“Yes. You know how when kids were young they’d slice open their palms and shake hands? A blood bond.”
“Fucked up kids!”
“Don’t kink shame.”
He almost laughs. “Kink shame? Baby, I am all for whatever the hell you want to do in the bedroom, but come on, give me a minute here before I start slicing you up with a knife, okay?”
“I know this sounds nuts,” I tell him, pulling my hand away from the knife and cupping both sides of his face. “But I believe in it. This makes sense for us. Think about it.”
“You’re asking me to actually literally possess you? This is witchcraft.”
“That’s exactly right. It is witchcraft.”
“You’re not a witch.” He narrows his eyes. “Are you?”
I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter though. Anyone can be with the right energy.”
“And if it doesn’t work?”
“Then Samantha wins,” I say, trying to ignore the defeat in my heart. “And we have a few scars to remind us that we at least tried.”
His brow softens, eyes finally taking in how serious this is, how serious I am. “Okay,” he says quietly. “Then we’ll do this. Just tell me what to do.”
My lips twitch. “Oh? So you’re letting me be in control now?”
“I guess so,” he says. “You better enjoy it though, because once I possess you, that’s all over.”
“We’ll see. Apparently I can kick you out at any time.”
He smiles faintly before his expression turns grave. “You sure you want to do this? I don’t even know what this entails. I’m going to be in you…like…really in you.”
“I know.”
“And what happens to the rest of me?”
“I believe you can be in two places at once,” I tell him. “And I also think that you can just be in the background most of the time, only coming forward when needed.”
“You think or you know?”
“I was possessed once, remember?”
“And you and Abby were having conversations about the living quarters of your soul?”
Urgency floods through me. We’re running out of time.
I give Dex a look to shut up, then say, “Put me on the counter.”
He’s caught off-guard for a moment then puts the knife down. He wraps his hands around my waist and picks me up, placing me on the edge.
Keeping my eyes focused on his, I reach back and unhook my bra, tossing it to the side.
Dex’s gaze is pinned to my bare breasts, my nipples tightening. “Well, fuck, Perry. Maybe you should have just opened with this and I wouldn’t have questioned anything.”
“Take off my underwear,” I tell him.
He gulps. “Yes ma’am.”
I take in a deep breath as he reaches for my hips, his fingers curling over the edge of my panties, and I lift myself up slightly as he brings them down over my thighs, knees, calves.
I part my legs, enough for his eyes to drop between them, hunger flaring. The more I turn him on, the less chance he has of backing out. Pretty sure he’s already a goner and I’m just getting started.
“We’re supposed to take our time,” I tell him, running my fingers over my clit. I’m already wet and the sound is lewd and Dex looks like he’s going to fucking faint as he watches my every move. “The more turned on we get, the more we delay coming, the better it is.”
He swallows, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes coming up to mine. “Does your therapist usually give you this kind of advice? Maybe you should see her more often.”
I know I will be seeing her more often now, but I can’t focus on that. I can only focus on this moment. What I want. What I need. Energy and intention.
“Take off your clothes,” I tell him again.
This time he listens.
While bracketed between my legs, he reaches down and pulls off his t-shirt, and I don’t know if it’s the lust and danger and energy that’s circulating in the air, but he’s never looked better. His shoulders are as broad as the horizon, his muscles are perfectly rounded, hard and big as rocks, leading to his wide biceps and thick ropey forearms that flex as he starts to undo his jeans. His skin is tanned, smooth, perfect.
My eyes trail over his taut chest, absently taking in his tattoo, then coast down over the six-pack that doesn’t go away, no matter how much beer he drinks.
Lower.
Lower.
The jeans fall to the floor, leaving him just in his grey boxer briefs, his cock so rigid and defined underneath that he might as well be naked.
It’s one of my many wow I married that moments.
Which is quickly replaced with a wow we’re about to get extremely fucked up moment.
“All your clothes,” I remind him.
“Greedy little thing.” He’s been smirking at me this whole time. “Let’s wait until we’re done with the knife, shall we?”
Fair enough.
I swallow, thinking of the next steps, hoping I can brave. Hoping he can be brave too.
“Now take the knife,” I tell him.
He seems to freeze. “We’re starting with you?”
“Pick up the knife, Dex.”
Reluctantly he leans forward and picks up it off the counter. “Next time we try role playing, I vote for not being the butcher.”
“Dex,” I say sharply. “This isn’t funny.”
He gives me a chagrined look. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I know it’s not, I’m just trying to…get through this.”
I know how he feels. The only way I’m able to get through this is by taking complete control until I have to give it all up.
Though I have to say, having this control is empowering, like I’m not only using my own energy, but creating something too.
Maybe being a witch ain’t half bad.
“Now,” I say through a long exhale. “Do you think you can touch me and cut me at the same time?”
He blinks, mouth opening. He then snaps it shut, shaking his head. No.
“That’s fine,” I slide my fingers over myself again and Jesus this is going to be hell because I’m already so turned on.
“Fuck Perry,” he whispers, eyes glued to where I’m touching myself.
“Cut me,” I tell him, reaching forward with my other hand and grabbing his, pointing the knife at my chest, just above my breasts where the bones disappear. “Right here. Little cuts, just deep enough to draw blood.”
“It’s going to hurt,” he warns me.
“Not any more than when you bite me during sex. The pain feels good when I already feel good,” I tell him. I mean, I’m just going by what they say, that sexual arousal dulls pain, hence why a lot of BDSM works the way it does.
I close my eyes and bite my lip, waiting for it.
I hear Dex’s breath catch.
Feel the warm of his hands and the cool of the blade as they approach.
Then the sharp sting as he makes a cut across my skin.
It hurts but only a little.
“I’m sorry,” he says softly.
I open my eyes and look down to see a single tear of blood bleeding from a two-inch cut above my left breast. I glance up at him. He looks both scared and fascinated, watching the blood trickle down.