Page 36

“The fuck I won’t,” I mutter, taking hold of his arms to quickly untie him.

He turns stiff but lets me do it without a word.

The instinct to protect him overpowers any other desire.

The sight of the chaffed skin around his wrists makes me want to find that fucking shithead and twist his neck until his head is detached from the rest of his body.

The stark red lines of the number four brand—the one the scientists burned on his inner wrist—is in the exact same place as mine. Our subject numbers. Seven and Four.

I move to the sink to dampen a towel, then I look for the ointment provided in every room and find it in the bowl on the table.

I sit on the bed and start delicately rubbing his flesh with the towel, moving aside the black bracelet from his wrist. I’ll keep my phone close at all times from now on, Sari’s racing heartbeat would have triggered the app on my cell and I would’ve stopped that fucker earlier.

He gasps and instantly pulls his hand away, but my hold is strong and I don’t let go as I keep cleaning the wounds. There’s blood on his delicate skin, like Sari fought against the rope to get free.

“I’m an idiot,” he whispers brokenly after a while.

“Compared to you, most of the world is stupid. You need to be more specific, Baby Blue,“ I say between my gritted teeth as I finish applying the ointment.

“Stop, just stop!” He bats my hands away. “Why do you keep doing this? Playing with me?”

“Playing?” I echo.

“Stringing me along, when what you really want is someone else!” he clips.

“There’s only fucking you in my world, Sari. Nobody else.”

He looks down for a moment. “I saw you!” He swallows hard and then fixes his pained eyes on me. “I saw you with that guy.” His gaze turns watery again, and fuck, there’s too much space between us.

“He was just a tool; I used him and discarded him.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” He stands up, keeping the sheet around his body. “What if I use tools as well, Uri? What then?”

I growl long and deep. “I’ll end them, just like I’m going to do with that fucker who thought he could put his hands on you.”

“Talk about a double standard.” I don’t understand the betrayal pouring from his voice. “And I asked that fucker to touch me.”

I grunt. “Did you ask him to use a paddle as well? Or to split your lip and bruise your face?” I snarl; my rage tries to overwhelm me again.

“Obviously not!” he cries out. “I always choose the wrong guy, don’t I?”

“Because I am the one for you.”

“Right!” he exclaims sarcastically. “If that’s true, why are you fucking other people then?

Why won’t you use that whip on me? Why don’t you want me to touch you?

” he screams, blurry eyes wide and wet, cheeks red.

He’s so fucking beautiful. The sight of him so broken and desperate turns my dick to stone.

When I don’t answer, he shakes his head. “Get out.” I can barely hear his soft whisper.

“Look at me,” I order him, and fuck he does instantly, turning the fire inside me into a blazing inferno. I grab the back of my shirt and pull it off slowly, showing my chest and biceps to him for the first time since I was seventeen.

His eyes move all over my torso, looking at the ink covering it.

It’s all Sari. Memories I share with him, places, names, and dates.

Baby Blue Eyes envelop one pec, moving up the shoulder and down the bicep.

The day, month, and year I first saw him is tattooed among the flowers on my heart in red, bold numbers.

On the other side, there’s a microscope, a slice of apple pie, some titles of his favorite books, a pomegranate, the green bicycle he rode when we were kids, a quote from his favorite song.

I have more on my legs and back, more things that remind me of him. Always him.

His arm reaches out. His trembling finger almost makes contact with the tattoo of his teary eyes on my belly. But don’t. He wraps it around his body while his confused gaze keeps studying me with shock and appreciation. My cock is throbbing inside my pants, begging for some relief.

“They are all about…”

“…you,” I finish for him.

He blinks a few times, looking even more confused, then suddenly frowns. “What are those small lines tattooed all around your bicep?”

“One for every research project you completed,” I let him know. There are twenty-three in total.

His hand shoots up to cover his mouth. “Why?” I think I hear him ask.

“I got a tattoo each time I almost took you. The flashes of possessiveness overwhelmed me to the point of possessing you.” I give him a look filled with raw desire, so as not to have any more misunderstandings.

“Ironically, the pain reminded me why I couldn’t do it.

” Instead of hurting him, I hurt myself.

His arms tighten around his waist. “I don’t understand,” he says in a small voice, mouth trembling.

“I’m a sadist, Sari.” I pause to let the word sink into his brain. “I enjoy hurting people.”

“I know.”

I nod. “I’m not only talking about donors.

I get hard thinking about a writhing body in the throes of pain and pleasure, confused pleading, high-pitched cries, reddened skin and jiggling flesh.

And you, Baby Blue, are the main character every single time.

The way I want you is rough and forceful.

I want to dominate you and punish you, see your body shiver, jolt, scream under my hands. ”

As I talk, I see Sari’s body quivering. There’s no fear in his half-lidded eyes. He’s struggling to catch his breath as his face blooms with a deep flush. His big eyes remain on mine, they never waiver. I don’t let them.

The sheet falls on the floor, revealing his lean body covered only in sexy lingerie as his cold hands flatten on my bare chest. The unexpected touch ignites an ache inside me, the all-consuming, craving kind.

“So why didn’t you?”

“Isn’t that obvious? I don’t want to hurt you.” My fingers land on his soft ass, gently cupping each cheek. They fit so fucking perfectly in my hands.

“You-you just said you’re a sadist and that the idea of hurting me turns you on.”

“Yeah, and you told me how you suffered unthinkable physical and mental pain every day we were imprisoned. How it almost…pushed you to take your own life. I would rather eviscerate myself with my own hands than do something that will make you leave me…forever.”

“Oh my God.” His forehead falls on my chest. His warmth breaths brush my heated skin. “You are the sweetest idiot. That was before.”

“Before what?” I grab his hips as he looks up at me again—I can span his waist with my hands.

“Before I discovered how—” He stops, inhaling a large gulp of air. “I have an emptiness so dark inside me, it needs to be filled.”

“With?” Does he actually need to kill like the rest of us?

“Pain.” A tremulous smile appears on his lips.

“Pain,” I echo, squeezing his flesh with my hands, hard. Fucking. Hell. This can’t be.

He moans like a fucking bitch in heat, his eyes hazing over. But it is.

“When we were saved, I didn’t want to feel anything. I was a scared empty shell, irremediably cracked and on the verge of breaking.”

I nod, remembering his void stare, while his small hands rub over my chest.

“Our family and you helped me overcome that. But something was just not right. Something was missing. And as I grew up, I started to understand what. They say things get better with time, but that’s not necessarily true.

After experiencing that much pain, everything can’t ever become perfectly alright, because every time I looked back to it, I felt the same hurt and hopelessness all over again.

The ugliness inside me, the one that the scientists fed, making it grow, was still there, and the only way to cope with it was to keep feeding it, but on my terms. And being pinned down, roughed up, punished, and forced to take it… arouses me.”

Fuck! I know he’s telling the truth. I can feel his lace-clad dick straining against my leg.

“All these years, and you didn’t tell me what you really needed,” I hiss angrily. “I’m not the only one keeping secrets.”

“You never looked at me that way. I was your special little brother, to protect and keep safe. Weak.”

“You are not my fucking brother. I told you the first time I saw you in that blue field what you are…mine. And do you know why, Sari?”

He shakes his head hesitantly.

“You don’t take the need for violence and blood away from me—nobody does. But you create another urge, a stronger one, that overshadows it.”

Sari’s turquoise pools brim with tears as he lets out a surprised chuckle. Then he pulls my head down and his lips meet mine.

He tastes like blissful surrender and passionate audacity.

Sucking my tongue and nipping at my mouth before yielding all the control to me.

His eagerness for me is everything I’ve ever imagined.

Also pliable, submissive, and a total slut for me—rubbing his dick against my leg as I get a good grip on his ass.

He hisses when I tighten my hand on his left cheek, which reminds me of his abused skin and that damn fucker who had the audacity to hurt him.

I can taste his blood on my tongue, coppery and so damn sweet—bitter as well since I wasn’t the one to break his skin. But I will next time. I’ll bite and go deep, leaving a permanent mark there. Everywhere.

Eventually, I pull away and watch as his eyes slowly open. He looks drunk and hazy. I stroke his puffy lips with my thumb, slick from our mixed saliva.

“What should I do with you now, Baby Blue?” I rumble, giving his right ass cheek a hard squeeze.

“Fill me up with it,” he murmurs, so fucking sexily.

“With what? Pain or pleasure?” I ask, giving the split on his lip a long, slow lick.

He gasps. “Both.”

I grab his hair and pull his head back, tightening my fingers just to give him a little sting. His eyes roll inside his head. He’s so damn sensitive, how did I not see this before?