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She doesn’t resist when I guide her toward the trees, her steps slow and hesitant, but her hands twitch at her sides like she’s itching to do something, anything. She’s buzzing. The high from the cocaine working its way through her system. The night is thick with tension, the kind that makes the air feel heavy like it’s pressing down on you from all sides. She glances at me, her eyes wide, pupils dark with fear and maybe a bit of excitement. But she doesn’t ask any more questions.
Not yet.
We reach the spot I’ve chosen, a small clearing hidden from view, surrounded by tall trees and thick underbrush. It’s perfect. No one will find us here. No one will hear what’s about to happen. Not that I’d expect them to. No one ever comes out here, but I’m not taking any risks. Not with her. Not tonight.
I let go of her hand and turn to face her, the knife still in my grip. I see her eyes flick to it, the fear flaring up again, but there’s something else in her gaze now, something sharper, more eager. The drugs have her wired, on edge, but also daring, like she’s ready to jump off a cliff just to feel the rush.
“Tatum,” I say, drawing her attention back to me. “You want this, don’t you? You want to be mine?”
She nods frantically, her eyes flicking back to mine, the fear still there, but something else too. Something darker. Good.
“Yes,” she says, her voice trembling, but there’s a hint of excitement behind it, a spark of something wild and playful. She’s trying to be brave, trying to show me she’s strong enough for this. And maybe she is. We’ll find out.
“Then prove it,” I say, holding out the knife to her, the blade catching the light, gleaming in the darkness. “To prove that you’re mine, I want you to draw blood for me.”
She stares at the knife, her breath coming faster now, her chest rising and falling with the effort. I can see the hesitation, the fear, but there’s something else too. A spark of something darker, something I’ve seen in her before but never like this. The cocaine has her mind spinning, her thoughts racing, and she’s caught between the fear and the thrill, teetering on the edge.
“What do you mean?” she asks, her voice shaking but steady enough.
“Take it,” I say, pushing the knife closer to her, watching as her eyes flicker between it and me. “Take it and show me that you belong to me.”
She hesitates, her hand trembling as she reaches out, her fingers brushing against the handle. I can see the conflict in her eyes, the internal war she’s fighting with herself, and everything she’s ever known. But I can also see the moment she makes her decision, the moment she gives in to the darkness I’m offering her, that the rush of the cocaine has pushed her toward.
Her small hand closes around the handle, and I feel a thrill run through me as she takes the knife from me. Her grip is unsteady but firm as she looks at me. Her eyes are wide, her breath coming faster now, but she doesn’t pull away.
She’s in this, just like I always fucking knew she would be.
“What now?” she asks, her voice barely more than a whisper but filled with determination. Her mind is racing, the high making everything feel more intense, more urgent, and fuck if it isn’t a sight to behold.
“Now,” I say, stepping closer, my hand covering hers as I guide the knife up between us, “we make our mark.”
She swallows hard, her eyes locked on mine as I bring the knife closer to my own skin. I press the blade against the flesh of my forearm. I can see her breath catch, her eyes widening as I push down, drawing blood. It’s shallow, just enough to let her see, to let her understand what’s about to happen.
“Are you willing to cut for me?” I ask, my voice low, almost a whisper, as I guide her hand to mirror mine, pressing the blade against her arm, just below the elbow. “Bleed for me?”
She nods, her eyes never leaving mine, and I can see the fear there, the hesitation.
“Then do it,” I whisper, my voice harsh and commanding. “Prove that you fucking want this. That you mean it when you say you want to be mine.”
She hesitates, her breath coming in ragged gasps, but she doesn’t pull away. She pushes down. The blade bites into her flesh, as crimson blood begins to trail down her arm. She flinches, her face paling, but she doesn’t stop. She keeps going, her eyes locked on mine, holding my gaze as her trembling hand cuts a shallow line into her milky skin.
When she’s done, she stares at the blood, her eyes wide, her breath coming fast and shallow. Adrenaline and cocaine mixed together make for quite a heady cocktail. Her skin will be tingling with the sensation of everything that touches her. She’s shaking, but she fucking did it. She drew blood for me, and even done, she’s not pulling away.
She’s in this now, and there’s no turning back.
“Good girl,” I murmur, my hand closing over hers, guiding the knife away from her arm, watching as the blood wells up, dark and thick, running down her arm in rivulets. “You did so fucking good, little lunatic, and now, you’re mine now. All fucking mine.”
“Caius…” she whispers, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and regret, but there’s something else there too, something darker. Desire. The cocaine is coursing through her, making her feel invincible, making her want more, and she’s trying to fight it.
She’s trying to feel.
I don’t give her a chance to second-guess herself. I pull her close, my lips crashing against hers, hard and demanding, my hand still gripping the knife as I kiss her. She responds immediately, her hands clutching at me, pulling me closer on instinct like she can’t get enough.
And maybe she can’t. Maybe this is what she’s been craving all along, too. She just didn’t know it.
I break the kiss, panting against her lips, our breaths mingling in the cool night air. There’s blood on my hands, her blood, and it smears across her skin as I pull her closer. Her eyes are wide, pupils blown with the high of cocaine. But as I hold her stare, I’m met with something else, something primal. I can see it in the way she looks at me. She’s trembling, but not from fear. No, this is something else.
Something I’ve been dying to see.
