7. Cut
The smell of her blood is arousing. That warm trickle as it slides smoothly down her creamy skin into his eager mouth. He laps at it impatiently, teeth grazing her flesh as he soaks it up. She whimpers slightly under his hot tongue, but does not attempt to escape the stinging sensation it brings.
He knows she is powerless to.
Pulling back, he regards her face. Her brown eyes are half-closed in pain, her fiery hair plastered to her sweaty forehead. The angry red marks smothering her body are like scorching brands. They state that she belongs to him.
He knows that she hates him when he does this to her, deforms her body for his own enjoyment. He knows she hates herself for letting him do it to her over and over again.
He knows she'll tell herself that this time is the last, just to get her through it. He also knows she'll succumb to him next time, for this is the only way she can have him for a short while. Insatiable desire drives him to take her, and she'll harbour under the pretence that he can love her as she loves him.
In the end, delusion is much stronger than will.
He kisses her roughly, drawing back before she can deepen it. Then he yanks out a razor again. He presses the cool blade against his skin, licks off the remaining droplets she has bled for him. He cannot resist slicing her once more; watches, enraptured, as the edge nips her skin like a lover should. She manages to stifle a moan of agony by burying her face against his bare chest, blood gushing from her shoulder. As he bends down to breathe in the metallic scent, he knows she hates it.
She'll bear the cuts for him anyway.