Page 75 of The First Cut

“Not if you have another victim in mind. Tell me, doll, whose blood you would bathe in, and I’ll make it happen.”

I don’t know if he’s serious. If I’m being truthful with myself, I’m inclined to think he is. I only want one person’s blood enough to give Hannibal free rein. “Driller. I’d let you fuck me in a pool of Driller’s blood.”

“Hmm…” he murmurs, laying the scalpel on the cushion beside me. He reaches into his cut, pulling out a knife with a black handle. He moves behind me and drags the tip of the blade down my spine.

I freeze, trying to regulate my breathing, but it comes out in soft pants. If fear had a smell, the room would be flooded with it.

“Will you let me fuck you with this knife, pretty doll?”

I squeeze my eyes shut as the blade travels over the curve of my ass.

“Open your legs,” he whispers in my ear, a sound full of menace, promising nothing but pain. And still, I do as he asks. I must be as sick in the head as he is.

I hear him moving before I feel his warm breath blow over my ass, and I realize he’s on the coffee table between my legs.

“Bend over, elbows on the sofa cushions.”

Slowly, I obey, the position putting my ass in his face. He takes a deep breath before he groans. I won’t be able to hold this position for long, but for now, I’m stable enough if he decides to fuck me.

It’s not his dick I feel at the entrance of my slick pussy. It’s something hard and cold. I freeze, fear rendering me immobile even as I feel my arousal drip down my thighs.

“Such a pretty canvas. I’m going to fuck you with the hilt because you’ve been a good girl. But cross me, and I’ll cut you to ribbons, little girl.”

“I won’t cross you. We’re a team.”

He pauses for a moment. It gives me a burst of courage, knowing he’s as affected by me as I am by him, and neither of us has any idea what to do with it.

“After I fuck you, I’m going to draw pretty patterns on your skin. Maybe I’ll even carve my name,” he taunts as the knife handle slowly slips inside me.

I send up a silent prayer of thanks that he’s using his hunting knife and not the scalpel. I lose my train of thought when he starts stroking my clit with the other hand.

“You like that? You like being my little fuck doll? You’ll do anything I say, won’t you?”

I whimper when he pulls the knife out to the tip before thrusting back inside me again. The sound spurs him on, making his thrusts harder and faster. He takes turns stroking, pinching, and slapping my clit until I’m sobbing with need and begging him for relief.

“Please, Hannibal. Please, I need to come,” I cry, tears soaking the cushion beneath me.

“And what will you give me?”

“Anything!” I howl.

“Then come, doll. Come and let me collect my prize.”

He pinches my clit hard, making me scream as I come. My legs buckle, but he moves with me, still fucking me with the handle as he lowers me to the floor.

Once I’m spent, he pulls the knife free before dragging the tip up my back. I feel the sharp pinch of pain, and I know he’s broken the skin. I hiss, but I don’t fight him, letting him have his moment before his tongue is sliding over the cuts he just made, drinking me down like the freaking psycho he is.

“You taste so fucking good,” he groans. I hear a thread of warmth in his voice once more, as the monster slowly retreats. “Turn around for me, doll.”

I turn slowly and sit on my ass with my back to the sofa.

He takes in my expression, his eyes roving over every inch of my face as he reads me. “Okay?”

I don’t have any words, so I nod.

“Good. Because now it’s my turn. You said I could have anything I wanted.”

He stands and strips out of his clothes, taking everything off, only to slip his cut back on again once he’s naked. “You’re going to lean your head back and take your president’s cock down your throat. I’m going to fuck it until I come, so you better hope I come before you pass out. But don’t worry, I know how to revive you if I need to.”