Sometimes, Gio was my disease, but it seemed he was always my cure.
His hand fisted my hair, wrenching me to my feet before his lips met mine. His kiss was hard and unforgiving, teeth raking my lips until the metallic tang of blood coated my tongue. His violence felt like being resuscitated, having mint-scented oxygen breathed back into my lungs, and I sucked him in deep, wallowing in the desperation, the depravity, the pain that stained us both so irrevocably.
His hands gripped my thighs, lifting me, holding me against him as he moved, his lips never leaving mine. Only when a door slammed did I realize we were in his room.
My back hit the mattress before he pulled the knife from his pocket. My breaths hitched as he loomed over me.
“Do you need me to restrain you for this, princess?”
I shook my head, and he pressed his lips to my throat.
“Good girl.”
I felt the cool kiss of the metal on my stomach before he sliced my shirt away, then my bra. My entire body shook in anticipation, waiting, braced, needing.
I heard the nightstand drawer open, the clink of something before he held up what looked like jewelry. A thin chain with a bit of metal on each end. The smile that covered his face was wicked as he brought one end to my chest and squeezed the little clip open.
I jerked when it snapped closed around my nipple with a sharp sting.
“Tell me to stop at any point, princess.”
He snapped the other one in place, and pain ricocheted between my nipples like earthing points on an electrical circuit. It was all I could focus on, my mind so blissfully consumed with the endorphins firing through my bloodstream.
“Don’t move,” he ordered before stripping out of his jacket, his gun holster, his shirt.
My gaze tracked over the tattoos covering his muscular body. So beautifully dangerous. My very own demon.
Leaning over me, he pressed his lips to mine as he grabbed the thin chain and twisted it around his hand, tugging on both nipples and sending a throb echoing through me.
“More,” I gasped against his mouth.
“How much do you want, Emilia?”
“Everything,” the word was a breathy plea on my lips.
He ripped off my leggings and panties so violently that I was yanked down the bed. Then he forced my legs apart, staring at my pussy like he owned it, like he wanted to conquer it.
He tugged on my tampon string with a groan. “Would you like to bleed for me some more, piccola?”
Right then, I didn’t want pleasure, just pain. But then he pulled out the tampon and tossed it into the trash can before plunging two fingers inside me. I moaned and shamelessly arched into his touch.
“Always so fucking responsive,” he groaned.
Between the rough thrust of his fingers and the low ache from my nipples, I was dangerously close to coming within seconds.
“Gio,” I breathed.
With a smirk, he once again produced the knife from his pocket, flipping open the blade. My heart leaped, a twisted blend of anticipation and fear winding through me.
He brought the knife to my sternum, and there was a sharp sting, the tip breaking my skin.
His thumb pressed over my clit as he thrust his fingers deep, and it all culminated in the perfect storm of sensation. I came as he dragged the blade down my chest in a burning line. It was perfect, toxic, destructive ecstasy.
My vision dotted, body writhing as a string of incoherent moans slipped from my throat.
Yes, Gio was my demon, my sin, my punisher, my sweet, sweet salvation.
His fingers left my pussy before he trailed that hand up my stomach, over my chest, smearing my come and blood up my body until he collared my throat the way I liked. His free hand released the nipple clamps, and my entire body trembled at the sensation of blood rushing back into them. It was almost an orgasm in itself.
“So perfect, Emilia. So mine.” His lips captured mine, and I could feel how close to the edge he was in that kiss. His hard cock pressed between my legs, and just when I expected him to fuck me, he pulled away, kissing my forehead and leaving me there on the bed.
I stared after him in confusion as he ducked into the bathroom.
He came back with a damp cloth, wiping it over the line of blood on my chest. It was barely a scratch, the bleeding almost stopped already. Not like Gio would ever really hurt me, and not in any way that would scar.
He then swiped it down my stomach, between my legs. I was too fragile to fight his attention right then, as though my consciousness was hiding in a corner of my mind.
And finally, he put a fresh tampon in. Maybe I should have been embarrassed, but nothing about that moment felt shameful. Intimate and vulnerable, yes, but not shameful. I was raw, exposed, fracturing, and he was caring for me, giving me what I needed, the same way he always did.