I’ve been helping him get better, carefully watching his wounds for any signs of infection or a stall in healing, but that’s meanta lotof seeing Cormac without a shirt on, tending to his stitches on his front and back, and his hand.
It’s basically been two months of tension building with no release in sight. He even begged me to masturbate in front of him two weeks ago.
“Just let me watch, Brigit. Please. I need to see your pretty pussy drench the bed. Take that hot pink toy you’ve got and sit on it for me. Please.”
The desire to give in was almost unbearable, but there’s not a chance he would have kept his hands to himself, and the doctor said noactivitiesuntil he got the all clear.
Based on his relentless tormenting all fucking day, he must have gotten good news at his appointment this morning.
His hand lands harder on my ass cheek, making me cry out.
“I asked you a question,” he runs his palm along the spot, soothing it.
“Nothing’s wrong,” I insist.
Cormac chuckles, “No?”
“Nope.”
“Well from back here, it sure looks like something’s wrong,” his hands grip both my cheeks, spreading them with a filthy groan. “Yeah, itdefinitelylooks like this cunt is crying for attention.”
Jesus Christ, his mouth.
I bite hard down on my bottom lip to keep from responding.
He just chuckles again, “I have a confession to make, Brigit.”
“Oh, god, what?”
“I’ve thought about doing this to you for months,” he comments, releasing his hold.
“Having me bent over, ass naked in your bed?”
His fingers sink between my legs, rubbing a brief circle on my clit before stopping again.
“Having you bent over, naked, drenched pussy on display,” he pauses, leaning over me to show the iridescent metal in his hand. “Running this across your skin again.”
Chills break out, starting at my spine and spreading all the way to my toes, pulling a whimpering breath from my throat at the reminder of the times I’ve felt his knives on my body and how the slight pain and fear make me come alive in his capable hands.
“Yeah?” he asks, kissing my shoulderblade.
I nod, and he grins against my skin before disappearing from my peripherals again.
The cold steel glides down my spine, the feather-light touch of the flat edge sending goosebumps out all over my body, the fear of him possibly opening my skin sending sparks of heat between my thighs.
He chuckles, “You have to hold still, honey. Can you do that for me?”
A simpering whine escapes me, but I nod.
The blade slides lower, over the curve of my ass, still no pressure or pain, just teasing my skin with it, cold against the rapidly heating flesh.
Cormac releases a quiet groan, “You look so beautiful right now, Brig. You’re so brave, letting me play with you like this. My gorgeous, fearless girl.”
The compliments make my head spin; his endless praise of me never ceases to make me feel both cherished and defiled.
The hand not dragging a sharp weapon across my skin spreads across my other cheek, calloused palm drifting over it, his fingers caressing the sensitive flesh where my thigh creases just below the cheek, following the path the knife is tracing on the other side, the contrast of warm and cold against my skin making me shiver.
“I said to hold still, Bunny,” he says. Even without looking, I can see the wicked smirk sitting on his lips. “If you can’t do that, we’ll have to stop.”
