Marked

by Charisse Spiers

  I smile and turn for the water, running with her in my arms. "Something I've wanted to do since I got here. Hold on tight." I bend down to use my hand as leverage and slide down the embankment toward the water. Just before I'm close enough to walk in, I push my jeans down my legs and step out, trying to hold my balance, before wrapping my arms around her and running into the water until it envelops us at the chest.

  "Oh my hell that's cold," she squeals, pressing herself against me and tightening her hold until she's glued to my front. The water is chilly, even though it’s summer. She shivers, and then arches her back to lower her head into the water, drenching her hair. My hands move down her back, lowering to her ass to get a better hold on the weight transfer. I stare at her; mesmerized by the way she looks in the moonlight. The way it reflects across the water makes it brighter than at the car. The water is creating a gloss effect on her skin.

  When she straightens her body I'm mentally stuck as she looks at me, slightly climbing me to reposition herself, tilting her head down toward me. Even in the dark the blue in her eyes is visible. She runs her fingers through my hair before laying her full lips on the corner of my mouth. "Tell me what you're thinking," she says.

  "How beautiful you are," I respond honestly.

  She disregards me completely, moving on to something else. I've noticed since I met her that she doesn't take compliments very well, almost as if they make her feel awkward.

  "This is kind of a romantic gesture, Cox. Skinny-dipping in the lake under moonlight. What's next? Are you going to ask me to be your girlfriend?" She jokes, but to me it's a serious question. I guess that never really crossed my mind since it's never interested me in adulthood before. I thought it was an assumed role. It almost feels elementary to have to ask. Oh well, fuck it. Miscommunication can have detrimental effects.

  "Will you?"

  She places a palm on her mouth, dramatically feigning excitement, followed by a cheesy grin as she removes it. "You're asking me to be your girlfriend?" Her tone is high pitched.

  "I think I am; although, you aren't Kate Hudson and I'm not Matthew Mcconaughey. The girlie impersonation isn't as believable on you."

  She laughs. "Well damn. Never would I have thought you'd seen a chick flick. Sorry I couldn't resist."

  "Are you going to answer the question?"

  "That's not necessary. It was just a joke, Cox."

  "Maybe so, but mine wasn't."

  She reaches between us, grabbing my shaft in her hand; then I feel it positioned at the edge of her pussy, before she slides down completely, moaning out as she consumes my cock without asking. It's hot as hell I must admit. "If I can do this anytime I want," she says, placing her hand back around my neck to meet the other.

  "How did you know I would be hard?" She slides up and down on my dick, never stopping.

  "The same way you always know I'm wet. We do that to each other. I'll agree to be your girlfriend for as long as I do this to you; because the day I stop making you hard is the day we know this is over. The ultimate ruin."

  One hand moves along her back, wrapping into her hair. "I couldn't agree with you more," I say, pulling her lips against mine.

  That is as romantic as Lux Larsen will probably ever get. She isn't designed to fit the mold of average girls. Something about love and intimacy, aside from sex, freaks her out. She's completely different from anything I've ever experienced, and that's the exact the reason I think I'm falling in love with her.

  My eyes pop open. I have no idea what time it is. Hell, I'm starting to constantly question what day of the week it is. They are beginning to run together since I met him. Fuck, how long ago was that even? My vision focuses as I wake up, glancing around the room, stopping directly to my left. Damn, that is one glorious sight. It makes my vagina hurt.

  I prop up on my elbows, taking him in. He's lying on his stomach with his arms stretched underneath the pillow, the white sheet stopping mid ass, leaving the rest of him for my eyes to feast on. My head turns straight and falls backwards between my shoulder blades, my face now pointing at the ceiling. "Why do you do this to me," I ask in a whisper. "That is not fair game at all."

  It doesn't look like fornication is falling off my list anytime soon if I'm beside something naked that looks that yummy. It's a good thing I'm not catholic or I'd stay in confession.

  I look over at him again. He stirs and I stop breathing, afraid to wake him. His head lifts off the pillow and turns toward me, his eyes still closed as his upper body stretches, all of his muscles in his back flexing, before he lays it back on the pillow. His face is in the beginning stages of stubble and his hair falls just long enough in front to run your fingers through and grab.

  His back tattoo catches my attention. As he flexes it looks like it's moving, which is pretty damn creepy considering what it is. It's as if it's staring straight at me. I haven't really paid it much attention since that night in the tattoo parlor on Delta's birthday. I sit up and lean over, studying it closely. It's so detailed and dimensional. I want to know what it means, or what it represents, possibly even why he chose that to cover most of his back. "Does it scare you?"

  I jump at the sound of his voice, squealing a little from being caught off guard. When I gather myself I find him looking at me from his pillow, a serious demeanor present as if he's actually curious. "Kaston, things like that don't scare me. When are you going to actually believe the few things I tell you?"

  "What comes to mind when you look at it?"

  I place my fingers on the hood of the cloak, running them down the center all the way to the end at his lower back, taking in every line and detail instead of looking at him. "Beauty. Symbolism. Self-representation. Just because something isn't beautiful according to the world's standards, doesn't mean it's ugly or monstrous."

  I straddle his ass, placing a kiss on each hand, the part that is the true representation of a grim reaper. It makes more sense now after the night in the alley. "How many have there been?"

  He turns beneath me, grabbing ahold of my hips. "Enough to get me the death penalty if caught, but not enough to make the world a safe place."

  My mouth runs dry, but not from fear. Instead, it's a turn-on. I grab his hands, bringing them to my breasts. "Will there be others?"

  "Yes." He squeezes. "Does that change things?"

  "No," I say honestly.

  "You're telling me it doesn't bother you in the slightest knowing I murder human beings and still sleep at night?"

  His forehead lines as if he's having a hard time wrapping his head around it. He remains silent as I think. Something that he said last night replays in my mind. I don't commit crimes just right them. The world just doesn't understand corporal punishment.

  Then, without effort, my mind pulls from some of the visions of my childhood: a wreck of a mother because she was brutally raped by the fucking multimillionaire that she worked for, trusted, and even respected. That same man that is also known as my sperm donor, because that is all he was. He took away her life, her dignity, her choice, and left her with a constant reminder of what happened from that day forward. She went from not having a choice to becoming a fucking lowlife whore that turned to synthetic coping mechanisms, no longer able to function in everyday society.

  I blink, trying to push the memories back where they belong. "No, it doesn't bother me. Will you tell me why you do it or how you choose your targets?"

  "I can't. I want to trust you, but I can't. You already know too much. No one can keep secrets like that forever. No one can take deep shit to their graves unless it could potentially send them there. I can't," he whispers.

  Don't ask me why I want his trust, but I do...

  I guide his hands down my body, sweeping them over every inch, including my tattoo that he put there when he asked me to trust him. Trust is a two way street. "Look at me, Kaston. I'm naked. Who else will hear? You asked me to trust you a time or two."

  "That was different," he says in a clipped tone. "That couldn't
bring down everything you stand for, everything you promised you would uphold. That couldn't bring dishonor to someone that died for those very reasons because I let a little pussy and a beautiful face cloud my judgment."

  Ouch.

  It's a good thing I'm secure in my choices to enjoy the benefits of the physical attributes that were given to me as a result of something so fucked up. Comments don't sway me one bit. I turn his hand as I guide it down my flat stomach, brushing over my naval ring until it's touching the opening to my clit, before pressing his fingertip between my lips as I look at him. "You asked me to trust you with my body, then trust me with your life. Maybe then, will I trust you with mine."

  He pushes me back just slightly, until his dick is lined between us, and then thrusts upwards, letting me feel how hard he is. "Show me I can trust you...forever."

  I lean over the bed, letting him hold me from falling, and grab my purse to open it. When I find what I'm looking for I place it back in its position on the floor. I open the blade with my thumb until it locks in position. He looks at the knife, and then back at me. "There are reasons that I conceal, Kaston. I'm not a fucking spoiled rich girl that lives in a bubble of happiness and money, ready to conquer the world at the hands of someone else. If faced with a bad situation I can handle it alone. A monster is not defined by an act, but by a lack of morale for innocent human life. There is one contract that can't be broken: blood."

  I place the point against my palm with a slight force and swipe down, allowing the blade to slice the skin open, and then close my hand to keep the blood from dripping. "In today's world you don't fuck with blood. It's dangerous. If you trust that I'm clean, then trust that I won't open my fucking mouth in regards to what you do. If I do, then you won't have to worry about killing me, because I'll let you watch me kill myself. You have something more permanent than my word. You want my secrets then give me yours. We'd be bound by blood."

  I swing out the handle of the knife, offering it to him. "You in or out?"

  "You didn't even fucking flinch."

  "I've been in worse pain than that."

  He holds out his right hand. "Then cut me, but this can't be undone. It's forever, Lux. Know the stipulations of the contract you're entering before you sign. Fuck a piece of paper that only gives you my name, fuck a ring that can be taken off, and fuck a prenuptial agreement that assigns control of money to one, but screws over the other. If you do this we are life partners. That means you have my back and I have yours...no matter what. The only way out of this is by going through what could have happened back in that alley. We pull the trigger at the same time. We're both in or both out."

  The knife begins to shake in my right hand as my nerves take over. This has gone in a totally different direction than I was thinking. What the fuck am I supposed to do? Forever? What the fuck! That words makes hives appear on my body. I just don't know...

  I can feel the blood pooling in my left hand. My heart rate is so erratic that I can't slow it down, even with breathing exercises. I feel like I'm about to panic. My world starts to spin around me, as if I'm in the funnel of a tornado with him. Nothing makes fucking sense anymore. What the hell do I really know about him? Nothing! He's a stranger that I fuck on a regular basis. We know nothing about each other...yet I feel like he knows me better than anyone. Why the fuck would someone want this? I don't even want it...do I? I'm so fucking confused.

  He sits up and grabs the back of my head, fisting his hand in my hair. He places his forehead to mine, staring me in the eyes until I'm pulled from my thoughts. "Don't overthink it. You're still you and I'm still me. We work the details out together. You lose nothing. I will never try to change you, mold you, or control you. You have a choice, beautiful. If you want to back out, just say the word."

  "How did you know?"

  "Because we're a lot alike, which is scary. I'm just a little bolder when there is something I want."

  "So, you want to be..." I swallow. "Like married, but not." I shiver as that very word exits my mouth. It makes me feel sick to my stomach. I can't do that. I can't be that. I can't go through with this. I don't even really know what that would entail. Then he says something that changes everything.

  "I just want to be Kaston and Lux. Nothing more and nothing less."

  He leans back, but only enough to put a small distance between us, placing his hand out palm up. "If you don't want to go through with this, just close my hand. It's that simple."

  I look at his hand, then at the knife in mine, before closing my eyes and tightening my grip around the handle in hopes I'll stop shaking. I don't know who I am really, not anymore. The person I was has been slightly altered since I walked into that tattoo shop. The two of us are a fucking shitstorm waiting to happen. We're two lunatics mesmerized with each other's crazy. No matter how many times I fuck him, let him fuck me, try to shine my ass with shit he says or does, or get pissed off at his aggressive personality, trying to match it one for one with my own out of spite, he's still there, prepared to take my shit and give it right back to me. He doesn't back off no matter how much I want him to when things get awkward. He fucking gets me. No one has ever got me before, the real me.

  "Fuck. Please don't regret this," I whisper, turning the knife around in my hand. I open my eyes and place the tip of the blade on his palm, before pressing it into his skin and dragging the blade toward me, cutting him open, but not deep enough it won't heal itself.

  Holding my left fist at shoulder length, I open my hand in a full spread, letting the pool of blood run down my hand toward my arm. "Please don't make me hate you for this, because I'm swearing with blood."

  I extend my arm from elbow to hand toward him, stopping halfway. He mirrors me, then presses his hand to mine, our hands and fingers aligning against each other, mixing his blood with mine. He grabs my waist with his free hand, before flipping us over, my back now against the mattress. His fingers move slightly to fall in between mine, lacing our hands together as he raises them above my head and presses them into the mattress. He squeezes, forming a tight grip, as he grabs his dick with the other hand and positions it to thrust inside me, hard. "I'm aiming for the opposite, Lux."

  My legs wrap around his waist and my back arches off the bed to take him completely. He takes his time with each thrust, making me feel every inch as he pulls out and pushes back inside. "Just don't be disappointed if you fail, okay? It's not you. It's me."

  "When I have a target I never fail. That's a fucking promise."

  For some reason I believe him... and that fucking terrifies me.

  I turn my head to Kaston lying on his side looking at me, rubbing his hand up and down my inner thigh. This is that moment when things feel awkward for me. We've both come and I'm ready to move on to something other than staring at each other. I've never understood those couples that can lie in bed all day cuddling with hearts in their eyes as if it's been a year since their last reunion, or the ones having verbal I love you wars.

  I witnessed that couple once at work. I was working a wedding reception, Hell on earth in my eyes, and caught the bride and groom by the champagne fountain, holding onto each other and rubbing noses. Obviously they just couldn't figure out who loved each other more, because they kept fucking saying it over and over, rotating the ending word between more, most, to the moon and back, and the list went on. It made my skin crawl. Are the newlyweds entitled to be a little mushy? Well, sure. If that's their favorite cup of tea then fine, but how the fuck can two people measure how much they love each other? It's a little much.

  My gag reflex was working over time. Someone needed to slap some sense into them before they were past the point of no return and had no friends. The man needed a pair of kinky balls to balance out all of that sugary shit he had on overload, before one of his groomsmen felt guilty for their friend's lack of penile function and took it upon himself to taint his perfect bride in white in the broom closet. It happens. I've seen it. I may or may not have said something highly inappropria
te that resulted in free shit for the couple and a ban from weddings for Lux.

  Later, my boss screamed, cursed me to high heavens, threatened to fire me, and asked me what the fuck was wrong with me. After explaining my dilemma and that I was doing all women a favor before men thought that shit was acceptable, among other things, he couldn't help but to see the humor. No woman, no matter what she says, wants that shit. There is such a thing known as a nice asshole. It's called balance.

  Testosterone is a beautiful thing. Hot, manly goodness, with the ability to be an asshole at the right times will take a man far…like me getting brutally fucked in the ass on the hood of that beautiful car. It hurt like hell, was a little embarrassing, and pissed me off for a while, but it also put me in my place, spiking my desire for him to an all time high. No woman wants a pussy that she can run over. End of story.

  I sit up, tossing the sheet off of me, and throw my legs over the side of the bed. "Where are you going?"

  I rub my toes in the carpet before standing, and then walk to the dresser that lines one wall, pulling open each drawer until I find the one I'm looking for. I remove the first folded shirt I come to and pull it on my body. "Dude, I need food. Don't let the body fool you. I fuel it often. Stay or come, but I'm finding the kitchen. At this point I'll eat ketchup if I have to."

  He stands and grabs his boxer-briefs from the floor, pulling them on. "Shit. My bad. We can just go out for food. I don't really have much here right now. I'll fix that ASAP though. You'll be here...a lot."

  He walks toward me, clearly headed to touch me. I place my hand out to stop him. "Cox, I need distance, and to breathe. Give me ten minutes and we'll re-evaluate. We must walk before we run, spread our wings before we fly, or whatever other phrase the universe has to explain my need to take things slow. You, sir, may be secure enough in your..." I wave my hand up and down. "Sex-god ways, studliness, or alpha-ism capabilities to just do whatever the hell you want, but some of us have spent our entire lives staying away from this type of affection. I agreed to learn. That's all I can give."