The candle sconces on the wall flicker, casting shadows across her delicate face, her full lip sucked between her teeth.
"Sign," I say with venom.
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Her jaw is tight, her lips parted like she’s considering whether or not to defy me again.
And for a moment, she might, and the possibility excites me.
“Push me more, darling, I dare you.” I grit out, gripping her wrist far harder than she deserves.
I should make it easier for her. I should make her so terrified that she just submits.
But I don’t.
Instead, I take her chin between my fingers, forcing her to look at me as I murmur, softer now, but no less demanding, "If I have to tell you again, there will be consequences."
She swallows, eyes locked onto mine, and for a split second, I see a flicker in them. She wants to know what the consequences are, and better yet, a part of her wants to suffer them.
Her devious look puts that weight back in my chest—the one I detest.
Instead of ignoring it, I still press my lips to hers, slow and bruising, before pulling back just enough to whisper, "Is that what you want, darling? Do you want to seemebeg?"
She doesn’t move, and she surely knows better than to speak. She just flinches at the anger in my voice.
"That's not something you'll ever live to witness, my darling, but begging is what you'll experience, until you fall dead into your own grave." I emphasize, practically spitting my words out in anger, “My devotion in the form of control, over every god damn moment for the rest of your life. You don’t have a choice, you’ve never had the choice, and I’m allowing you to do this yourself as a courtesy.”
I’m fuming now, full of rage at how she can pull such horrible things out of me. How goddamn conflicted she makes me. One moment, I want her destruction, and the next her devotion.
Defiance burns in her eyes, but it’s flickering now. She’s struggling against the whiplash of my demands.
I could force her. I could make her sign this fucking contract, and she knows it. But that’s not what I want. I don’t just want obedience. I want her total submission. I want her to surrender not just her signature, but everything else she has to give.
She needs to learn.
I said she wouldn’t like it if she didn’t listen, and now she’s about to find out precisely what happens when she doesn’t.
This part is for me.
I release her chin, reaching for the knife resting beside the bowl of bright green apples—a sleek, sharp blade with a silver handle that catches the chandelier's glow. I curl my fingers around the hilt, feeling the weight and cold steel of it pressing against my palm.
Her eyes follow the movement. Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t pull away.
I lift the blade slowly until the tip just grazes the delicate line of her throat.
She shudders at the threat.
I watch, fascinated, as the pulse at her neck jumps beneath the metal—a single, perfect tremor of anticipation and fear.
My cock twitches, hardening almost painfully as realization settles into my bones. She likes this too. No, she fucking loves it.
The breath she exhales is uneven, her lips parting slightly. I press the blade just a little harder, not enough to break the skin, but enough that she feels it, enough that she knows just how far I can take this.
"Look at you," I murmur, my voice dripping with dark amusement. "You pretend to fight me, but this?" I drag the tip of the knife down, slow, tracing the line of her collarbone. "This makes you wet, doesn’t it?"
Her thighs squeeze together involuntarily, and my smirk deepens.
"You love the power I hold over you. Say it."
Her breath shudders again, but she stays silent. That fucking defiance is still clinging to her like a second skin.
