Page 104 of Stone: The Precursor

“So polite, Countess. But I need you to do better. Try again. Beg for exactly what you want.”

“I want you to fuck me.”

He straightens, turning my body into his. He runs his hands over my belly and touches my pussy. “So wet.” I moan when he touches my clit briefly. “Such a good girl. So greedy.”

His eyes heat again, and it’s like we’re right back in the moment in the forest.

I stare down at his cock. It’s standing straight up to his belly button. The flared head is an angry pink. I can see the underside. The eight rods are just under the smooth skin. Thereare ten rings in the heavy sack hanging low. But it’s the head that fascinates me. Two barbells are going through the flared crown of his dick to form a cross shape.

I reach for him, running my nails along each piercing. A bead of liquid in his slit grows and gets bigger, eventually too heavy, gravity takes its course, and it falls, dripping down to the shower floor.

Shockingly, he does nothing. He doesn’t touch himself. He doesn’t even seem eager. He casually watches me, waiting. I’m even more confused. He’s not doing anything about his erection.

He must see my confusion because he grins. “I like to deny myself, Countess. The longer I hurt, the better it feels when I come. I’ve been waiting for over a year to come.”

That makes me blink. A. Year? “I don’t understand.”

“I know.” He doesn’t say more than that, and my head is a tornado. He hasn’t climaxed in a year? What the hell?

“But—”

“As much as I’d like to fuck you again with your blood all over me, I need to stitch up your wounds. I don’t want them infected.”

“What?” I’m dazed, confused, lust clouding my ability to think. Stitch? I blanch. “You’re not serious.”

“I’m very serious. It’s a puncture wound.”

“That you caused.” Some of my earlier anger comes back. “You stabbed me.”

“I did.”

He doesn’t look apologetic. “And you’re not going to apologize?”

“No.”

Crossing my arms over my breasts, I frown. “And why not?”

“Because I like my mark on you, Camryn. I’ve wanted it there for a while, and you’ll have it forever. I don’t regret it.”

Well shit. That sounds straight out of a gothic love story.

He finishes bathing me, washing my long hair, edging me every time he massages the base of my skull.. He washes his own body, and I stare at his cock as he manhandles it. Washing my blood off his body. He cleans his cock with soap. He scrubs his face, cleaning the paint off his body. The scratches on his face appear. Scratches I gave him. I’m glad he’s wearing them. It evens the playing field. I wasn’t just some helpless woman. I fought back. I had no clue it was him, but still, it feels good.

He turns off the water and lifts me out, placing me gently on the bath mat. I stand, immobile and confused, as he opens a narrow closet, takes a thick gray towel out, and wraps it around me. Then another one encircles his waist.

“Sit.”

I know he’s right. I remember that much of medical school. Deep wounds need to be closed. Too tired to argue with him, I sit on the closed toilet seat.

Systematically, he takes out cotton balls, a brown bottle, and a small white plastic container. I watch as he opens the brown bottle, fitting a cotton ball above it. He tilts my head to the side, and I shrink away from the sting as he cleans the cut. When he takes out the Ethilon nylon and with a curved needle, I swallow and hold my head still. How the fuck does he have the exact tools used to close a deep wound? Where did he get it? I did my fair share of suture practice in my clinicals, and I remember it well. It’s not something that the average Joe has in his medicine cabinet. But then again, Stone is anything but average. What I saw in the forest and what he did to me is anything but normal.

He pierces my skin, and I flinch, cursing when he sews me up. I would like to know where he acquired his knowledge. He’s familiar with closing lacerations. I hold onto his thighs, breathing through the pain. My eyes widen when I see that his dick under the towel is hard, the long ridge unmistakable. He’s turned on by this? “You’re hard.”

“Yeah, Countess. Being two inches from you always gets my dick going. Nothing new there.”

“Always?”

“Every fucking second of the day.”