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“Cut me!” I scream. “I want to bleed for you!”

He slices my shirt away and then my bra, cutting it clean down the middle so the cups fall on either side of my torso. Then he presses the flat side of the knife just at the swell of my left breast, where my heart pounds furiously. Although his thrusts never slow, I can sense a hesitation in him, like he’s worried he’ll go too far.

I know he won’t. He’s a killer. But he won’t kill me.

“Sawyer,” I whisper, cupping his mask. It doesn’t feel separate from him anymore, all that blood-splattered rubber. “Please. I want to bleed for you, just like I want to come for you.”

He groans at that, bottoming out in me again. I grunt at the burst of pain as he bumps against my cervix. Squeeze him in tight. I won’t let him move. Not until he cuts me.

“Do it,” I whisper, never taking my eyes off him. “Do it. Please.” My whole body’s thrumming with pleasure, but it needs the pain from his knife to offset it. To release it. “Please, Sawyer, I’m your perfect fucking prey and I want you to?—”

He flips the knife and runs the blade over my chest. The pain isn’t that sharp or intense, but everything is amplified by the heat of his cock thrusting gently inside my pussy, and the angle of his body pressing against my inflamed clit. I scream as my hot blood spills over my skin, warm and wet and perfect.

“Again,” I gasp, and he does, silently, the way he was silentwhen he brutalized Logan Greer. He cuts across the top of my other breast, then moves lower, trailing the tip of the knife over my belly. Then he tosses the knife aside with a clatter and smears the blood over my skin with his rough palms, sliding his bloodied hands over my tits to mark them, too. I roll my hips, desperately chasing my release. I’m right on the verge of it. I’m so close?—

And then Sawyer roars, and grunts, his hips shuddering against me.

“Fuck!” he shouts, yanking his cock out of me. “Fuck, it was too much, seeing you like that?—”

He runs his fingers through my blood again, and his cum oozes down my thigh, hot and thick as that blood.

“It’s okay,” I gasp at him, delirious with pleasure. “You can finish me off with your hands. It’s fine.” I roll my hips, trying to rut against his leg. “Or your mouth. I don’t care. Just dosomething.”

He looks down at me, his eyes black behind his mask. I squirm, desperate to feel him inside of me again. Fingers, tongue, anything.

But then he reaches over and grabs his knife, the blade still marked with my blood.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

SAWYER

Ican’t believe I did that to her, my Edie, my fucking treasure. Can’t believe I came before she did. Butfuckshe looks so goddamned beautiful right now, her clothes in tatters and her skin smeared with both old blood and new, the three cuts I made still oozing, glistening, and wet.

“It’s okay,” she keens, her words slurred with lust. She squirms on the altar, her body writhing with desperation. “You can finish me off with your hands. It’s fine. Or your mouth. I don’t care. Just dosomething.”

I don’t want to use my hands or my mouth, though. I want to make her come with my cock. I want to make her come with something that fucking matters.

And then it sparks in my head, what I want to do.

I grab my Bowie knife. Edie’s eyes go wide, and I make a little shushing sound, trying to calm her. The knife feels good in my hand. Heavy as the erection she gave me when she begged me to cut her.

“I’m not going to kill you,” I tell her, and it’s true. But I am going to fuck her with the one thing that’s an extension of me.

I flip the knife, catching it by the blade. I don’t care when itslices into my hand; I could use a bit of pain, to ground me. The handle is nearly black with sticky blood. But I know just how wet she is, my perfect prey, and I shot a heavy load inside her.

I know she can take this.

“Spread your legs for me, baby.” I don’t want to force this. I want her to take my knife as willingly as she does my dick.

And Edie, perfect, precious Edie, does exactly as I say.

“It’s just the handle,” I murmur to her as I spread her pussy wide, admiring the glossy pink of her. She gives a nervous laugh and I look at her as best I can through my mask. Part of me wants to take it off so I can drink her in. But I leave it. She’s my prey, and I want her to see what my victims see.

I want her to see who I am.

“It better be,” she says, voice breathy and nervous.

I run my thumb over her clit in response. She cries out, hips jerking.