My hands grip at Lachlan’s hair, pushing him, manhandling him, until he’s in the exact right spot and I clench my thighs, crushing his head between them, keeping him in place until my body surges over the edge, recoiling in such a strong muscle contraction that I’m scared I’ve hurt him, am hurting him, only the low reverberation of his laughter against my thigh feeding back that he’s okay.
As the softening spasms dissipate, I let go of his hair, wiping my hands against the bedcovers as they itch from the withdrawal.
He grips both of my thighs, using them as leverage to move farther up my body, his grinning face hanging over my pussy,over my abdomen, my naval, finally turning to the side and resting between my breasts.
“Did you like that?”
I want to say something sarcastic, or witty, or just clever, but my tongue is so tangled I can’t think where to start. I nod, licking my lips and gasping in another breath while he changes position, moves to straddle me, knees near my armpits, pressing my hands above my head again.
“I want you to remember how this felt. How good it was to get yours without me complaining that the conditions weren’t perfect, without me saying anything except the things I knew you wanted me to say.”
There’s an odd quality to his voice, like something’s sneaking around behind the words but I can’t hear them clearly enough yet to know their game. In my sleepy satisfaction, I note it but can’t process anything further, so hum contentedly in agreement.
“Now, it’s my turn.” His hands move to my upper arms, encircling them as he slowly transfers his weight from his heels to his hands, pinning me. “And to show your thanks, to return my favour, I don’t want to hear a sound from you unless it’s something you think I want to hear.”
Lachlan drops his head, kissing along my collarbone, grazing his teeth where it juts out most prominently. My sigh is as close as I get to validation. Accepting his terms and conditions while the afterglow keeps my thoughts nice and fuzzy.
“No struggling, no crying about how it hurts”—he kisses along my shoulder, tugging the spaghetti strap of my dress playfully between his teeth—“or how you can’t breathe. Not a peep until I get mine, understand?”
I force my eyes open, the warnings penetrating my blissful bubble until it pops, letting in shards of pure fear.
Lachlan sits back on his heels, digging in his trouser pocket to pull out a knife, flicking out the sharp blade.
“Not a fucking word,” he says, leaning forward until the tip is pointing straight between my breasts. Aiming straight at my heart.
CHAPTER SIX
LOCK
The flashof terror in her face gets my pulse racing. Her eyes go so wide, I could fall into them, losing myself in the swirling colours of her iris, drawn deeper into the black pool of her pupils, never to escape.
Her breath hitches, mouth falling open.
It’s too tempting to resist. I lean forward, plunging my tongue into the open cavity, feeling as she resists, then succumbs, then resists again, unsure what the rules are.
She’s not the only one. I never know what I want to take until the need swells inside me.
I pull back, grabbing the top of her dress in one hand, holding the knife ready in the other. I control the cut, severing the fabric slowly until I reach the roll where it bundles atop her abdomen. Then I twist the blade away and tear the material with my bare hands, enjoying the tiny shriek George gives as it rends apart.
Sitting back, I let my eyes wander over her exposed flesh. The creamy skin flushes with deep crimson stains over her chest, the blotches stretching up to claim her neck with its scarlet fingers.
I touch the tip of the blade between her breasts, stabbing into the front clasp of her bra. Her throat works, contracting as she swallows, but she keeps whatever words her eyes desperately want to say locked inside that luscious mouth.
Again, I lean forward, this time taking her top lip between mine and sucking. Her tongue darts out nervously, like a redshirt venturing out to see if the way is clear. I pull back, letting my teeth graze against the underside of her lip, switching top for bottom and starting the process again.
My teeth sink into the tender flesh, sampling it with a nip, then strengthening that into a bite. Her muscles grow tenser, hands twitching on the pillow above her head like they want to join in the action, but she’s being good. She’s obeying.
The pulse in her neck throbs with such force I can see the jump from each heartbeat. I release her lower lip, seeing the line my teeth made go from pale pink to darkest red as her blood soldiers march in to repair the damage.
Her eyes flicker to mine, then dart to the side, like she’s afraid to look at me. I tilt her head to face directly upwards with my free hand, the other one bringing the knife up to touch the tender skin of her upper throat, dimpling the skin but not yet breaking.
I move it down, letting the blade press against her skin but not so hard that it risks cutting her, of drawing blood. Just indenting a line in her flesh, the knife moving in tandem with my eyes as it discovers her body, gets used to it, commits the finer points to memory.
At first, she flinches away. The longer I rest the blade againsther skin, the less she responds like that, instead relaxing and softening her body where the metal touches her. When I reach her belly button, I insert the tip into the hollow, smiling as it looks like it’s driving into her flesh.
Lower down, I use the blade to slice through the legs of her underwear, gathering the remaining scrap of fabric and throwing it to the side, revealing her pussy in all its glory. I hold the lips apart and she recoils, panting, her chest visibly moving up and down.
I hold the position for a moment, letting her get used to it, to filter through the possibilities in her mind. Gradually, her muscles lose their tension. I can’t work out if it’s sorely misplaced trust or if she’s physically incapable of staying in such a high state of alert.
