Chapter Fifteen
Alena
My breath freezes as I stare into those dark, dangerous eyes. He means it. I have a choice, it’s my body, but if I choose wrong, he will leave me here without a thought. He’s built like that. He said he wasn’t a hero, and he truly meant it. He would leave me here to die without a backwards glance. If I want my revenge, I first need to rectify what they did to me. For some reason, the carving in my stomach is breaking me like nothing else has.
I need it to be gone, which isn’t an option. But I can change it. I can stop it from being my weakness and make it my strength.
I have an idea.
Turning away, I crouch down, spurred by the pain as it pulls on the letters carved into my skin. I search the dead guard’s pockets until I find his sharp, glinting knife, and then I stand and turn to Boogeyman. He frowns in confusion as I pull the knife out and show it to him. His eyebrows rise, but he doesn’t seem concerned I’ll use it on him, so just to test him, I rush him. He snarls, grabs my throat, and slams me into the wall effortlessly, holding me above the floor as my feet kick.
His scowling face gets right into mine as he slides me up the wall with just one hand until I’m the same height as him, and then he squeezes, his lips tilted down angrily. “Don’t try that shit, you’ll die before you hit the floor.”
I grin, even as he clenches harder. “I had to see if you were worth the hype,” I wheeze, and press the blade to his chest. “Here, I don’t have a steady enough hand.” I cough, and he releases his grip enough so I can talk. My body lights up at almost being pressed against his. My needy, idiot pussy pulses unashamedly at the strength he has in just one hand. “You’ll have to do it.”
“Do what?” he asks, even more perplexed.
“Change it, carve it into something else,” I rasp and then relax into his touch, smiling at him. “I won’t even fight you… or I’ll try not to.” He smirks. “I’m not saying I won’t swear or scream…”
“Oh, don’t worry, it won’t stop me.” He lets me go, and I slump down the wall, almost falling as he flips the blade in a quick, deft hand and balances it on one fingertip, testing it. Blood wells, and he nods before flipping it back and addressing me.
“You will probably need to lie down or you’ll fall,” he suggests.
“Just do it,” I almost yell. There’s no point in wasting time. I brace myself against the wall, keeping my eyes on his. He doesn’t hesitate. He holds my waist, his hand spanning nearly all of my ribcage as he presses the blade to the wounds, not asking what to change it to. Good, I wouldn’t know, but anything is better than that name on my skin. It makes me feel more violated than I’ve ever been before.
“It’s going to hurt. Don’t scream too loudly or they will come, and I’ll have to stop and kill them then start again,” he murmurs, and without warning, he slashes downwards. Agony roars through me, more than ever before.
I almost bite my tongue off to hold back the scream, but it slips free and he snarls, glaring at me for a moment. I heave in breaths and close my eyes as my body shakes. I pant and breathe through the sickness and dizziness, and when I feel better, I open my eyes and nod for him to continue. I brace again as he looks down, pressing the knife to my skin. The cool metal feels cold against my overheated flesh.
He cuts again, and I rip myself away with a scream. He snarls, angry now, and covers my mouth with his bloody hand, the knife still in his grasp. I taste my blood on his skin, the blade cutting into my cheek as I shake my head. He removes his hand slightly, and I wet my lips, accidentally licking away the blood. He groans as he follows the movement of my tongue with those dark, dangerous eyes. “I can’t, it hurts too badly.” I hate myself for admitting that.
He sighs and looks down at my stomach for a moment. “Distract me,” I suggest, knowing we need to do this. He needs to finish it. I don’t want to die here with my captor’s name on my stomach. I can’t. I won’t.
“Distract me,” I repeat. He meets my gaze, probably thinking I want him to talk to me, but I have something else in mind.
How do you counter pain?
Pleasure.
“Make me come,” I say unashamedly as I swallow my blood. His eyes flare with interest, but he doesn’t move or speak. “I’m not asking to marry you, for God’s sake, I’m telling you to fuck me. Make me come while you cut me, that way I won’t feel it as badly.”
He doesn’t move, and I snap, kicking out at him. “Fucking hell, I’ll do it myself.” I reach down, ignoring the feeling of my skin. The last time I came, I touched myself. I didn’t have this many scars, nor was I this skinny. He holds my gaze as I part my thighs, grounding me to him as I rub my throbbing clit. He groans, dropping his eyes to my fingers as his muscles clench. But it’s not enough, I need more… I need to feel something other than my rapists’ cocks, more than my own fingers.
I need someone to take control, to bring me pleasure and not let up until I’m screaming and writhing. I whimper, rubbing desperately before gliding my fingers down my pussy and dipping them inside my channel, coating them in my cream as I fuck myself on them, watching his body and eyes the entire time.
“Stop,” he mutters, even as he presses closer, his dark eyes on my fingers.
“Please,” I whimper.
I don’t even see him move. One second, my fingers are spearing my pussy, and the next, he has them trapped in his grip between us, the glistening tips held there. My heart stutters before it races, and my nipples tighten at the raw hunger spread across that dark, dangerous face.
Eyes locked on mine, he leans in and wraps his thick lips around the tips of my fingers, the wet cavern of his mouth making me gasp. He sucks hard, and I jerk forward before he releases me and his long tongue laves my digits, cleaning them of my cream. He watches me the whole time, and when he leans back, his eyes are blown wide, his lips are parted on a groan, his cheeks are flushed, and his chest is heaving.
“Fuck,” he snaps. He throws my hand away before grabbing and lifting me, and then he slams me back into the hard wall, knocking the wind from my lungs. Every man I was with before… before this shit show doesn’t hold a flame to him, to the dominance and danger flowing through his veins. I’ve had rough sex before, but even then, they worried about hurting me, ensuring I was in the moment and okay.
Boogeyman?
He doesn’t give a fuck if I’m hurt or dying. He takes what he wants, and right now, that’s me. His large hands grab my thighs, the knife pressing into one of my scars and almost reopening it. The flash of pain makes me groan and rub against him. He holds me still as he lowers his head, his lips almost pressing to mine as he speaks.