So I just lean in, let the knife cut deeper, let her feel the thrum of my pulse under her weapon. I want her to know that I’m not afraid of dying, only of losing her. I want her to see that the blood is nothing, that she can cut me open and all she’ll find is more want, more need.
She hesitates. The knife trembles. She’s not used to this kind of standoff; maybe she’s never had someone who wanted the pain, who’d take it and give it back. That shakes her more than the threat of death, I think.
Finally she hisses in frustration and tosses the knife aside. It catches air, spinning, and lands on the hardwood floor with a flat, metallic clatter. She wipes her palm on the sheet and it leaves a faint streak of sweat.
“Oh, quite sure,” I tell her, voice low and even. “Getting more certain with every passing hour.”
She is sitting on the bed with her legs straight out, sheet pulled up to her chin. I straddle her and the sheet falls off me, my cock hard and proud between us. My hand finds her throat, thumb pressing slightly too hard, feeling her pulse race. She parts her lips, and I know she's already getting wet.
Her pupils blow wide, hips shifting beneath the sheet. Even marked and sore, she responds to my violence like foreplay.
I cut her off with a brutal kiss, claiming her mouth like I own it. She melts against me, hands grasping at my chest, trying to pull me closer. When we break apart, we're both panting.
I duck my neck and grab the sheet between my teeth then slowly drag it down her body, exposing her perfect tits, her soft belly, and those hips that haunt my dreams. She gasps as the cool air hits her, or maybe because of her exposure.
With one firm finger on her sternum, right between her breasts, I press her back until she falls onto the mattress. Looking up at her, I see her soft, flat belly, and between the peaks of her breasts, that golden halo and those large blue eyes,looking down at me. Her lips are parted and she’s panting, every movement causing her breasts to heave.
With a sly smile, I move lower, pulling the sheet down with my teeth until I expose her pussy, then I open my mouth and take in her perfect pinkness. She is slick, glistening with need, and my cum is still visible on her inner thigh. Laid out before me, she looks like every dark fantasy I've ever had, and the sight makes me so hard it hurts.
“You want the sheet to cover you?” I ask
“No,” she gasps.
“Why did you have the sheet pulled up to your neck, printzessa?” I twist a strip of white linen between my knuckles and drag it across her perfect thigh, slow, letting her see the threat of it, the promise. She’s got a flush high on her face and her lips are parted, still a little bruised from my mouth, and I can’t decide if I want to bruise her more or smother her in kisses. I want both. I want everything.
She glares at me, lips tugging into a tight, defiant smirk. “Maybe I didn’t want to see your face the moment you realized how much you need me,” she says. Her voice is hoarse from screaming my name last night, and the memory of it makes my cock harder, if that’s even fucking possible.
I laugh—a sharp, barking sound—and crawl up her body to take her by the chin. Cotton-wrapped fingers, just enough pressure to remind her I could crush her windpipe if I wanted, but I won’t, not yet. “You’re the one who cried, Sofia. Not me.”
She bites at my thumb, and for a split second I hope she draws blood. I want to leak for her, to mark her inside and out, but she lets go before her teeth break skin. I can feel her heartbeat through her jaw, fluttering like a trapped bird. “What do you want?” she whispers, and there’s no tremor in her voice, just naked challenge.
I answer by ramming the fabric-wrapped finger straight into her cunt, pushing hard so she’s forced to arch her hips, to feel every inch as the linen soaks up her slickness. She’s so wet the sound of it is obscene. I twist my wrist until the cloth is wound tight inside her, then grind my palm against her clit, just to make her squirm.
“Here’s your precious sheet, kotyonok,” I say, and her moan is frantic, drawn out, the kind of sound that would get her killed in a safehouse, but here in my house, the walls are thick and the only person who might hear is the girl herself.
She bucks, grabbing my shoulder with both hands, nails digging crescents into my skin. The pain makes me dizzy with want. She’s not the kind of girl who’ll ever submit, not really, but I’ll break her a little more every day and see what kind of monster comes out on the other side.
I lay flat beside her so I can press my cock into the mattress, trying to relieve some of the ache, but it only makes things worse. Her leg is up over my hip and she’s still squeezing around my finger, milking it, and I almost lose it right then. No—she doesn’t get to win. Not today.
I slide my other hand up, grab her breast, thumb the nipple until she’s got tears in her eyes. “You want it, Sofia? You want to see what happens when you talk back to me?”
She nods, but I can see the lie in her eyes. She wants this, but she wants to take it from me, wants me to give it up. Not a chance.
I take the soaked end of the sheet out of her cunt and drag it slowly up her stomach, over her tits, then to her mouth. She opens, obedient for once, and I stuff the wet fabric between her lips, silencing the next moan. She gags, then bites down, eyes rolling up as her hips start to move in frantic circles.
That’s the look I want—the look of defeat and wrath and need.
I can’t wait anymore, not with the way she’s writhing, not with the blood pounding through my skull and my cock threatening to split open from the ache. The last shreds of control snap inside me. I grip her thighs, hard enough to leave bruises she’ll feel all day, and pin her down to the mattress like she’s prey and I’m the only thing in this world that gets to devour her.
Sofia’s pussy is already drenched, puffy and needy, glistening in the watery morning light. The scent of her is dizzying—a headrush of sugar and salt and something wild underneath. I drag my tongue from her entrance to her clit, slow at first, savoring the taste: honey, sweat, the tang of last night’s surrender still leaking from her. She jerks like I’ve shocked her, legs kicking, but I press my palms down and force her open wider, spreading her until she can’t fight me.
“Fuck—,” she gasps around the sheet in her mouth, but it’s mangled, just a desperate muffle. I smile into her flesh and do it again, harder, flattening my tongue against her clit and flicking up until she bucks against my face, her whole body shuddering with the effort to get away or get more, I can’t tell which. Doesn’t matter. I want both.
Her thighs clamp around my ears and the sound goes thick and underwater. Maybe she wants to suffocate, maybe ride my face until she blacks out. Either way, I let her, because if this is how I die, I’m fine with it. The world fades to the heat of her skin, the slick of her arousal coating my mouth and chin, the frantic tremble of her muscles as I work her closer and closer to the edge.
She pulls the sheet from her mouth and screams my name, the sound ringing off the walls.
Her hands scramble at the sheets, at my hair, at the edges of sanity. She claws at my scalp and pulls, the pain sharp and perfect. I growl into her cunt and the vibration pushes her evencloser. She’s so sensitive, so raw, I can feel every twitch, every heartbeat, every pulse of blood pounding through her as the pleasure builds. I want to see her lose it, want to watch her shatter all over my tongue, but I want to ruin her a little first.
