Don't Stop

by Lauren Biel

See, I like the sight and smell of blood—the life force within the veins of all things living—but I really love to taste it.

She did quite the number on my self-esteem and psyche, but it’s fine. I’m doing fucking great.

doorstep. Speaking of death, if someone doesn’t taxidermy the fuck out of me when I die, I’ll stay and haunt them for all of eternity.

“If anything happens to Van Gogh, I will fucking remove every single part of you that’s missing on him.”

“If you fuck with my shit again, you’ll suck your blood off my fingers instead of this paint.”

“It doesn’t bother you?” he asks as he raises his bloody fist and smiles. Red clings to his lips.

shake my head. “Does it bother you that I like dead things?” He shakes his head, and my heart flutters against my chest. This is a weird fucking conversation, and we are weird people. Why does that make me want to kiss him and taste the blood on his lips?

“You didn’t answer me,” I say as I watch her tongue work around the mixture. “Why are you giving me your mouth after what I’ve done to you?”

She wipes the spit and blood from her chin before swallowing. “Because you didn’t leave. You chose to lie with me after.”

“I’m the painter, and you’re my fucking muse,” I growl, squeezing her nipple between my gloved fingers. “You’re a work of art, bones.”