But then I push him back slightly and grab his blood-slicked hand holding the knife.I guide the blade, pressing the tip against the rock-hard muscle of his chest, just above his heart.His perfect, beautiful skin dimples, then breaks.A single fat drop of blood wells up, dark against the smeared gore there.
I lean forward and lick it away, and his groan vibrates through me and heads straight to my pussy.The sound I make in the back of my throat as I thrust my hips against him is a guttural plea.
Then his hands are on me, tearing at my clothes until I’m completely naked and just as covered in blood as he is.He lifts me and pins me hard against the wall, and I wrap my legs around his waist.
He works his belt, his fly, then he’s there, thick and hot, pressing against me.He drives into me in one brutal thrust.I cry out, a sound ripped from my throat—part pain from the stretch, part sheer relief.
He slams into me, each thrust jarring my spine against the wall.I meet him thrust for thrust, my nails digging bloody furrows down his back, sinking my teeth into the thickly veined muscle of his shoulder.
The sting of my cut flares with each movement.The smell of blood and sex intoxicates me and drives me into a frenzy.
He finds my cut again with his mouth, sucking, biting hard, sending fresh jolts of pain-pleasure through me.I reach down between us, my fingers finding the cut I made on his chest, and mixing his blood with mine and Devlin’s.
Then I snake my slick fingers between us and circle my clit, chasing the blazing coil tightening inside me.James growls against my skin, the sound feral and possessive.His pace becomes frantic, punishing.The wall shakes at my back.
He still holds the knife, and slowly, deliberately, he trails the tip toward my nipple.The point hovers just underneath, a hair’s breadth from piercing.
I gasp, arching into it.The danger is stimulating, the promise of pain, so close to ecstasy.
“Do it,” I beg, my voice raw and broken.“Cut me there.Please, James.Make me bleed for you.”
“Ye want it, lass?Ye want me to carve ye open, mark this pretty tit as mine?”His breath hisses out roughly, that Scottish brogue turning thick and filthy.He presses the tip just enough to dimple the sensitive skin, not breaking it yet.His hips snap forward, burying himself deeper, making me moan.“Yer such a filthy wee queen, begging for the blade while I fuck ye raw.I’ll give ye what ye crave.Bleed for me, and I’ll drink ye down like communion wine.”
The words send fire through me.
I nod frantically, clutching at his shoulders.“Yes.Cut me.Now.”
He doesn’t hesitate.The knife bites, a shallow, precise slice across the side of my nipple.Pain explodes, sharp and bright, mingling with the building pleasure.Blood wells instantly, a warm trickle down my tit.
I cry out, the sound half scream, half moan.He watches it, his blue eyes glazed with heat, then lowers his head, his tongue lapping at my nipple, sucking the blood into his mouth.The sting pulses in time with his thrusts, pushing me higher, closer to the edge.
My release shatters me.My body locks around him, arching violently.A raw, guttural scream tears from my throat, echoing in the small, blood-soaked room.He follows moments later, his roar muffled as he sucks my bleeding nipple into his mouth.Then he drives deeper and spills himself inside me, pulsing hotly.
“Och, fuck, Prayer.”He moans then, and I think it’s the hottest sound I’ve ever heard anyone make.
We collapse against the wall, sliding down to the floor in a heap, slick with sweat and blood.Still joined, we breathe in ragged unison.
I look at the body nearby, at the slack face, the ruined jaw, the unnatural angles of the limbs, and I feel only a profound, bone-deep sense of rightness.Of cleanliness in a sick, sick world.
This is who we are.What we do.What we’ve become together.
James shifts beside me, reaches for his shirt, finds a relatively clean edge, and carefully, almost tenderly, wipes the worst of the blood from my face.His thumb brushes gently over the swelling mark his teeth left on my shoulder next to my Shadow’s and my Mind’s.The contrast between this tenderness and the violence minutes before is jarring yet perfectly fitting.
“This is our communion, aye, Prayer?”he says softly.“How we worship at the altar of other people’s sins in our own private church.”
I nod and lean my head against his shoulder.The blood is sticky between our skin and mingles with the cum dribbling between my legs.
“It’s our communion,” I say, “and it’s our justice, paid for in blood.”
This makes James smile at me, his blue eyes lit from within.We sit there for long minutes, breathing in the aftermath and surveying our church.
Finally, James retrieves a Gas N’ Go matchbook from his pocket, the same one I used to write down Devlin’s name.“Ready?”
I nod.
He stands, pulling me up with him, and tucks himself back into his jeans and T-shirt while I drag on my clothes too.He picks up his knife, wipes it clean on the dead man’s tank top, and slides it away into a holster hidden inside his jeans.
While he retrieves the bone saw out of his backpack and gets to work on Devlin’s head, I I hold open the plastic bag.
