She ope
ns her eyes, and her green eyes meet mine as I go on licking her. I expect her to deny it, but she pulls her knees up to her chest and wraps her legs around my shoulders.
“Yes.” Arching her back, she moves her pussy closer to my mouth and goes back to sucking that jelly snake, her tongue curling lasciviously around it. Then she whispers, “Have you thought about hurting me?”
“Many times, princesa,” I say, pushing down my sweats, captivated by the sight of her.
“Tell me how, please.” Bethany strokes her fingers through her folds, lazily spreading her slipperiness all over her sex. I pull the jelly snake from her lips and replace it for a moment with my finger, which she obediently sucks.
“Choking you with my bare hands. That would be perfect,” I tell her, taking myself in my hand. I’m as hard as a rock and scorching hot for her.
Bethany’s eyes blaze with delight and curiosity, and I slip my hand around her slender throat. So fragile. So willing to offer her most vulnerable parts up to me. I rise up on my knees on the sofa, and I impale her slowly with my cock. Bethany’s body goes supine beneath mine, surrendering everything to me. As I work her with my cock her inner muscles ripple around me.
“I’ve imagined going a little crazy with my knife, cutting too deep by accident. Or maybe on purpose.” I speak softly and harshly as I start to move my hips back and forth, deeper and deeper.
“You’d look so beautiful covered in blood, princesa. I’ve thought about it many times.”
“So have I,” she pants. “So many times. I can still smell it on you.”
“I will take you like that again, amid the blood of my enemies. I can think of nothing sweeter.” There’s a small, very sharp knife strapped to my calf, and I reach down and pull it out, showing it to her. Her eyes flash with interest. “Almost nothing sweeter.”
As I thrust into her, I move the blade down between our legs, the blade glinting among sensitive parts. I apply the point to her soft inner thigh. She’s staring at it with an intensity that is matched only by the pounding of my heart.
I press firmly and draw the blade down. Bethany’s mouth opens in a silent cry. I make a shallow cut of three, and as I reach the end and lift the blade away, she comes. The sight of her blood dripping down her flesh and becoming mingled with her arousal drives me wild.
I do it twice more, and each time she watches the path of the knife with wide, enraptured eyes, her breath increasing in pitch, and then she climaxes so hard she’s like a fucking vice around my cock. The third time I come with her, and throw the knife to one side in favor of capturing her hands and pressing them down into the sofa cushions as I lose all control.
“Damir, pull out,” she gasps.
I don’t want to, I’m past caring, but she entreats me with those green eyes. At the last second I withdraw, and shoot ropes of semen over her thighs. Over the traceries of ruby red blood on her thighs. Fuck, that’s even better than coming inside her, and I marvel at the sight.
Bethany is breathing hard, her head thrown back and her eyes closed.
“Wait here,” I tell her, pushing myself to my feet and tucking myself back into my sweats.
I come back a few moments later with a damp washcloth and a first aid kit. Bethany is sprawled where I left her, thighs open. She looks like a desecrated Snow White, and absolutely perfect.
Tenderly, I wipe the blood and semen from her thighs while she watches me, nibbling on her lower lip. The cuts are little more than nasty scratches, the sort that a cat’s claw might inflict, and they’re clotting already.
“This will sting, princesa,” taking a bottle of antiseptic and a cotton pad out of the kit and applying it to her wounds.
She hisses in pain, and looks up at me reproachfully. I plant a kiss on her nose, and then finish my tending by placing a large sticking plaster over the cuts.
“There. All better.”
I feel strangely tender as I look at her. Without thinking, I draw her into my arms, and hold her close. So brave. So beautiful too, to withstand my storm and draw such delight from it.
Bethany covers her face and swears softly.
“What’s wrong, princesa?” I murmur into her hair.
“I don’t know whether you were joking about any of that or not.”
I think for a moment. “Fantasizing about hurting you? I wasn’t joking.” I draw her chin up to mine and gaze at her fiercely. “And neither were you.”
She swallows, and says in a small voice. “I need some fresh air.”
I help her into her clothes and take her up on deck. I stand with her at the railings, holding her against me, unable to let go. For once she doesn’t peer urgently around at the sea as if hoping for rescue. She clings to me, her face painted with shame and her afterglow.