Page 65 of Grave Love

The words don’t come out.

Visible excitement bubbles up in Blaze, his chest expanding as he studies my inner battle. He tips the bottle again. The blood splashes his clothes, streaking him in blotchy patches of red, and my mouth drops open. His hands pool between my thighs, exploring me, conquering every valley and crevice I have in crimson.

The liquid is cold. His fingers are damp, slightly pruny from being soaked in liquid. He uses the blood to tease the ridges of my ass, his eyes locked on me, his mouth open, waiting for my reaction. A chill runs down my spine.

It’s blood. He’s using someone’s blood as lubricant for ass play.

My cheeks flush at the reality of it all.This is so messed up.

What am I doing?

“How does that feel?” he asks, his voice soft, yet commanding.

My mind is blank. I’m supposed to be disgusted. Revulsed. I should be repulsed byeverythingin this situation.

A thought reaches through me, coming out of the shadows, and those worries about what I should or shouldn’t do melt away.

I don’t care about who the blood belongs to. I’m supposed to.

But I don’t.

Blaze’s cock pulses against his pants, and my mouth waters.

He still wants me.

And I want more.

His fingers swirl around my ass, teasing the opening, the touch somewhere between tickling and massaging.

“It feels—” I start. I don’t know how to describe it. I try concentrating on that ridge of muscle; my head floats. Tension releases from my body as I accept my own thoughts and come to terms with this moment.

Maybe we are bad people. Maybe none of us are good. Or maybe it’s just Blaze and I that are the fucked up ones.

Maybe I’m okay with that.

“It feels good,” I whisper.

Blaze inserts an inch of a wide finger. I grimace. He moves the finger back and forth inside of me, slightly at first, then quicker as each second passes. I hold on to that sensation, onto me and him and everything that connects us to this place. Eventually, I exhale, and my body relaxes, sinking into the table. The metal is warm now, matching the heat of my body, and I realize that the blood is my temperature now too.

“It’s different, isn’t it?” He holds his finger still in my ass. My knees spread wider, my hips thrusting toward his hand, begging for him to do it again. “Do you like that, love?”

I bite my tongue. This is a feather of his brutality, but somehow, it doesn’t disturb me. Not like a hug used to scare me from people who called themselves my friends. My family. How having sex with my fiancé took bottled lube and closed eyes just to get through it. Right now, I’m not disgusted with myself. Blaze wants to do so much more with me, and I know this is only the beginning.

He’s not going to kill me. Not yet.

“Do you like it?” he asks again.

I honestly don’t know if I do, but I know I want more of it.

I nod hesitantly.

“Say it,” he growls.

“I like it,” I whisper.

He removes his finger, and my hips twitch, the emptiness haunting me. I ache for his touch. He whips off his shirt. His belt buckle jiggles, his damp pants sloshing to the floor, and for the first time, I see Blaze completely naked. A dark pink scar marks his hip, as if it’s healed over time and time again. His skin pale. Tiny red spots blotch against his naked chest, though they’re obviously not natural. They’re scars too.

His cock hangs down, full of blood. Rigid and ready for me.