The thwack of one of my blades imbedding itself in the wood beside my head has me reacting with an involuntary sharp inhale. I won't lie, that new mask is terrifying-ly arousing. I'm a little bit confused on where I fall on the spectrum of my feelings. Jax always seems to bring that out of me.
Counting down slowly, I try to bring my heartrate down. I can barely hear over its frantic pumping. Crunching footsteps inching closer signal the end of my time. No more strategizing, just action. I spring forward from my hiding spot as Jaxson howls behind me, his easygoing gait a distant memory as he hunts me down. As fast as I've become, he's faster. Zigging to his zagging only helps for so long. He's anticipating my movements, toying with me like a barn cat with a stubborn field mouse.
"Did you really think I'd let you win this game, sweet Bambi?"
Let? My hackles are up. No man lets me do anything. Not anymore. Jax might think he has me out classed, may think I'm defenseless, but I still have one blade left. I pulled it from my ankle strap between my socks when I heard him close. It's tucked into my palm, hidden from sight though still close at hand.
Judging by how close he sounds, I have seconds to decide. Flee or fight?
"Do you know how much I've dreamed of this moment? How hard I was when you pulled your knife on me at the club? Darling, I'm going to savor each moment I have you writhing beneath me," he says breezily. As if he were discussing something mundane like the weather or gas prices.
Spinning on my heel, I launch myself at him. Seeing his dark blue eyes widen in surprise is worth it as I try to catch my balance when he dodges out of the way. Despite his mouth being covered, I just know he's smiling by the twinkle in his eye and the way he bends his knees in a predatory crouch. I match his stance as we circle each other. "Don't know what to do when your prey bites back?" I snark.
"Oh, I know Pet. Hope you know what you're asking for," he purrs. He strikes, grabbing me by the ponytail and wrenching my neck back. Stumbling, I try to dig my feet in the mud, but I keep sliding and sinking further. He reaches for my elbows to pin my arms, but I'm ready this time, twisting my right arm back and pricking the skin at his waist with my blade. He chuckles as I feel the telltale point of one of my own blades against my spine held with same hand as my hair. "It appears we are at an impasse. Unless," he leans into the blade in his side and his blood wells around the wound, "you're not afraid of a little pain with your pleasure."
I'm frozen by the sight. I'm not into this. Am I? After everything Colt put me through, the way he would hurt me, get off on my tears and my pain, the way I begged, pleading with him to stop. This has to be some sick part of my brain that he created, rising up to haunt me with its sick sense of irony.
"Whatever put that lost look in your eye, I want you to imagine stabbing with your blade Bambi. It holds no power over you. Not anymore," he commands, his grip digging into my flesh, the pain anchoring me to the here and now.
My fist tightens around the handle and I push it a fraction deeper into his skin as he grits his teeth, his head resting against my shoulder as he sucks in a breath. All I can see out of the corner of my eye is his steel demon mask, the tusks looking sharp enough to pierce. To anyone else, this would be insane and maybe it is. Maybe we are. I see what he means it as, comfort and acceptance at the basest level. No judgement.
Even with me wrapped in his arms, my own knife poised to pierce my skin, I've never felt so safe. As much as I am his pet, he is my beast. I hold his leash just as firmly as he mine. If I asked, he would set me free in an instant. Instead, I want to see how far he'll push things.
Relaxing into his hold feels a lot like surrender. My head falls back onto his shoulder, the knife in my back biting into my skin through my shirt. "I shouldn't want this," I say, more to myself than anyone else.
"It doesn't have to always make sense. To you or anyone else. Sometimes we just need to feel what we feel. Free of society and its rigid rules and moralistic judgements. Fight me if you need to, if that helps you to accept what you need," he says in my ear.
"I need you to do your worst."
"Oh, Bambi mine," he grins. "You don't really mean that. Though if you want to play, all you had to do was ask."
Air hits my spine as he cuts through my clothes until I'm standing in front of him bare from the waist up, my ruined top and sports bra hanging uselessly on my arms. I shake them off until they fall, lying in a heap on the ground. I always thought this was something that only happened in books or romance movies that had me cringing as I watched through my hands in either lust or embarrassment, depending on the actors. It wasn't exactly smooth, more trying to tear a dictionary in half than a single piece of paper, but the effect is damn near instantaneous. My nipples pebble with the chill in the air and my attempt at covering up is easily batted away. With nothing to hide my blade, it's on display tucked against the inside of my wrist.
"You're just full of surprises," he whistles while throwing his arms open wide. "Go on. Give me your best shot."
"You're still bleeding from the foreplay," I point out incredulously. Jax being...off isn't exactly a revelation given everything about himself he's shown me so far, but this might take the cake. "You know, for a germaphobe like yourself, you seem to have no problems at all getting dirty with me." I stumble over my next words, mentally face palming myself. "Literally, not figuratively speaking."
"You cause me to break a lot of my rules Pet. You should be grateful I keep any."
"Good men don't need rules. I'm guessing that's why you have so many?" Dario would understand the reference, but it still fits my angelic faced, devilish thief.
He tilts his head at me curiously and I can't help but think I may have developed a bit of a mask kink along with the numerous others these men have made me uncover during my time with them.
"You don't have as many as you want to believe either Pet. Oh, you try," he cuts off my protests. "You try to fit into this rigid mold of what you should be. Should is just a leash holding you back. Who are you when you stop caring what you should do?" He rolls down the waist of my pants. "Stop trying to fit in," he demands, pressing the horns of his mask against me and pushing it up to uncover the bottom half of his face. "My wild," his sharp canines bite down over the pulse in my throat. I can't help but moan at the pain as his teeth sink into my flesh, the wet heat of his mouth. "Feral girl." He grins against my skin as he laves the mark with his tongue.
Spinning in his loose hold, I bring my own blade to his shirt. "Take it off," I demand. Originally, I had planned to cut it off him same as he had with me, but last second remembered that doing the walk of shame to my car topless would be all sorts of awkward. Foresight for the win. Still, I admire the way his muscles pull taunt as he slowly reaches his arms down to the hem and pulls it over the top half of his mask. His body is a work of art, barely an inch of fat on him. It's probably less of a vanity thing for him rather more of a utility.
His ocean blue eyes darken, their inky depths promising so much pleasure. I press my thighs together against the pressure building in my core, begging me to end its slow torture. Standing before me, perfectly poised and waiting. Perfectly mine. I wonder if this is how Michelangelo felt, gazing up at David and knowing that although the world would see him, know him and his beauty, he would never truly belong to them. I want to carve my name into his skin so that the whole world knows this man is mine.
"Do it," he urges me, his words a fierce command against my ear.
I step back, flicking my eyes up at him, certain that my mind is playing tricks on me. His fingers grip tightly onto my wrist, reminding me of my final blade, the handle sinking into the fragile layer of skin.
"Mark me Bambi. You already own whatever matter of heart I could possess. Paint my skin with your blade for the world to see."
I don't allow myself the time to second guess myself, to think about the risk of infection, the way it'll turn out, anything. Pushing Jaxson to the ground feels good even if I know he only falls because he wishes. It feels right to know he only kneels for me. I peel the rest of my clothing off until I sink down, straddling his waist completely bare of anything but spots of dirt and blood from the thin scratches he cut with my blades as he disrobed me.
"Mine," I growl as I carve the first line into his chest, over his heart.