” she says, and I almost laugh at how I’ve managed to find myself enamored with someone who is the exact opposite of me.
“You need to learn how to protect yourself. You were attacked,” I remind her. “If you’d had this, you could’ve protected yourself.”
When it’s obvious she still doesn’t think this is necessary, I surprise myself by saying, “Please let me teach you how to protect yourself.”
After a few seconds, she nods. “Okay. Show me.”
Squeezing her hand, I say, “Tighten your grip around the handle. There you go. Now, rest your thumb here and keep the knife close to you. Don’t wave it around. When you do stab, aim for the soft spots—neck, gut, genitals, even the eyes.”
“Eww,” she says, and I almost laugh.
“Don’t think about it.” I tighten my grip on her hand and thrust it out, so she’s stabbing an invisible stomach. “Fast and hard. Don’t think, just do it, and if all else fails, stick it in his stomach and pull sideways.” I move her hand to the side, like we’re eviscerating someone together.
She’s probably not as aroused by it as I am.
Keeping my hand firmly around hers, we squeeze the knife together as my fingers trail along her collarbone, tracing the hollow beneath it as the coconut scent of her shampoo muddles my senses, making it hard to think. Letting go of her hand and leaving her armed and me vulnerable, I sweep her hair aside, exposing her bare neck and shoulder.
The mask I wear is custom-made, black neoprene that stretches across my face with a hard, resin layer over my nose and jaw, making the skull look like it’s floating over my own features. It’s intimidating to look at, especially with the blood that’s stained it over the years, but it’s also surprisingly comfortable, and when I want, I can slip the bottom half down like a gaiter. Within seconds, I’ve pulled it down so my mouth is free.
I’m drunk on the sight of my blood marring her perfect skin, the color blending in with her neck, staining her skin in a way that makes my mouth water. She starts to turn, but I tighten my grip on her and lower my face so I’m nuzzling the crook of her neck, grazing my lips over her bloody skin. Her body tenses in my arms, and a part of my brain is screaming at me to straighten up. I never put myself at risk, but I’m completely defenseless right now, and if she wanted to, she could stab me in the head and run out the door. With the scent of her filling my nose and the feel of her heart racing against my hand and her beautiful red hair around me, I can’t help but think it wouldn’t be a bad way to go.
She doesn’t raise her arm, though, doesn’t stab at me like I just taught her how to do. Instead, she softens in my grip and tilts her head even more, exposing more of her bare neck to me, freely giving me access to one of the most vulnerable parts on her body.
With my mouth pressed to her pulse point, I kiss a girl for the first time in my life. She sighs, and I groan, quickly realizingthat once will never be enough. Hungry for her in a way that blocks out everything else, I lick and suck on the delicate skin of her neck, tasting my blood on her, and wanting more. When my teeth scrape the crook of her neck, she moans and I’m too lost to pull my hips back before she’s pressing her ass against me. I’d been keeping the evidence of my arousal from her, but the second she feels my hard length, she lets out a whimper that nearly undoes me.
Fisting her hair tighter, I groan and kiss my way down her shoulder. My head is buzzing, too many thoughts for me to name or comprehend, but underneath everything is a thunderous need for more, and when she starts to turn around, I don’t stop her. I relax my grip, letting her move so she’s facing me. Her pupils are blown, eyes heavy-lidded, and breaths coming fast as her arousal blooms on every part of her, lighting her up and screaming at me to make her feel better, to take away the ache that I know she must be feeling because I’m feeling it too. I’m fucking drowning in it.
The knife slips from her hand again, but this time I let it fall as she reaches up to touch me. She can’t see anything above my mouth, but she still runs her eyes over me like she’s memorizing every inch I’m showing her. I should pull my mask off the rest of the way, but something stops me. I’m not ready to reveal everything yet, and it has nothing to do with her being able to identify me. We’re past that, and the truth is she had enough to work with before if she’d really wanted to. The tattoos on my hands were enough for her to identify me in a line-up, not that I would’ve ever let it get that far. She could have tried, though, if she’d wanted to, but she hadn’t.
Because deep down she didn’t want me to get caught. Deep down she knows I saved her that night, and she trusts me to not hurt her.
There’s a slight tremor in her hand when she reaches up to touch my face. When I don’t pull back, she brushes her fingers along my jaw. The touch is featherlight, delicate even, and it’s the first time anyone has ever touched me like this. The only affection I’ve ever shown or allowed has been from immediate family members, so quick hugs, a few head pats, and the occasional kiss on the cheek. I’ve never wanted or needed anything beyond that until now. I may not fully understand what’s going on, but I do know I don’t want it to stop. I know that the sensation of her fingers on my skin is something I don’t want to ever stop.
She traces the line of my jaw before slowly grazing her finger down my neck. She moves the fabric of my mask around so she can see the ink that decorates me. Her words are just as shaky and soft as her touch when she says, “You have a lot of tattoos, whoever you are.”
I smile, forgetting that I no longer have the mask to hide behind, and when she sees it, she quickly gives me one of her own.
“And a beautiful smile.” She looks at me with wonder in her eyes instead of the fear I usually see from people. I could get used to being looked at like this, but only if she’s the one doing the looking. If I’m being honest, a part of me is already starting to crave it.
