I swallow hard, teasing his throat a little more with the dagger. At the warning of its edge, silent laughter sparkles in his eyes, and the creases at their corners deepen. His thumb drags lazily across my nipple. I suck in a breath and hold it, afraid that if I don’t, it will emerge as a moan.
There is a dead man in this room. I have his blood on me. And yet I’m standing here, letting his former companion touch me in a way that I can’t assign to any motive other than raw, irrational lust.
Ravager’s hand glides down the soft skin of my stomach, and then he works his fingers into my pants.
My knife hand is trembling. The wordstopfloats on my tongue, but I don’t say it, because I’m ensorcelled, spellbound by the magic of those coarse, warm fingers. He’s filthy, and he’s touching me, and I don’t know if I like it, but Ineedit.
His fingers probe the lips of my sex, and then his index finger strokes the tender bit of flesh between them.
“Got you,” he whispers.
I shift the knife away from his neck, but I don’t sheathe it. I brace my wrist on his shoulder, my chest surging with helpless breaths. Delicate spirals of pleasure unspool from the place where he’s stroking me. I haven’t felt this decadently naughty in ages, and my body resents the idea of putting a stop to the delicious torture.
“I’m glad you killed him. It would have been such a shame if he’d cut off this little clit,” Ravager murmurs.
“Stop talking.”
“Can’t help it, love.” His fingers push lower into the tight confines of my pants, finding the wetness I’d conceal if I could. I’m embarrassed by how copious and obvious it is.
“Look how sensitive you are, sweetheart,” he croons, watching my face. “You haven’t been touched like this in a long time, have you?”
“None of your business.”
“I think it is.” His hand is still trapped between my legs, but he urges me backward with his body, walks me to the wall and pins me there. “I think I’ll make it my business from now on, because the idea of anyone else doing this to you makes me fucking insane.” He says the last two words through the vicious grit of his teeth. “So I’m going to help you come, and then I’m going to kill you so no one else can ever make you feel like this again.” He leans in and kisses my cheek.
“I thought you were glad I’m alive.”
“Only because I want to finish you off myself.”
“You’re beyond insane—oh… oh gods… oh fuck…” I falter as he starts rubbing my clit with two fingers. He dips and swirls lower, then returns to tantalize my clit again.
“Here we go, baby,” he whispers, his eyes still fixed on my face. I hate being watched so closely, perceived so openly. I’m not used to it. It makes me feel horribly vulnerable.
“I can’t come when you’re looking at me.” My voice is a raw gasp of admission.
“You will though. You’ll come for me any way I choose. Look into my eyes, Devilry.” He pinches my clit lightly, and I snap my gaze back to his, magnetized, compelled. His fingers are managing miracles in the tight space between my legs—dabbing my wetness, glazing everything with it, then quivering against my clit in a vicious, irresistible rhythm, coaxing my pleasure higher, higher. His eyes look more gray than blue right now, narrowed and darkened, glinting with wicked joy.
His other hand cups my ass firmly, holding me, pressing me toward the peak. My wrist is still braced on his shoulder, one hand in a death-grip on my knife, the other curled reflexively into the fabric of his shirt as I stare into his face. His lips are so full and soft compared to the scruff along his jaw. He’s devouring me with those crinkled, devilish eyes, and all the while he violates me so skillfully that I’m whimpering.
“Well done, sweetheart,” he praises me. “Go ahead and come.”
Helpless to the speed and skill of his fingers, I give in. Pleasure bursts through me, leaving my body awash with sensation, the beautiful purging of all the negative energy I contain. Ravager’s hands, clasped over my pussy and my ass, support me through the spasms of bliss. I can’t help leaning into him, pressing my forehead to his chest, panting there, helpless.
His hand moves away from my rear, and the next second I feel pain beneath my left breast. He has another knife, and its tip is punching through my shirt and cleaving my skin.
He’s stabbing me. The piercing hurt of the blade twines with the golden afterglow of the orgasm.
“I told you what I was going to do,” Ravager says.
The knife is sliding in slowly, finding space between my ribs. I can’t stop it.
I deserve this, because I was idiotic enough to let him touch me. And right now, I’m so exhausted and bliss-drunk that I don’t even care if I die. Maybe he’ll hold me while I bleed out.
I release a soft sob, let my own knife fall from my fingers, and relax against him.
Ravager’s body goes rigid. He doesn’t keep pushing the knife in. The fingers of his other hand, still tucked inside my pants, flex against my pussy. I moan a little at the overstimulation.
“Fight back,” he whispers.
