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“Aw, c’mon baby, I promise I won’t cut you up too bad…!” Pete reassured you, a slight tinge of derision in his voice, gripping the pocket knife tightly with his index finger on the release. Your eyes analyzed his still, looming form sitting at the foot of the bed from your spot near the headboard, leaning up against the pillows. The two of you had been through this rite time and time again, but the anxious knot in your throat never seemed to go away completely as you anticipated his cuts and kisses that drew blood.
There was something about the way he downplayed his weird, violent tendencies that made him all the more appealing in moments like these. You’d probably never admit it, but you enjoyed the small pangs of fear that went through you, along with feeling like you had no choice but to put on a courageous look like you weren’t gonna like it in the first place.
Pete started to get closer to you with his blade drawn, his hands inching toward your legs. Your jeans had been pulled off and abandoned on the floor long ago, leaving the skin on your legs cold and exposed. His free hand stroked your upper calf and kneecap with a false sweetness as he crawled over to you and began to speak again.
“I can never tell if you’re scared for real, or just pretendin’ for me.” He let out with a weirdly cheerful laugh, his rough palm still petting the side of your leg.
You pondered his statement for a second and opened your mouth to differ but he cut in abruptly, climbing closer to your body and leaning all the way into the side of your neck.
“But I reeeally hope it’s the former.” His mouth pressed against the side of your neck erratically, scattering kisses and love bites across the skin, all the way to the column of your throat, your head tilting up toward the ceiling in response. Now his hands were braced against the outside of your thighs, fingertips reaching the edge of your panties with the small, sharp form of the knife pressed against your right thigh, a warning of what was soon to come. It wouldn’t be long before Pete would take to your soft skin with ghosts of past cuts already fading away, and cover you with countless slashes and slices, just the way he liked.
He pulled his face back from your neck, grinning devilishly, his blank eyes devoid of any emotion besides lust and maybe a hint of adoration. At a loss for words, you could only respond with a small smile, a mix of emotions painted over your face. Fear, attraction, maybe perplexity. The position you were in left your arms trapped between your back and the pillows as you leaned back, putting the tiniest bit of distance between you and Pete. He responded by locking his hand behind your head and kissing your cheek brutally, his nose pressing in and his teeth grazing your skin. It was almost like a half-hearted apology for what he was about to do.
His hand pulled back and your head sank against the pillow as he brought the knife up to your other cheek and placed the sharp end parallel to your cheekbone, cutting in ever so gently. A thin red line appeared in its wake, not deep enough to bleed.
“My god, I fuckin’ love doing this.” He purrred, dragging the knife off your cheek and onto your bottom lip as he pushed it in with a bit more force and a sly smile on his face. The metal felt cold and edgy, a clear contrast from his warm, solid body perched on top of yours. It was becoming increasingly clear that he was seriously enjoying himself, the hardness beneath his jeans pushing against your leg with each tense, passing moment. His other hand placed itself over your neck, gently holding you in place as he continued.
Your eyes fell closed as your mind began to wander. You could make out the sound of his voice as he continued to tease you, but you were slowly beginning to tune him out. Meanwhile, his knife continues to caress your skin, tracing the corner of your mouth and jawline with steadily increasing pressure. He would take the blade away and put it back in a different spot, so you never knew where it would be next. The pit of nerves in your stomach grew exponentially as the steel approached your neck. The tip skimmed over the ridges of your throat menacingly and you opened your eyes to see his gaze fixed on the faint red line that was beginning to appear. You obviously couldn’t see what he was looking at, but it wasn’t hard to imagine the scene appearing in front of his white, white eyes.
From this angle, you could make out most of the details on his face, even in the low light. The cool, metallic flat side of the knife stroked the base of your neck, with the edge starting to glide over your collarbones. Through hazy eyes, you watched his dark brows as they furrowed in concentration, along with the edge of his lips occasionally twitching up in a half-smirk. His dark, disheveled hair fell over the top of his forehead in messy locks, and you would’ve reached out and carded your fingers through it if your hands weren’t pinned beneath your own weight. Your mind was beginning to drift elsewhere again as the blade reached the neckline of your t-shirt, with nowhere else to go.
His left hand ran down your body toward the hem of your shirt and pulled it up to your neck abruptly, leaving your torso and chest almost completely exposed. The blade jumped to your sternum and continued its agonizingly slow path downward, his hand almost shaking in anticipation. He tilted the blade closer to its edge for the most precise angle as it moved down to the valley of your chest, the tip almost disappearing from sight between your skin. You shivered at the cold sensation as the edge reached the middle of your bra before he promptly began to lose control.
By this point, Pete’s hand was gripping the edge of your shirt until his knuckles turned white as he attempted to hold back from groaning in sheer arousal. The cuts on your neck and chest were beginning to sting and pulse, and you clenched your teeth trying to avoid making any noise that might show you were starting to feel the pain. The smallest trace of tears began to prick at the corners of your eyes, but you managed to blink them away as he continued losing his grip on himself, almost unable to contain the desire he felt from running a knife over your delicate skin.
Pete sighed loudly, voice quaking as his hand dragged downward to grab at your chest.
“I-…
…fuck-“ he whispered desperately, eyes blown wide and lustful as his gaze ran desperately over your half-naked body before dropping the knife at your side and diving straight into the part of your neck that was marked up by blurry cuts, desperately biting and licking at the thin trails of blood that had emerged, an action that would surely leave a massive bruise decorated with marks from his teeth. His teeth bruised your neck and drew more blood as his hand which previously wielded the knife gripped your ribcage and clawed at the skin, like he was trying to scratch his way into you. You whined and screamed, partly from pain and undertones of fear and the rest from ecstasy. Your legs stretched and twitched involuntarily beneath him as he continued devouring your neck, his body pushing you deeper into the soft comforter while his hands gripped you like a vise, unrelenting and tough. His mouth moved lower, now biting and kissing the small dip of your left collarbone with the same amount of sharp, bruising force. One of his other hands reached out and pushed the hair off your forehead in a sudden, surprising act of kindness, while the other reached for the knife again.
It was safe to say both of you absolutely lived for this violent shit, even if you didn’t show it as much.