She gasps, her eyes drifting up my body, widening until they can’t get any bigger, nearly bulging out of her head. Those plump red lips part, and she sucks in a breath. I know what’s coming next, and I act before it can happen.
Striding out of the closet, I lift my left hand and flatten it against her mouth, stifling the scream that tears through her lungs at the same time.
Something takes over me, the character she wants me to play. But I’m not acting right now. I’m not pretending. This is just as much for her as it is for me. She’s mine, whether she truly wants to be or not. Her whimpers, her moans, her tears from coming so hard—they’re all mine.
I’ve always had this darkness inside of me, these cravings that I’ve never let myself explore. But she craves those parts of me too. We’re a match made in sin, and I’ll pray at her altar every day for the rest of my damn life.
Gripping the knife tightly, I press it against her throat, my other hand still covering her mouth. I don’t push it into her skin, certainly not hard enough to hurt, just close enough to give her the edge of danger she desires.
I’m a threat, invading her home, and the only thing I’m here for isher.
“Shh, shh, shh.” I close all distance between us.
Her hips are flush against my thighs. Her back arches, but my hands stay firmly in place. My knife on her bare neck. My palm on her painted lips.
Using my legs, I guide her backward to the bed. The back of her knees hit the mattress, and she tumbles, falling onto the comforter. I let her go, positioning her legs between my thighs, tight enough so she can’t move.
“So fucking sexy.” I scoff in disbelief that she’s all mine.
Leaning down, I rest the tip of the blade on her thigh and gradually trail it up her body, over the lace, until it’s secured back at her throat.
She doesn’t say a word, but she doesn’t have to.
Her chest is rising and falling rapidly. Her lips are parted, pupils dilated. Her pasty skin is decorated with various shades of pinks and reds, traveling from her cheeks to her chest, splotched across her entire body.
Even though I’m pushing her thighs together, I have no doubt that if I freed them, they’d fall open, welcoming me. I have even less doubt that if I swiped my fingers up her center, I’d find her absolutely soaked.
She’s my feral Little Cupid, hungry for love and starving for affection. I’m going to fill her up with both. Eagerly. Vigorously.
Pulling the black satin eye mask from my hoodie pocket that I bought just for this, I hand it to her. “Put it on.”
She swallows hard, reaching out and gently taking it from me. “For my eyes, I assume.”
“It’ll be for your mouth if you keep talking.” My voice is deep and low, unwavering.
Her pupils dilate, locked on to mine as the tiniest smirk twitches on the corner of her lips. Lifting her thumb and pointer finger to her mouth, she presses them together before swiping them across her bottom lip, like she’s locking them shut before tossing away the key. Instead, she offers it to me. I take it and toss it over my shoulder with a smirk she can’t see.
The thin mesh darkens my vision, but it certainly doesn’t hide how incredibly stunning she looks right now. Red lace decorates her soft skin. The curves of her thighs flatten against the bed, emphasizing her hourglass shape.
Her breasts, held in place by the lace cups and heart nipple coverings, do little to quench my appetite to devour them completely. I’ve been dreaming of them for months.
But her perfect tits aren’t the only things begging for my touch, my brand. I’m going to explore every inch of her body. Take my time. Savor it.
With a daring gleam in her eye, she hesitates before she slips the mask over her head and covers her eyes. Testing her, I wave my fingers in front of her face, and she doesn’t react in the slightest.
I test it again, this time waving the knife in front of her.
No change.
Digging into my sweatshirt pocket, I pull out the last item—the handcuffs to keep her in place.
The metal jingles slightly as I free them. Her body tenses ever so slightly.
“Give me your wrists.”
She does, lifting her hands, palms up. So obedient. Such a good fucking girl.
But I don’t take her hands. Instead, I set the knife on her nightstand, slip my arms beneath her, lift, and reposition her higher up in the bed, her head on the pillows.
