Page 51 of Rebel
“Pass me that box,” I tell him before he moves toward me.
He grabs a solid oak box with a gold clasp and brings it over. It holds some of my most expensive fine brushes. When Rebel sees them, he takes the box back. “Use your fingers,” he says. “If you’re worried, I’m clean.”
Taking a deep breath, I put one hand on his wrist, gripping it and moving his arm closer. Then I draw the knife across his skin, a bead of blood forms, then a line follows the knife as I move it. Rebel hisses but he doesn’t move. The cut isn’t deep, but it’s bleeding enough for what I need.
Our eyes lock as I set the knife aside and press my finger against the cut, harder than is necessary and enough to make him grunt, but he encourages me to continue.
It takes a lot to drag my focus from his face, the way his brows pinch and his teeth drag over his bottom lip.
We both get lost in the moment, nothing else outside of this room matters. I can see the relief behind the pinch of pain. It’s something I know well.
I don’t cut myself to relieve my inner pain, that is not something I’ve ever done. Finding out inflicting pain during sex came about by accident. I’ve only ever met one other person who understood the emotion, the heightened sexual desire that comes with seeing your partner’s blood on their skin.
My breath is shallow as I turn to the drawing. I ran out of themediumthe last time I was doing this and wasn’t about to cut myself further. In fact, I’d stopped and pushed the pad away from me, shocked I’d even gone there.
I’ve never painted with my blood before, let alone someone else’s.
After a few tentative strokes, I get into it, seeing where I need to use the red to create shadow. It’s difficult with my fingers where I need more precision, but I get where Rebel is coming from, seeing the swirls and strokes my fingertips make takes this to a higher level.
I’m almost shocked when Rebel puts his palm on the table beside the pad, making it easier for me to replenish when I need it. What makes it difficult to breathe is him moving in close behind me and putting his other palm on the other side of the table, caging me in.
“Fuck,” he groans when I press a little too hard on the cut, squeezing more blood from it. I tilt my head, but I can’t see his face, he’s standing too close.
His head lowers and there is a slight pressure at the side of my head, his breath warms my ear as he runs his nose alongside it, inhaling.
I carry on with the painting as Rebel continues, his nose moving beneath my ear, then his teeth nip my earlobe and my eyes sweep shut.
“Careful,” he murmurs. I look down and see a smear across the drawing that shouldn’t be there.
“I can fix it,” I say.
“Can you?”
He takes my hand and moves it to his arm, using our combined fingers to squeeze more blood out. The cut is coagulating, the blood thickening too much to be usable for this purpose.
“Want to cut me again?” he asks.
I shake my head as he picks up the knife that I set down beside the pad earlier.
“Want me to cut you?”
I suck in a breath and my lower stomach clenches. A steady beat is pulsing between my legs, the dampness growing. My head falls back against his collarbone, and he licks my neck.
Then a sharp pain makes my back arch. Rebel bands an arm around my waist to hold me against him as he nicks my skin with the knife.
It’s not as deep as when I cut him, and just a small drop of blood blooms on my skin. He swipes it with his fingertip, then hovers it over the paper. Understanding what he wants, I put my smaller hand over the top of his and guide it, lowering his finger just beneath the lips on the picture.
Together, we shade the area to make his chin and jawline stand out.
I can’t stand this anymore. If he doesn’t touch me, I’m going to lose my mind. As if he can read what I’m thinking, he pulls his arm away and both hands grip my hips, pulling me back against the length of his body, the hardness of his cock makes me whimper and grind my ass against him.
“Jesus Christ.”
He moves back and spins me around, lifting me in one swift move and setting me down, only just avoiding the knife. He brushes it away, but not so far that he can’t reach it.
That sends another thrill through me I try hard not to show. Rebel grips my chin and tilts my head to look at him. Is this going to be another quick and meaningless fuck?
As we stare, I get the sense this isn’t the same as last time, for either of us.
