I twisted my neck behind the blade. “Go back!”
“Manners,” he growled.
“Please.” I smiled meekly. “Please go back.”
“And do what?” His voice filled with hilarity.
“Make love to me with your hand.”
“You’re going to have to do something for me first.”
I groaned.
He reminded me who had the power in this coupling by tapping the knife under my throat.
“Fine,” I said. “What do you want?”
What nasty horrible thing? Get on my knees and suck his cock? Crawl around naked? Defile myself in some way? I licked my lips, ready.
“Answer a question.”
“What? What?”
“Do you love me?”
Tension demolished from my shoulders. I blinked through the dusk of the room, twisting, and tried to find his face, but he was concealed under the hood. Though I could not see him, I felt him. The rise and fall of steady breath from his chest, the strong grip of his arm across me. The tease of his fingers wandering over my hip bone eager to go back to where all my heat was flooding to.
“Love…” I wandered off. “Do I…”
“I need to know what all this means.” His fingers dipped back into my underwear. His thumb swirled over my clitoris spreading my need to grow more frustrated, recapping what was at stake. “Tell me, and then I’ll make you come. I’ll make you—ah!”
He pushed me to the side.
The knife fell from his hand and clattered on the desk.
I toppled onto the ground and looked up.
Dig hunched over the table with a dagger sticking out of his back.
Through the doorway, a man came running in with an axe.
13
“No!” I screamed. A loud, resonating scream.
People with weapons flooded into the room circling Dig like a pack of hounds eager to shred their object to pieces.
The room filled with the stench of sweat and blood.
My thighs quivered. My clit was cold. My need was desperate.
“I haven’t finished yet!” I screamed again, frustration wrapping its hands around my throat. “I’m going to kill you!” Not literally. I was a good person. “I’m going to kill all of you!” Not literally. “I swear to the gods I’m going to kill all you motherfuckers!” Not literally.
Five figures piled into the small room each with a bloodied blade. They ignored me on the ground, and turned their attention to Dig.
He groaned. The blade in his back most likely the trigger.
“Are you okay?” I shouted to Dig. “You’re not badly injured, are you? Are your fingers unharmed—oh wait, I’m not supposed to care about you. Goodbye.”
