On my desk sits a leather roll. I unfurl it slowly, revealing an arrangement of gleaming steel implements.
“Color?” I ask, my voice altered by the mask.
“Green,” she whispers, pupils blown wide.
I select a knife with a polished ebony handle, its blade catching the low light. Her eyes follow my every movement.
“Take off your dress,” I command.
She obeys immediately, revealing lace underwear and nothing else. Her skin bears faint marks from our previous encounters—badges of ownership.
“Lie back on the desk.”
When she’s positioned exactly how I want her, I trace the flat side of the blade across her collarbone. She gasps, arching slightly.
“Cold,” she whispers.
“It won’t be for long,” I promise, dragging the flat edge down between her breasts.
I turn the blade slightly, letting her feel the difference between the harmless flat side and the dangerous edge. Her breathing changes—shorter, more ragged. I press firmly enough with the dull edge to leave a temporary white line across her stomach, fading to pink.
“The human body,” I tell her as I work, “is a canvas.”
I trace invisible patterns across her thighs, sometimes using the flat, sometimes letting her feel enough of the edge to know it could cut if I chose to press harder. I’m careful to never break skin—not yet—but the possibility hangs between us.
I can see her arousal soaking through the lace between her legs. The knife moves closer to that center, then away, an exquisite tease. Her hands grip the edges of the desk, white-knuckled.
“You’re dripping,” I observe, pressing the flat of the blade against her inner thigh.
“Yes,” she breathes.
I set the knife down long enough to tear her panties in half and unfasten my pants to pull out my cock and position myself at her entrance, then pick it up again. The weight of the blade feels right in my hand, an extension ofmy control. With the mask on, I’m not quite myself—I’m something more elemental, darker.
Amelia’s eyes lock onto mine as I enter her in one smooth thrust. Her body yields completely, wet and ready. I bring the knife up to her throat, pressing the flat edge against her pulse point. Just enough pressure to feel dangerous.
Her breath catches. I can see her processing the contradictory sensations—the pleasure of my body inside hers, the cool threat of steel against her fragile skin. Her hands grip my shoulders, fingernails digging into muscle.
I establish a rough rhythm, watching her face transform with each thrust.
“I could hurt you so easily,” I whisper, feeling her clench around me at the words. “Do you understand that? How fragile you are?”
“Yes,” she gasps, her body arching upward. The movement presses her throat infinitesimally closer to the blade, and I adjust immediately, maintaining perfect control.
“But you won’t,” she adds, her voice breaking as I hit a particularly sensitive spot inside her.
“No,” I agree, shifting the angle of my hips to make her moan. “I’ll only hurt you in ways you’ll love.”
The knife never wavers from her throat as I drive into her harder. Her climax builds visibly in the flush on her chest, the quickened breath, the flutter of muscles around my cock. When she comes, it’s with a shocked cry, her entire body convulsing beneath mine as if the pleasure is almost too much to bear.
Her body is still trembling from her release. Mine comes moments later, pleasure spiking through me as I maintain perfect control of the knife against her throat.
After we catch our breath, I set the blade aside andcarry her to my studio above the club. There’s more I want to explore with her tonight. Much more.
“Stand here,” I command, my voice altered by the mask I still wear.
From my closet, I retrieve a leather case. Inside, neatly arranged: silk rope, a blindfold, molded silicone earplugs, and candles. Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t speak as I tie her wrists to the bedposts with practiced efficiency.
“I’m going to take away your senses,” I explain, trailing fingers down her cheek. “One by one.”
