“Let go of my collar!” I pulled at his wrist. “You're wrinkling the material. I do not have access to an iron.”
“Oh, sorry.” He let me go.
I grabbed him by the wrist before he got away. “Hold me by the throat instead.”
“What?”
“Do it!”
“Um…”
“Hold me by the throat!”
Promptly, his hand throttled my neck.
I shivered with delight.
His hand around my throat was not solid enough to constrict my breath, but enough for me to feel the power of his murderous hands.
If he pressed firmer, I might stop breathing. If I he pressed firmer, I might come. Once, I tried erotic asphyxiation with a belt in bed. After years of delirious frustrations, seeking at least one proper orgasm, I had been willing to try anything. I came close but it didn’t work. I did, however, end up in hospital.
“Am I hurting you?” Dig loosened his grip, his voice softened. “Do you want me to let you go? I don’t want to hurt –”
I tore my fingers into his wrist, ready. “Harder.”
“What?”
“What?”
He unpeeled his thumb from the hand that held my throat and stroked my jugular. “You came all the way here, to visit me?”
I twisted his wrist which did nothing to tighten his grip. “I’m Soulless.”
He was quiet for a thoughtful moment. “You turned twenty-five yesterday.”
“How did you know it was my birthday?”
“You never replied to any of my letters.”
Confusion lined my forehead. “What letters?”
It seemed he was momentarily confused and then the creature in him came out again, a delicate sneer coated the lower half of his face. “Your brother must have taken them.”
“Probably.” I nodded, choking a little, wishing he’d squeeze. “I prefer reading fiction over the threats of a madman.”
His laughter echoed.
Eager to make him face his crime for breaking into my house, I promptly flung my hand through the bars and slapped him hard across his cheek. “You ruined my antique rug, you undercooked chicken!”
His laughter ceased.
“Do you have any idea or consideration for your atrocity?” Rage ran over my tongue. “It was cashmere, from the underbelly of Himalayan goats and hand woven in the eighteenth century by a small village in Kotkahi, their ancestors have long died out and I’ll never find a suitable replacement. What you did was unforgivable!”
I did replace it with another rug. It was better. But I did not elaborate on that.
My captor’s lips quirked down. Confusion, I think.
“Also.” I lifted my chin despite his hand on my neck. “You broke into my house and tried to kidnap me. That’s very bad. You shouldn’t do that.”
