Her pulse races beneath my fingers, betraying her composure. But she doesn’t break, doesn’t cry, doesn’t beg. My admiration grows. Liv Consoli might be cornered, but she’s far from broken.
Her question catches me off guard. “And does the devil give the same promise in return?”
The knife stills in my hand. Few have dared challenge me this directly, especially in such a vulnerable position. But Eve’s gaze holds steady, demanding an answer. Her boldnessstirs something in me—respect, perhaps. Or something more dangerous.
“You’re asking if I’ll be honest with you?” I test the words, buying time to sort through my reaction. My thumb traces her jawline again, feeling her pulse quicken beneath my touch.
“I’m asking if you’ll show the same trust you demand.” Her voice remains level, but there’s an edge to it. Sharp. Challenging.
I study her face, searching for manipulation or deceit. But all I see is raw determination. Liv isn’t playing games—she’s negotiating terms. Equal terms.
“Trust is earned,” I say finally, lowering the knife. “But yes. Quid pro quo, Eve. You give me honesty; I’ll give you the same.”
She shifts slightly, the handcuff clinking against the headboard. “And cooperation?”
A smile tugs at my lips. Clever girl. Using my own words against me, demanding explicit terms. “Yes. My cooperation as well. Though my methods might not always align with your… moral compass.”
“And what about trust?” Her eyes lock with mine, unflinching. “Does the devil trust anyone?”
The question hits deeper than she knows. Trust isn’t a luxury in my world—it’s a liability. A weapon that can be turned against you. But something about Liv makes me want to take that risk.
“I trust what I can control,” I admit, letting honesty color my voice. “But for you… I’m willing to make an exception. Maybe.”
Her question hangs between us, heavy with unspoken challenge. I stroke her jaw with my thumb, the pad of my thumb brushing the pulse at her neck. I want to claim that spot as mine and mark her as belonging to me. But I don’t. Not yet.
Instead, I let the knife speak for me. The tip of the blade traces a path down her throat, following the delicate curve of her collarbone. Her breath catches, but she doesn’t pull away. Icould slice her open with a flick of my wrist and end her life as easily as I could snap my fingers. But I don’t.
My eyes hold hers as the knife edge nicks the collar of her pajamas. Skillfully, I slice downward, the fabric parting like water. One smooth cut, no hesitation. Her chest rises and falls with her rapid breaths, nipples tightening in the cool air.
Eve’s eyes glitter with defiance, even as her body betrays her arousal. I hook the knife into the waistband of her pants, drawing the fabric taut. She shivers as the blade slices through, turning her pajamas into ribbons. I work slowly and methodically, enjoying her reactions.
Finally, she lies naked before me, the soft glow of the city’s night lights highlighting her curves. The handcuff glints at her wrist, a stark contrast to her vulnerable position. My gaze travels the length of her body, drinking in the sight of her flushed skin, the taut peaks of her breasts, the swell of her hips.
Desire wars with self-control. I want to take. To claim. But I remind myself that control is key. She needs to be taught a lesson. Needs to understand the consequences of defying me.
I step back, placing the knife on the bedside table. Eve’s eyes follow my movements, confusion and desire warring in their green depths. The mattress shifts as I sit on the edge of the bed, close enough to touch but not close enough to offer comfort.
“Now,” I say, letting my gaze wander over her body. “We can continue our discussion.”
Her eyes narrow, but she holds her tongue. She knows when to push and when to yield. My thumb traces idle patterns on her collarbone, watching her shiver in response. Her body is a canvas, and I want to paint it with my touch.
“You wanted to know what the devil wants,” I murmur, letting my hand drift lower. “Let me show you.”
I stand, gently pushing the cut pieces of fabric away from her body. Her skin is flushed, her nipples taut, thighs rubbingagainst each other. But it’s her eyes that hold me captive—wary, defiant, and challenging all at once.
When I straighten up, I fish the handcuff key out of my pocket and offer it to her.
Eve’s gaze never leaves mine as she takes the key from my outstretched hand. Her movements are slow and deliberate as she unlocks the handcuff and rubs her wrist. She pushes herself up from the bed, standing to face me, her nakedness a silent accusation.
“You trashed a very good pair of pajamas for nothing, Remy.”
I shrug, my gaze traveling the length of her body. “Not for nothing. Naked, you’re less tempted to escape.”
A smirk plays at the corners of her mouth. “I thought it was the knife in your hand that served as a threat.”
“It’s all about options, Eve.” I swivel the knife into my palm before throwing it with practiced ease. It lodges itself into the wall with a satisfying thud. “Sometimes, you need to mix things up.”
She shakes her head, her dark hair falling around her shoulders. “Show-off.”
