“Please,” I manage to say, and then his mouth is back on me, more tender than the first time.
Who would have thought Arlo Graves could be tender?
I briefly close my eyes before training my gaze back on him as he pulls the final beads out. When I squeeze my legs together again, that’s when I see something.
“I-Is that blood?” I stammer.
Red coats my thighs and hips. There are even a few drops that have made it to the floor at my feet. I start to freak out—why is there so much blood?—when his mouth is back on me, and a finger is sliding inside me once again.
“What are you—” I gasp when his touch turns rougher, his finger fucking me faster and harder.
And I come.
Fucking hard.
He stands up, his cock visibly hard through his pants, and that’s when I see it. His hand is coated in blood, but it’s not mine.
It’s his.
A shard of glass sticks out from the side of his palm.
TWENTY
ARLO
Confidential — Personal Use Only
OBSERVATIONS:
I’ve seen desire before, heard women plead, felt power in those moments.
But none have ever done it so breathtakingly as her.
My injured hand continues to bleed as I stare down at it. Isn’t she lucky I wasn’t fucking her with that one?
I felt the sting but couldn’t care less about it.
I love the fucking pain.
Her eyes go wild as she gapes at my bloody hand.
“You’ll need stitches.” She reaches for my hand, but I pull it back. She’s already going white at the sight of it. After unbuttoning my shirt, I pull it off and then proceed to wrap it around my wrist and hand.
“A little blood never killed anyone.” I wink at her.
“Why doesn’t that faze you?” she asks. “Actually, you seem to like it.” She’s standing in front of me, still naked—the best fucking naked woman I ever did see.
“Blood is natural.”
“Not when you’re fucking me.” Her words amuse me.
“My cock still hurts,” I tell her, adjusting it in my pants. Luckily, my pants are black, so the blood won’t show.
“Yeah, well, so does my clit.”
My gaze shoots straight to her. She’s wilder than ever. Fuck, I love it. Pushing her up against the wall, I lift my hand, the one covered in blood and my shirt, and press it between her breasts. She stares down as I rub the blood that is still on my fingers into her skin, then move over to her breast, where the concealer still covers my mark—an array of black, purple, and red marks her skin—before dragging my fingers over to her nipple, and fuck, it makes me feel feral seeing all that blood smeared over her pale skin.
“I can make other things sore.” I lean in and whisper in her ear, “Like your cunt.” I hear her breathing change as I press myself against her.
