“There,” I gasped, gripping his wrist as his fingers stroked against my insides.
“There?” he repeated, but he moved his fingers slower.
I groaned and scowled up at him.
His smug expression peered down at me before he turned his face into my hair, seemingly basking in my flustered state.
“Finish what you started,” I warned, my nails digging into his hand as my hips rolled in his grip.
“If that is what theprincesswants.” He let out a soft chuckle.
He curled his fingers, the methodical strokes making that familiar knot grow tighter in the pit of my stomach, sure to hit that same spot I begged for.
Relief and pleasure dulled the throbbing pain little by little before I forgot it was even there in the first place. All I could focus on was his fingers inside me—the new ache that was forming.
As I got closer to what would be my sweet release, I bit my bottom lip, not willing to give him the satisfaction of any sounds that I would make as the orgasm rippled through my body.
A low vibration came from his chest as my body melted in his arms, before pulling his fingers out to inspect their scarlet coating.
“Does the point go to you or me? Is this a draw?” He hummed, licking his fingers clean.
“That is revolting.” I grimaced, ignoring his question.
“Blood is blood.” He smirked. “I will take anything you give me—anything.”
This game was becoming arduous.It consumed all my time and energy, day and night.
He’d corralled me to the attic this time.
I stood on the small balcony, knife in hand. It was the only thing I had not thrown at him that night.
His tall form appeared in the doorway of the attic entrance, and he lunged forward.
I held the knife up to my throat.
He practically skidded to a halt, dead in his tracks.
“What are you doing?”
“Ending this.”
“You are bluffing.”
“Am I?” I trailed the tip between my breasts, pressing against the skin to coax out a thin stream of blood.
“Stop—” He inched forward.
I moved backward, bumping against the short railing and faltering.
Strong arms pulled me roughly from the edge, holding me against him, though the tip of my knife was now under his chin, teasing the flesh of his neck.
“What was the score again?” I put pressure on the blade against his skin.
“Five–eight, your lead,” he mumbled.
“Yield, or I will throw myself off the roof when you’re not looking.”
“I yield,” he said quickly.
