"Have a good fuck?" I hiss.
Colt gasps, but the twins stare at each other with this malicious joy.
They always wanted to win over me. Guess this is their chance.
She lifts her bare ass up in the air, making my dick groan with heated scorn. Red and flushed with freshly fucked skin, she turns to me.
"Lux," she begins, and then there's a hint of sadness.
I expose my neck, wanting them to know who she's always belonged to. If not for our parents having a falling out, she'd be mine.
I don't give a single fuck what Father says. She's mine. Always has been.
"Thank you for reminding me what razorblades beneath my skin feels like, Corpse."
Her face falls. Daring to glance back at me, she then looks at her arms.
I know, I say with my eyes. I've always fucking known. Does she think she's the only one who takes the shiny metal to their flesh?
She swallows and starts to stand.
"Stay," I bite out, wanting nothing more than to fuck them out of her.
She nearly flattens again, and the twins say nothing. They won't.
"You two, move."
Neither of them give fight.
If Colt could be any more shocked, her jaw would lock up. It hangs agape, and she must know by now we're all acquainted. Not just with the way my face still burns from their brutality but the familiarity in the room that couldn't be erased even with fucking magic.
"W-what are you doing?" she whispers, her lips puffy. The just-fucked look would be better on her if it was my doing and not theirs.
"Marking my fucking territory," I snap, grabbing her ankle.
She yelps as I drag her to the edge of the bed. She starts looking at the twins, silently asking them to stop me. When they don’t and I reach for her, her disappointment is obvious. The only thing stopping her from reaching out to them is my grip on her chin.
Sliding my palm to her throat, I squeeze lightly. "Don't look at them. Only me."
Her eyes widen, and she bites her lip with a nod.
"Good little slut."
I force my gaze away from hers to peer at the twins. They're sitting, smug, a possessiveness lingering in their expressions, but they know better than to interrupt. Their father might line the pockets of the depraved and dirty, but mine litters the world of the rich and famous.
They don't truly want to stop me. Their amusement mixed with interest is obvious. Prudence might be less than happy. His fists are balled, and his eyes are narrowed, but his dick is growing.
Coming back to my Vamp, the Corpse Bride to my fucked-up death nuptials, I notice her pout. She's worried. Good.
"Tell me," I muse aloud, "did you tell them we exchanged blood?"
She flinches, and I watch as they both growl a little. How cute.
"Not once, but several times,” I add.
Her eyelashes flutter as if lost in my favorite memory.
I twirl my knife, my hand carefully practiced with the swipe of my blade, knowing exactly when to move my fingers and when to keep them steady.
Colty's eyes glint as the sound of metal slides, successfully flicking it open.
"Do you like knives, Colty?"
Her aroused glance toward me is answer enough, but I want to hear the words.
"Is your pussy wet, thinking of me pressing it against your skin?"
A tiny noise escapes her lips, and I grin wildly. Everyone always asks why I carry a knife. The easy answer would be protection. Who wouldn't want to keep themselves safe? But it'd be a half-truth. Regardless of how many dicks deny it, half-truths are lies that are barely protected by semantics.
The truth, or reality really, is... I cut.
None of the guys know. They won't ever if I have anything to say about it. I carry this metal tool at all times because when the urge hits me, it really fucking hits me. The last desperate attempt of mine led to a gnarly scar on my thigh.
Never again.
"Will you..." she mutters, stopping herself from finishing her sentence.
I place the flat side of it against her, knowing it wouldn't cut but also knowing it's a thrill can be as euphoric.
Low and greedy, a hiss escapes her lips. "Cut me?"
When I raise an eyebrow at her, she bites her lip, a nervous gesture, one I adore. Her barely-there baby blues gleam with wanton desperation, her silvery-blonde hair already a mess around her face. We've been kissing a lot lately. I want more, so much more, but she's not mine. She's ours, and we have rules.
Moving the blade, I push her onto the plush grass. Her crop top squeezes her as she bends at an awkward angle, and the sight is to die for.
"Tell me where, Colton. Be very fucking specific." It comes out a little crueler than intended, but it doesn't make me falter or her either, for that matter.
She reaches the top of her shirt, dragging it over her stiff, rosy nipples, taunting me with her light eyes. Her thumb circles her areola, soft, almost reverent, distracting me. My dick aches in my pants. I'm sure it's her intention.
After she's done teasing, her bubblegum pink nails draw the tiniest line at the swell of her breast. "Here, where only we can see it."
The way she says that has me groaning with desperation. Of course I want that, but whether or not she knows all four of us know about her rendezvous with all of us, they'll be seeing it too.
A burning need to claim this little part of her rises inside me. I trace the back of the blade against her flat stomach, all the way to her breasts, and goosebumps flare across her skin. She takes loud inhales, sharp, all sinewy like her.
"Don't move, sweetheart."
Her face turns into a mixture of excitement and fear. It's endearing and inviting. I gently press the blade against her pale flesh. With direct and purposeful pressure, I slide, and my girl moans.
Blood rises, and fuck, it's beautiful. I've always had a candid fascination with blood. My scars are answer enough. They're always hidden to the world. Beneath fancy suits, fake smiles, and blazers, I hide blissfully.
But not from Colton Hudson.
Never from Colton Hudson.
My mouth waters in an odd way as I watch her face go through various shades of pleasure and interest. Calling to me, I listen. My tongue flattens against her chest, and I taste her.
Her essence. Her livelihood. Her blood for mine.
I break free of the memory, the first time I ever took her blood and let her take mine. It gives me all the ammunition I need for what's next. Reaching into my slacks, I grab the same blade we used on each other.
When I flick it out, her eyes glint in that special way I know she saves for these moments. My girl is still my girl. Her yearning for our shared ritual is as vital as the pulse at her throat.
"Promise me something, Vamp."
She scrunches her nose but nods.
"Promise that when the time comes for others to take your screams into their mouths, you'll keep our secrets."
Her eyes widen, remembering that too.
"Oath," she whispers, her plump lips pouty and perfect.
I take the blade to her other breast. Mirroring the original cut that's barely noticeable, nicking her flesh, I watch in amazement as the crimson lust seeps from her. Without preamble, I trace it with my tongue. Instead of allowing her to return the favor, I take her mouth and moan too.
Pulling away, I notice the way some of her own blood stuck on her dry lips.