Page 33 of Lilies from Hell

“I don’t know what you saw, but he was the one who threw himself at me,” I retort. “Besides, it was just a kiss. You have no reason to complain because we aren’t anything.”

With that, I hoped to send him some kind of hint. Something that would let him know that I want to take our relationship further than just a few kisses, even after discovering this side of him and his stalker tendencies.

I don’t think I’m in any position to reproach him, knowing full well that I did the same thing a few years ago. When I went to the same places he frequented with Grace, using stupid excuses so I could see him from afar and continue fantasizing about being in his arms.

“Good girls keep their promises, Lena.” I frown. Not knowing what promise he’s referring to. His fingers on the back of my neck, tangling with my hair, soon make me forget his confusing words.

“What should I do with you, hmm?”

He gets up from the bed in the blink of an eye. Not even giving me time to remember to breathe normally as he runs the blade across my torso, shredding my tank top. Next are my panties.

I bite my lower lip, standing naked before him. His eyes, previously filled with insane anger, now stare at me as if I were a talisman. The blade stops at the beginning of my mound, causing me to close my legs instinctively.

“Are you going to hurt me?” I whisper as soon as I break free from the hypnotic spell his eyes have cast on me. I don’t care if optimism and desire cloud my voice when I speak, not after agreeing to start over with him.

I’m opening up to him, showing a part of myself that’s hidden from everyone, in a situation that would make a sane person panic.

“I would never hurt you, lyubov’. Not in the way you think.” He slides his tongue all over my stomach until he stops at my breasts without taking his eyes off me.

His teeth snags one of my nipples, causing me to gasp and further intensifying the tension in my lower belly. The other nipple meets the same fate. He then licks the small reddish thread emerging from my areola. A guttural sound escapes his throat, as if my blood were the most exquisite offering he had ever tasted.

When he lifts his head, our eyes meet, sharing a knowing silence that dispels my nervousness and embarrassment at exposing my pleasure at his abrupt actions.

“Krasivaya,” he whispers on my lips in a hoarse voice, caressing the curve of my jaw before replacing his fingers with his tongue.

His piercing slides across my lips and deep into my throat, silencing my moans with a hungry kiss that I can barely keep up with as he pinches my nipples. The little blood that continues to flow from my areolas stains his fingers. He holds my breasts firmly, rubbing my nipples with his thumb.

“This belongs to me,” he declares before bringing his hands to my arse and squeezing until he possibly leaves his fingerprints. “This, too.”

He lowers his hand to my sex and covers his fingers with my juices, which he puts on his tongue seconds later. The heat on my cheeks doesn’t distract me from the itchiness in my hands that still yearn to touch him.

“I want to touch you,” I murmur, moving the chains to free myself. “Let me touch you.”

He ignores my pleas. Then pulls a black-checked handkerchief from his pocket and gags me with it under my bewildered gaze, but when he brings his mouth close to my wetness, I appreciate the gesture. I’m soaking wet. So much so that even the sheets have probably suffered the consequences.

First, he cleans the outside of my lips, running his piercing very close to my entrance. I throw my head back with a cry that is muffled by the handkerchief, hitting the headboard. The sound makes him divert his attention to my head for a moment, but when I open my legs with eyes that reflect my desperation, his face changes to a less concerned expression. His tongue moves frantically over my clitoris and the walls of my rim, passing through the hole in my cavity.

“This belongs to me, too. You belong to me,” he whispers, his mouth close to my folds again. “I don’t want anyone else to touch you.”

He bites my outer lips so hard he could have broken the skin. He uses the same roughness to suck my clitoris and penetrate me with the gold piercing in his tongue with no mercy. When my walls tremble intensely, clouding my vision, he removes his tongue and takes off the handkerchief covering my mouth. Then he takes my face and presses our lips together. I let him slide his tongue in until he touches my uvula. Another tug, accompanied by a pleasant rush, pulls at my stomach as I feel the mixture of my fluids and our saliva.

He kisses me fiercely as he slides the handle of the knife over my folds, then he inserts it without warning. My whimpers linger in the air when I close my eyes. The pain fades away with each passing second. As the blade digs into my skin, sharp pain accompanies pleasure. I move my hips roughly while he lets me take control, focusing solely on holding the blade. My aggressive movements push the blade deeper into his palm, making a shallow wound. He doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, he wipes the blood onto my inner thighs. My blood from the previous tiny cuts is already there.

His hoarse moans end up getting lost between my legs and mingling with mine and the lightning that makes the windows shake. I arch my back and move my hips, our cuts now more intense, leaving more blood on the sheets. He then grips the knife in his other hand, his wounded hand seizing my neck. His blood smears my skin as he caresses my face. His eyes still hold that voracious hunger when our gazes meet, but now there is also a hint of amazement.

The warmth of his blood in my mouth flooded my gums with a metallic taste. I collapse into his arms, my orgasm interrupted as he pulls away. His eyes lock on my neck and face. I glance at the front of his pants for the first time. The pressure seems about to make the buttons fly off.

“Keep going,” I murmur almost imperiously.

“I don’t think you deserve it,” he says, noticing my eager gaze and messy hair.

“Then let me go. I’ll finish the job myself.”

“No.”

“You can’t leave me like this all night. Please.” He softens slightly at the word please. He then moves closer to loosen my chains and kisses my forehead, leaving a red stain.

“We’ll see each other again soon, lyubov’,” he murmurs before disappearing through the window and leaving me chained to the bed, naked and covered in his blood.