It’s hunger.
Her eyes find mine, locking and holding. It’s the first time she’s seen them.
She blinks, and her voice is barely a whisper. “Golden brown.”
And then she smiles.
“Beautiful.”
I lower the knife and reach for the silk, binding her wrists to the headboard. She isn’t going anywhere.
The gag comes next, a soft cloth between her lips.
Her breath hitches as I sit back and take her in. She’s bound, trembling, her body taut with anticipation.
She’s playing her part. And fuck, she’s flawless at it.
Something raw coils low in my gut. It’s a feral desire that doesn’t negotiate.
I pick the knife up and rest the blunt edge in the hollow of her throat.
She goes still.
Perfectly still.
“Be a good girl.” I drag the back of the blade down to the first button of her top. “I don’t want to hurt something so pretty.”
She shivers, and her mouth parts behind the gag. Her body tells me everything her voice never could. She’s arching toward danger and slick with anticipation.
The game is already working.
She stirs beneath me, breath catching. Candlelight ripples across her skin, and shadows dance with every shallow inhale.
My hands move slowly as I bring the knife to her buttons. One by one, I slip the tip beneath the thread and slice cleanly. The fabric parts inch by inch, surrendering until her top falls open, revealing those exquisite tits I’ve yet to explore.
Her skin gleams in the low light, and her chest rises quickly. The necklace I gave her rests against her collarbone, catching the flame. It’s a sign of trust and something far more dangerous.
I drag the flat side of the blade down the center of her chest. No pressure. Just steel barely kissing her skin.
Her body jerks, caught between fear and want, and her breath stutters against the knife. She’s breathing harder now, and I haven’t even started.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful.”
The blade skims across the curve of her tit. Cold steel grazes her nipple, and it stiffens on contact, tightening to a perfect peak. She gasps, body arching, the reaction instant and involuntary. A tremor follows, deep and guttural. Her thighs twitch with restrained need. She’s already begging, even without a single word.
I set the blade aside and run my palms up her torso, cupping her tits, rolling each hardened peak beneath my thumbs with slow reverence. She arches, and I lower my mouth to one nipple, then theother. My tongue makes a game of circling and savoring the hard pebbles.
Next, I kiss down her ribs, stomach, and the sharp line of her hips. She goes taut when I reach the waistband of her shorts, every muscle pulled tight and waiting.
Then I reach for the blade again.
The candlelight catches on the steel as I slip the tip beneath the thin cotton at her crotch. I angle the knife upward, letting the flat of the blade rest against her—the cold, unyielding metal pressing to the hottest part of her.
She inhales sharply and jerks, her thighs quaking.
Good.
I hold the steel there a beat longer, letting her savor the danger. Then, with a small twist of my wrist, I slice upward.
