She would let me ignore it, maybe, but the question would linger under her fingernails, a splinter she couldn’t get out. She was a curious girl, one of the more brilliant things about her, and I was the most monumental enigma she’d ever come across.
Of course, I fascinated her.
But how did I give words to things that no vocabulary could properly express? To speak of them was to belittle them inherently, to get it wrong in the telling was a cross I couldn’t bear.
So, I just stared at her in the webbed glass, my blood pooling in her palms.
She studied me, lip between her teeth, for a long moment.
“Self-harm isn’t the answer, Priest,” she murmured finally, curling her hands over mine so my fingertips pressed into the slices on my palms. I shuddered from the pain, but I liked it, and she knew that.
She sucked in a sharp little breath, steeling herself. “Would you…would you at least let me hurt you, instead?”
I arched a red brow at her, watching as she blushed that fine wine-tinged flush. “How would a little thing like you hurt big bad me?”
She bit her lip, hiding briefly behind my shoulder before finding the courage to say. “I think I know something that might help?”
Desire moved over me like a shadow.
“Oh?” I taunted, unfurling my fists to bring her fingers, wet with my blood, to my mouth. I sucked at the pinky with the pink nail, licking off the metallic slick of red. “My angel wants to play the devil, does she?”
“If it helps you. If you’ll stop cutting yourself like this,” she whispered in a raw voice as she watched me suck her fingers clean with dark eyes.
“I’m a monster, Bea,” I reminded her. “You play with me, you gotta remember, I don’t play nice with others. I’ll try to give you some control, but in the end, you gotta know, I’ll wrest it back.”
“Oh, I’m counting on that,” she agreed with an impish grin before pulling away to lead me back into the bedroom. “Lie down, let me get what I need.”
Sinking into the rumpled sheets that smelled of sweet peaches and sweeter pussy, knowing that Bea wanted to torture me made my cock half-hard again. It arched obscenely from my open jeans. When my shadow returned, she had a black satin ribbon in her hand and a flickering pink candle in the other.
My kinky little thing.
She sat almost primly between my spread legs, tongue tucked between her teeth as she bent to tie that girly ribbon in a tight bow around my cock and balls. Immediately, the shaft surged with blood, the veins popping out in stark relief. Bea traced one with her fingertips, fascination rife on her face.
“Does it hurt?” she asked, so innocent it made my balls ache.
“Feels good,” I grunted, watching as she knelt up and hovered over me with that candle. “You gonna drop hot wax on me?”
“Yes,” she admitted in that contradictorily modest and lustful tone. “If you’ll let me.”
I rucked up the bottom of my shirt, watching her carefully to see how she’d react to the sight of my torso. Her eyes went wide as twin coins with shock as I unveiled the scars on my belly, the knife wounds and burns that mottled my skin so it was a patchwork of waxy whites, puckered pinks, and raised ridges as dark as plums.
“No sympathy,” I ordered so briskly, she flinched. “You promised me pain. If you don’t have the stomach for it, I’ll make sure you get what you promised me.”
She shivered delicately, liking the idea, but there was a little furrow of determination between her pale brows that spoke of her resolve. Slowly, she tipped the pillar candle, the pastel pink wax streaming down to paint my abs in livid heat.
I hissed, cock jumping, mind fizzing.
“Fuck, yeah,” I encouraged. “Jack me off.”
Her little hand wrapped around my tied-off cock.
“Harder,” I barked, torso bowing as more wax splashed hot pain onto the thin skin between my belly and groin.
She clenched so hard it burned, the friction exquisite as she pumped my dick with one hand and spilled that heat with the other. There was a high flush on her cheeks, curls falling forward to cast her face in shadow. She looked like some dark nymph, some creature of the night come out from under the bed to play.
She. Was. Fucking. Gorgeous.
My cock was spitting precum into her hand, lubing her stranglehold on my cock. She watched my thick head move through her fist, moaning softly at the wet schtick of skin on skin.
“Climb on my thigh,” I told her through gritted teeth. “Grind against me until you drench the denim. When I come, Bea, I want you to drink it down for me.”
“Oh, my God,” she moaned as if I’d just given her some heavenly dessert.