I drag the blade up and down her thigh, slower than necessary, because I’m wound too tight and I want her to feel every second of it. I press it in just enough to steal her breath, just enough to make her knees threaten to give, and when thatsoft, broken sound slips from her mouth it hits me hard, straight in my fucking cock, sharp and undeniable.
Fuck.
The reaction is instant, ugly, and distracting. The kind of want that has been building all night with nowhere to go, clawing at me now, demanding release. I picture it anyway—her pussy tightening around my cock, the sounds she’d make filling this grimy bathroom as my cock pounded into her, echoing off cracked tile and dirty mirrors until there’s nothing left but that.
Fucking hell, I’m as bad as my brother.
I grit my teeth and focus as I carve the first letter.
K.
Then the next.
A.
Slow, and goddamn possessively.
Until my name is there, written into her skin like it’s always belonged there.
She moans under the blade, body shaking, and something ugly and possessive snaps tight in my chest. God, she’s fucking stunning. Kross was right. I fucking hate that he was right. But she really isn’t like any of the girls we’ve killed.
She understands what this is and she doesn’t fucking run from it. Instead, she leans into it. She fucking craves it.
She reaches up and drags the mask off my head, holding me there between her legs while the blood trails down her skin, and I let her. I want our little valentine to see my face when I stop holding back.
I shove the knife away, then lower my mouth to my name, and run my flattened tongue over it, tasting her while my gaze holds hers. Then, while she looks down at me, licking her lips with anticipation, I pull her thong aside with my fingers and smear the blood across her without patience, without softness, claiming her the way I’ve been thinking about all fucking night.
“Oh my god,” she moans, her back arching against the sink, fingers turning white as she grips the tap and faucet like it’s the only thing holding her upright. “Holy hell.”
I smirk against her, licking and lapping at her swollen cunt before sucking her clit into my mouth. Fuck, she’s so sweet.
She moans again, breath coming apart, and one of her hands finds my hair, fingers threading through it, tugging me closer, guiding my head exactly where she wants me. I let her, because fuck, at this point I don’t think I could stop myself if I tried.
Like this, she feels like a curse I walked straight into. Like some fucked-up love spell Cupid carved into my chest instead of firing an arrow. The way she tastes. The way she sounds. The way she drags me deeper without even trying, yeah, I’m not in control of this anymore, and fuck, I don’t want to be.
I’m sick of fighting it. Sick of stretching this out like it’s going to change anything. She rides the edge hard, hands tangled in my hair, and I stay right there, sucking, licking, tasting her until she’s close. So fucking close I can feel her body tighten, feel that sharp, inevitable tension winding through her.
Right on the brink.
Then I stand.
She gives me that sassy, dirty look that always makes my cock twitch, frustration carved into her expression after I stop right when she’s about to come.
She scoffs, breathless. “You have got to be fucking kidding me. Are you like, always this fucking aggravating?”
I catch her chin, forcing her eyes back to mine. “Don’t pout,” I say evenly. “You’re not walking out of this bathroom without getting exactly what you want.
A slow, knowing smirk curves my mouth.
“But when it happens,” I continue, voice low and deliberate, “when I make you come harder than anyone ever has, it’s going to be with that sweet cunt wrapped around my cock, littlevalentine.” My thumb presses in, possessive. “I don’t just want to hear what I’m doing to you.”
I lean in closer.
“I want to fucking feel it.”
Her laugh comes out shaky and sharp. “God. You’re such an asshole.”
“Maybe, but let’s not pretend you don’t fucking like it,” I say, already unbuttoning my pants.
