“Good girl,” he praises. “You like my knife?”
The blade finally, mercifully, leaves my clit, and he flips it in his gloved hand. The rounded hilt presses against my wet pussy, and I shake my head in denial. My pride can’t bear it.
But I don’t have any pride. Not when we’re together like this. Dane strips away all barriers between us, and there’s nothing that can keep me from him. He owns every part of me, and I love the fact that he will do absolutely anything to possess me completely, no matter how depraved or ruthless he has to be to get what he wants.
What we both want.
As the cold steel handle slides through my slick folds, tears gather at the corners of my eyes. I blink hard, releasing the last of my pride along with them. I part my legs, dropping them wider in invitation.
His white grin is dazzling in the moonlight.
“That’s it. Submit.”
The handle pumps in and out of me in short, shallow thrusts. The metal is cold and unyielding, and he’s careful not to use bruising force. Slowly, he pushes it deep and tilts it, and I cry out when he finds the sensitive spot inside me.
“So beautiful,” he says, rubbing my clit with his other hand. “I want another one. Come for me, Abigail. Come all over my knife.”
The gag muffles my ecstatic scream, and my entire body shudders as pleasure rips through me, every bit as ruthless as he is. I ride the wave of ecstasy, greedily chasing every last drop of bliss.
When I go limp beneath him and gasp for breath, he finally withdraws the knife from my pussy. His eyes lock on mine as he lifts it to his mouth and licks the handle clean.
My inner muscles clench in an aftershock of my orgasm, and I shudder at the erotic sight of my husband tasting me on his knife.
“Did you get a chance to see where we are when you darted in here?” he asks, voice deep and rough with his own pleasure. He tips his head to the right. “I’m going to fuck you over that altar.”
I can’t tear my eyes from his to look in the direction he’s indicating. I simply nod in eager agreement.
Yes.
His fingers tangle in my hair, and he uses it as a leash to guide me onto my hands and knees.
He doesn’t have to command me to crawl for him. With the knife still held loosely in his other hand, I’ll remain obedient.
Even though I just came, my core clenches. I need him inside me, joining us in the most intimate way possible.
When I feel a cold stone slab beneath my hands, he tugs my hair.
“Wait.”
He releases me, but I don’t move an inch. He reaches into his back pocket and retrieves a coil of rope.
I lick my lips in anticipation, ready to be bound and at his mercy.
“I’m going to hurt you now,” he warns, voice cool and unconcerned.
He revels in my suffering, just as I do.
He crouches beside me and grasps my ankle, applying pressure so that I have to roll onto my back. The rope winds around my calf before drawing tight enough to dig into muscle. Pain flares as he imprints a deep bruise on my flesh, but he doesn’t hesitate; he simply continues to torment me withsmooth, controlled movements. He wraps the length around my leg, and when it crisscrosses over my shin, I cry out.
The pain sparkles through me, and I surrender to it on a low groan. My body is tense from enduring it, and my ragged breaths hiss through my clenched teeth. But primal chemicals swirl through my system. I welcome everything he wants to do to me, craving more of this sweet, mind-numbing torment. I float on the pain even as my leg kicks out in wild rebellion.
“You can take it,” he says. “Suffer for me.”
He ties off the rope at my ankle and grabs my bound calf. His fingers sink into my pillowed flesh, drawing a shout from my chest. My back arches, and I writhe on the altar beneath him.
He holds me fast, and his free hand presses down on my sternum to pin me to the cold stone.
He toys with me for a while, relishing my whimpers and muffled pleas.
