I break the kiss. Step back just enough to see her face.
Her lips are swollen from my mouth. Her eyes are dark, pupils blown wide. Her chest heaves with each breath, making her breasts rise and fall in a rhythm that's driving me insane.
"I don't think I can be gentle right now," I say. The words come out rough, scraped raw from my throat.
I need her to understand. Need her to know what she's in for.
She looks at me without hesitation. Without fear. "Then don't be. Be yourself. I want you just the way you are."
Something in my chest tightens. Then loosens.
She means it. She wants this. Wants me.
I smirk, can't help it. "You don't know what you're saying,dashuri." Sweetheart. "I like to fuck hard. Rough. I won't be able to hold back."
Her chin lifts. Defiant. That sweet sunshine girl showing steel underneath. "Show me."
The last thread of my control snaps clean.
I grab her hand, my fingers wrapping around her wrist, and drag her toward the stairs that lead to the upper floor. But I don't take her up. I stop at the landing, the outside edge where the railing overlooks the entrance hall below, marble and iron and space dropping away beneath us.
I lift her hands above her head with one of mine, my grip firm but careful. Reach for my belt with the other hand. The leather slides free from the loops with a whisper of sound that makes her breath catch.
Her eyes widen. Blue and bright and aware.
But she doesn't pull away. Doesn't protest.
I wrap the belt around her wrists, the leather smooth and warm from my body. Loop it through one of the iron balusters, the metal cold against my knuckles. Pull it tight enough to hold but not hurt, checking the tension twice to make sure.
She's pinned. Hands high above her head. Balancing on the tips of her toes. Her body curves toward me naturally, back arching, breasts lifting. Offered.
"Okay?" I ask. Need to hear it. Need her consent explicit and clear.
"Yes." Her voice is breathless but certain. No hesitation. "Yes."
I reach down to my boot. Pull out the knife I always carry, the blade sliding free with a soft metallic whisper.
Her breath hitches. I see her pulse jump in her throat.
I bring the knife up slowly. Let her see it. Let the light catch the edge. Let her decide if she trusts me with this. With her body. With control.
She doesn't flinch. Just watches me with those wide blue eyes.
The trust in that gaze is intoxicating. More powerful than any drug.
I drag the blade down the front of her shirt. The fabric parts like water, falling away in pieces. I cut through her bra next, the straps giving way with barely any pressure. Her jeans. Her underwear. Everything.
Until she's completely naked. Exposed. Vulnerable in a way that has nothing to do with the blade and everything to do with choice.
At my mercy.
I step back. Just to look at her.
Zot.God.
She's beautiful. The blush spreading across her chest, pink and warm. Down toward her breasts. Almost reaching the soft rose of her nipples, which are tight and hard from arousal and the cool air.
Her body is soft curves and gentle lines. Nothing hard about her. Nothing sharp. Just sweetness and want and trust that I don't deserve but I'm taking anyway.
