I crawl beneath his arms as he's cutting vegetables at the kitchen counter and stand up between them facing him. He chuckles. "Careful, kitten, I don't want you to get hurt," he says as he starts to set the knife down.
Without thinking I reach out and place my hand over his, before the knife reaches the counter. "You don't?" I ask with a mischievous lilt to my voice. "I'm pretty sure it was just this morning that you were ogling the purple bite marks you left on my thighs last night," I say as I raise his hand and place the tip of the knife against my collar bone, along the seam of my V-neck shirt. I let my hand drop away as his remains.
He smirks. “Your bruises will fade in just a few days kitty cat; stitches on the other hand, leave scars.” But even as the words leave his mouth he slowly drags the tip of the blade lower along the neckline of my shirt until he reaches the curve of my breast, stopping periodically only to press the tip of the knife a little harder, just shy of piercing the skin. I watch his face as his eyes watch the knife’s decent. I whimper at the sudden fire I see reflecting in them and I shiver as the blade cuts into the fabric of my shirt refusing to accept any barrier as it continues its downward path.
“Would you bleed for me kitten?” he asks, eyes trained on where the blade presses into my skin. My answer requires no thought, “I’d give you every last drop if you asked.” Now at the top of my left hip bone, the knife stops. He looks into my eyes, “Is that what you want silly girl, a permanent reminder of who owns you?” Too scared to say the words, but also unable to deny it, I lean a fraction of an inch closer. The slight movement is the only answer he needs as a tiny bead of red appears and trickles down my hip and along the front of my thigh. He groans and drops the knife as his other hand circles my neck and his mouth claims mine.
=^.^=