Tristan reaches over for the knife and…
Holy shit.
He rotates the knife as he steps out from between my thighs. He stands on the edge of the bed. Keeping the blade pointed across the room, the handle faces me.
He skims the handle of the knife across my pussy, my lips enveloping the handle before he slides it up, the edge bumping over my clit.
The groves around the handle create the most wicked sensations as he slides the handle up and down across my pussy, rotating it to coat it fully in my arousal. He moves it lower… lower…
Until the edge of the handle presses the entrance of my pussy.
“You’re going to cum all over my knife,” he instructs. “And when the time comes, this is the knife I’ll use to kill Brent.”
Why does that sound so damn hot right now? I don’t want to think about Brent in this moment, but the thought of Tristan using this knife to kill the worst memory in my life brings tears to the edge of my vision.
As the first tear falls, Tristan presses the handle into my pussy. Inch by inch, my body gives way to the weapon until it’s in, stopping at the hilt before the blade can cut me.
“God, you took it so well.” He smiles with encouragement and…pride?
Tristan leans lower, kissing me fiercely as he releases the knife. His fingers skim upward to my clit and tease me in quick circles, bringing me back to the edge of bliss.
I moan into the kiss as the ropes bite into my wrists more. The pleasure mixes with the dull pain, and Tristan swallows every moan, every whimper my body gives up.
His lips skate lower, peppering kisses down my jaw, my neck, my collarbone. Need burns in my core, my muscles so tight, so ready for an orgasm that’s threatening to break me apart.
“Tristan,” I warn, my body right on the edge as his fingers keep that steady pace.
“Give it to me, Daphne. I want to watch you come for me.”
His words push me over the edge. I cry his name out in the night air as his lips capture one of my nipples, sucking it into his mouth. Pleasure bursts like fireworks through my body, my mind a whirling haze of fog and pleasure. All I can do is lose myself to the sensations Tristan’s drawing out from me.
“That’s it,” he growls against my skin. “That’s my good fucking girl. Keep coming.”
His fingers keep moving, drawing out my orgasm so long I can barely breathe. My lungs burn, fighting for air as white-hot pleasure ripples through me. Consuming me, drowning me in sensation.
My pussy clamps down on the knife handle, fluttering around it like it’s a cock and trying to draw it in deeper before my muscles relax. The knife slips out an inch, coated in my cum as Tristan’sfingers pull back.
He looks so goddamn pleased with himself as he stands and gazes down at me, admiring his handiwork again.
“You’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen,” he says.
My eyes lock with his, and my chest swells again with words and emotions I’m too afraid to name. It’s the hazy afterglow. Just hormones swirling in my brain. Nothing more, though I know I’m lying to myself.
So I keep my lips closed.
Until Tristan slips the knife from my body, securing it safely back in the leather sheath.
“You’re not going to clean it?” I ask.
Tristan shakes his head. “No. This will be your kill as much as it is mine. This is your revenge, Daphne. I’m just the hand to make it happen.”
Tears well again as he sets the knife onto the table. His hand cups his hard length through his jeans as he adjusts himself.
The people-pleaser in me rears her ugly head. It’s selfish of me not to have thought about reciprocating at all during that performance.
“Do… do you want me to?” I ask as he lowers the zipper of his jeans.
“Do you want to get me off, Princess?” he asks with a teasing note in his voice.
